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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/7520-0.txt b/7520-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a801830 --- /dev/null +++ b/7520-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3537 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + +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: Snow-Blind + +Author: Katharine Newlin Burt + + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7520] +Posting Date: July 24, 2009 +Last Updated: November 2, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + + + + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett + + + + + +SNOW-BLIND + +By Katharine Newlin Burt + + +Author Of The Branding Iron, Etc. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Under a noon sun the vast, flat country, buried deep in snow, lay like a +paper hoop rimmed by the dark primeval forest; its surface shone with an +unbearable brightness as of sun-struck glass, every crystal gleaming +and quivering with intense cold light. To the north a single blunt, low +mountain-head broke the evenness of the horizon line. + +Hugh Garth seemed to leap through paper like a tiny active clown as he +dropped down into the small space shoveled clear in front of his hidden +cabin door. The roof was weighted with drift, so that a curling mass +like the edge of a wind-crowded wave about to break hung low over the +eaves. Long icicles as thick as a man’s arm stretched from roof to +ground in a row of twisted columns. Under this overhanging cornice of +snow near the door there was a sudden icy purple darkness. + +As Hugh plunged down into it, his face lost a certain rapt brightness +and shadowed deeply. He let slip the load of fresh pelts from his back, +drew his feet from the skis which he stuck up on their ends in the snow, +and removed the fur cap from his head and the huge dark spectacles from +his eyes. Then, crouching, he went in at the low, ill-hung door. It +stuck to its sill, and he cursed it; all his movements expressed the +anger of frustration. He slammed the door behind him. + +Buried in drifts, the cabin was dim even at this bright hour of noon. +The stove glowed in a corner with a subdued redness, its bulging cheeks +and round mouth dully scarlet. The low room was pleasant to look at, +for it had the beauty of brown bark and the salmon tints of old rough +boards, and its furniture, wrought painstakingly by an unskillful hand, +had the charm of all handwork even when unskilled. Some of the chairs +were rudely carved, one great throne especially, awkward, pretentious, +and carefully ornate. + +There was, too, a solid table in the center of the floor; and on it a +woman was setting heavy earthenware plates nicked and discolored. She +was heavy and discolored herself, but like the stove, she too seemed +to have a dull glow. She was no longer young, but she might still have +encouraged her youthfulness to linger pleasantly; she was not in the +least degree beautiful, but she might have fostered a charm that lurked +somewhere about her small, compact body and in her square, dark face. +Her hair of a sandy brown was stretched back brutally so that her +bright, devoted eyes--gray and honest eyes, very deep-set beneath their +brows--lacked the usual softness and mystery of women’s eyes. Her lips +were tight set; her chin held out with an air of dogged effort which +seemed to possess no relation to her mechanical occupation, yet to have +a strong habitual relation to her state of mind. She seemed, in fact, +under a shell of self-control, to conceal an inner light, like a dimly +burning dark-lantern. Her expression was dumb. She moved about like +a deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness and stony self-repression were +extraordinary. + +A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he entered. + +“Hullo,” he said. “How many did you get?” + +It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs his +natural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The tone was +astonishingly young, a quiet, husky boy-voice. + +“Damn you, Pete!” was snarled at him for answer. “Haven’t you got my +boot mended yet?” + +The boot, still lacking its heel, lay on the floor near the stove, and +Hugh now picked it up and hurled it half across the room. + +“I have to get out into this ice chest of a wilderness and this flaming +glare that cuts my eyeballs open, and work till the sweat freezes on my +face, and then come home to find you loafing by the fire as if you were +a house cat--purring and rubbing against my legs when I come in,” he +snarled. “Thanking me for a quiet nap and a saucer of milk, eh? You +loafer! What do I keep you for? You gorge the bread and meat I earn +by sweating and freezing, and you keep your sluggish mountain of bones +covered. A year or two ago I’d have urged you along with a stick. I used +to get some work out of you then. But you think you’re too big for that, +now, don’t you? You fancy I’m afraid of your bigness, eh? Well, do you +want me to try it out? What about it?” + +During the first part of his brother’s speech, Pete had faced him, but +in the middle he had turned his back and stood in front of one of the +clumsy windows. He looked out now at a white wall of snow, above which +shone the dazzle of the midday. He whistled very softly to himself and +sank his hands deep into the pockets of his corduroys. He did not answer +the snarling question, but his wide, quiet mouth, exquisitely shaped, +ran into a smile and a dimple, deep and narrow, cut into his thin and +ruddy cheek. + +Between the woman, who went on with her work as though no one had come +into the room, and the silent smiling youth, Hugh Garth prowled the +floor like a shadow thrown by a moving light. + +He was a man of forty-five, gray-haired, misshapen, heavy above the +waist and light to meanness below; a man lame in one leg and with an +ill-proportioned face, malicious, lined, lead-colored; a man who limped +and leaped about the room with a fierce energy, the while his tongue, +gifted with a rich and resonant voice, poured vitriol upon the silence. + +Suddenly the woman spoke. She turned back on the threshold of the +kitchen door through which her work had been taking her to and fro +during Garth’s outbreak. Her voice was monotonous and smothered; it had +its share in her unnatural self-repression. + +“Why don’t you tell him to be quiet, Pete? You’ve been chopping wood +since daybreak to make up for what he didn’t do last week, and you only +came in about ten minutes before he did. Why don’t you speak out? You’re +getting to be pretty close to a man now, and it isn’t suitable for you +to let yourself be talked to that way. You always stand like a fool and +take it from him.” + +Pete turned. “Oh, well,” he answered good-humoredly, “I guess maybe he’s +tired. Let up, Hugh, will you? I’ll finish your boot after dinner.” + +“The hell you will! You’ll do it now!” Venting on his brother his anger +at the woman’s intervention, Garth swung his misshapen body around the +end of the table and thrust an elbow violently against Pete’s chest. +The attack was so unexpected that Pete staggered, lost his balance, and +stepping down into the shallow depression of a pebbled hearth, fell, +twisting his ankle. The agony was sharp. After a dumb minute he lifted +a white face and pulled himself up, one hand clutching the board mantel. +“Now you’ve done it!” he said between his teeth. “How will you get your +pelts to the station now? I won’t be able to take them.” + +There ensued a dismayed silence. The woman had come back from the +kitchen and stood with a steaming dish in her hands. After the brief +pause of consternation she set down the dish and went over to Pete. +“Here,” she said, “sit down and let me take off your moccasin and bathe +your ankle before it begins to swell.” + +Hugh Garth had seated himself in the thronelike chair at the head of the +table. His expression was still defiant, indifferent, and lordly. +“Come and eat your dinner, both of you,” he commanded. “You’ve had your +lesson, Pete. After this, I guess you’ll do what I tell you to--not +choose the work that happens to suit your humor. Don’t, for God’s sake, +baby him, Bella. Don’t start being a grandmother before you’ve ever been +a sweetheart. You’re too young for the one even if you’re getting a bit +too old for the other!” + +Bella flushed deep and hot. She went to her place, and Pete hobbled to +his, opposite his brother. Between them the woman sat, dyed deep in her +sudden unaccustomed wave of scarlet. Pete’s whiteness too was stained in +sympathy. But Hugh only chuckled. “As for the pelts,” he said royally, +“I’ll take them down myself.” + +Bella looked slowly up. + +“You think I don’t mean it, I suppose?” Hugh demanded. + +They did not answer, but the eyes of the boy and the woman met. This +silence and this dumb exchange of understanding infuriated Garth. He +clinched his hands on the carved arms of his chair and leaned a little +forward. + +“I’ll take the pelts myself,” he repeated boisterously. “I’m not afraid +to be seen at the station. I’m sick of skulking. Buried here--with _my_ +talents--in this damn country, spending my days trapping and skinning +beasts to keep the breath in our three useless bodies. Wouldn’t death be +better for a man like me? Easier to bear? Fifteen years of it! Fifteen +years! My best years!” He stared over Pete’s head. “In all that time no +beauty to feed my starved senses, no work for my starved brain, no hope +for my starved heart.” The woman and the youth watched him still in +silence. “That fox I killed this morning had a better life to lose than +I.” + +“It wouldn’t be safe for you to go, Hugh,” said Pete gently. + +“Why not--watchdog?” + +The sneer deepened the flush on Pete’s face, but he answered with the +same gentleness, fixing his blue eyes on his brother’s. + +“Because not two months ago there was a picture of you tacked up in the +post-office.” + +Bella’s face whitened, and Hugh’s cheeks grew a shade more leaden. +“T-two months ago!” he stammered painfully; “but that’s not p-possible. +They--they’ve given me up. They’ve f-forgotten me. They th-think I’m +dead. After fifteen years? My God, Pete! Why didn’t you tell me?” He +pleaded the last with a shaken sort of sharpness, in pitiful contrast to +the bombast of the preceding speech. + +“I didn’t see the good of telling you. I was waiting until this trip to +see if the picture was still there, and maybe to ask some questions.” + +“What does it mean?” whispered Bella. + +“It means they’ve some fresh reason to hunt me--some fresh impulse--God +knows what or why. How can we tell out here, buried in the snows of +fifteen winters. Well!” He struck his hands down on the table edge and +stood up. He drew his mouth into a crooked smile and looked at the other +two as a naughty child looks at its doting but disapproving elders. The +smile transfigured his ugliness. “I’ve a fancy to see that picture. Want +to be reminded of what I looked like fifteen years ago. I was a handsome +fellow then. I’m going to take the pelts.” + +Pete looked dumbly up at him, his lips parted. Bella twisted her apron +about her hands. Both seemed to know the hopelessness of protest. In the +same anxious dumbness they watched Garth make ready for his trip. As he +pulled his cap down close about his ears, Pete at last found his voice. + +“Hugh,” he began doubtfully, “I wish you wouldn’t risk it. We can get on +without supplies until next trading-day, when I’ll surely be all right.” + +“Hold your tongue! I’m going,” was the answer. “I tell you, the spirit +of adventure has me. Who knows what I may meet with out there?” He flung +back the door and, pointing with a long arm, stood silhouetted against +the dazzle. + +“Beauty? Opportunity? Danger? Hope? Death? I shan’t shirk it this time. +I’ll meet whatever comes. But--” He came back a step into the room. His +harsh face melted to a shamefaced gentleness; his voice softened. “If +they get me down there, if I _don’t_ come back, you two try to think +kindly of me, will you? I know what you think of me now. I know you +won’t see me as I am--no one but God will ever do me that kindness; but +you two--be easy with me in your memories.” + +Bella, her arms now twisted to their red elbows in her apron, took a +few stiff steps across the floor. Her face was expressionless, her eyes +lowered. Garth smiled at them both and went out, shutting the door. They +heard him singing as he put on his skis: + + A hundred men were riding, + A-hunting for Pierre. + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + They rode around by moonlight; + They rode around by day; + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + +Then came the sharp scraping of his runners across the surface of the +snow on a level with the buried roof. It lessened from a hissing speech +to a hissing whisper. It sighed away. Bella sat down abruptly on a +chair, pulled in her chin like an unhappy child; her bosom lifted as +though a sob would force its way out. + +“If he doesn’t come back!” she murmured. “If he doesn’t come back!” She +was speaking to God. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Pete blinked, swallowed hard and began to talk fast and hopefully. + +“He’ll come back. I don’t believe he’ll get halfway there, Bella,” he +reassured the woman. “He’ll come to his senses. You know how moody he +is. Come over here and doctor up my ankle, please. ‘Make a fuss over me, +Bell.’ Isn’t that what I used to say?” + +He coaxed until at last she came and knelt before him and removed his +moccasin and heavy woolen sock. The strong white foot was like marble, +but the ankle was swollen and discolored. Bella clicked her tongue. “He +_is_ a brute, you know!” She laughed shortly. Since Garth’s departure +she had become almost a human being. The deaf-mute look had melted from +her, and a sardonic humor emerged; her eyes cleared; she could even +smile. “Why do we care so much for him, Pete--the two of us?” + +Pete winced under her touch and puckered his brows. “Because he’s such a +kid, I guess. He’s always fretting after the moon.” + +“Don’t you ever get angry with him, Pete? He does treat you shameful +sometimes.” + +“N-no. Not often. He’s always sorry and ashamed afterward. He’d like to +be as kind as God. I believe if he could only fool us into thinking he +_was_ God, he could act like Him--ouch, Bella! Go easy.” + +“You’re an awful smart boy, Pete. It’s a sin you’ve never had any +schooling.” + +“Schooling! Gosh! I’ve had all the schooling I could digest. Hugh beat +it into me. He’s taught me all he had in his head and a whole lot he +never ought to have had there, I guess. But _you’ve_ taught me most, +Bella--that’s the truth of it.” + +“_Me_! I never knew anything. They saw to that. They never did anything +for me at home but abuse me. Hugh Garth was the only relation I ever had +in the world that spoke kind to me. Remember how I used to run over from +my folks to tuck you into bed in your little room above the shop, Pete? +No, you were too little.” + +“Of course, I remember,” the boy replied. “The ankle’s fine now, Bella. +Let up. I can’t stand that rubbing. Let me stick the foot up on another +chair. There--that’s great. It doesn’t hurt near so bad now. I remember +Hugh’s bookshop; yes, I do--honest! I remember sitting on the ladder and +listening to him talk to the students when they came in. He always was +a gorgeous talker, Bella. They used to stand around and listen to +his yarns like kids to a fairy story. Just the same as you and I do +now--when we can get him into a good humor. But, you know, he used to +like strangers best--to talk to, I mean.” + +Bella assented, bitterly. She had begun to clear the table of its almost +untouched meal. “Because he could put it over better with a stranger. It +isn’t the _truth_ Hugh likes--about himself, or others.” + +Pete had begun to whittle a piece of wood. He was a charming figure, +slouching down in his chair, slim and graceful, his shapely golden +head ruffled, his chin pressed against his chest. His expression +was indescribably sweet and boyish, the shadow of anxiety and pain +accentuating a wistful if determined cheerfulness. He was deliberately +entertaining Bella, diverting her mind from its agony of apprehension. +She saw through him, but like a sick child she took the entertainment +languidly. + +“Now, _you’re_ too dead bent on the truth, Bella. You know you are. +You’re a regular bear for the truth.” + +“I can’t see anything else,” she said gloomily. “Things are just so to +me--no blinking them.” + +He put his head a little to one side and contemplated her. “What do you +see when you look into the water-bucket, Bella?” + +“The water-bucket?” She flushed. “Just because you caught me prinking +that once!” + +“Well, if you had a mirror, what would you see in it, then?” + +“An ugly old woman, Pete.” + +“There! Your mind’s just the wrong-side-out of Hugh’s. He won’t see +himself ugly, and you won’t see yourself pretty. I’m the only sane +fellow in this house.” + +“And you never in your life saw a pretty woman to remember her. Besides, +you’re too young.” She said it with a tart sweetness and vanished into +the kitchen. + +With her departure Pete’s whittling ceased, his hands fell slack and he +began to stare out through the snow-walled window. His anxiety for Hugh +slipped imperceptibly into a vague pondering over his own youthfulness. +That’s what those two were always telling him, sometimes savagely, +sometimes tenderly! “You’re too young.” What did it mean to him, anyhow, +that he was “too young”? A desolation from which at times he suffered in +secret overcame him. + +He was twenty-one or -two--or his memory lied. They had never celebrated +his birthdays, but he was five or six years old when Hugh had been +so suddenly, so unexplainably taken from the house, back there in the +little Eastern college town where they had lived. It was a few months +later that Bella--Cousin Bella, who worked at “the farm”--came for him, +a furtive, desperate Bella with a bruised face--a Bella tight-strung for +flight, for a breaking of the galling accustomed ties of her life, for a +terrible plunge into unknown adventure. She had muttered to him, as +she dressed him and bundled together a few of his belongings, that they +“were going to Hugh”--only it was another name she used, a name since +blotted from their lives. + +Hugh had sent for them. She was the only person in the world that Hugh +could trust. But no one must know where they were going. They must be +away by the time the man who took charge of the shop came back in the +morning. + +Pete remembered the journey. He remembered the small frontier station +where they left the train at last. He remembered that strange, far-flung +horizon, streaked with dawn, and his first taste of the tangy, heady +air. There had been a long, long drive and a parting with the friendly +driver where Bella turned on to the trail through the woods. It had been +dim and dark and terrible among the endless regiments of trees--mazy +and green and altogether bewildering. And after vague hop-o’-my-thumb +wanderings, he had a disconnected memory of Hugh--a wild, rugged, +ragged, bearded Hugh who caught him up fiercely as though he had an +ogrish hunger for the feel of little boys. It was night when they came +to Hugh’s hiding-place. For miles Pete had been carried in his +brother’s arms. Bella had limped behind them. There had been a ford, +he remembered; the splashing water had roused Pete, and he stayed awake +afterward until he found himself before a dancing fire of logs in a +queer, dark, resinous-smelling house, very low, with unglazed windows. +He remembered, too, that Bella had burst out crying. That was the +queerest memory of them all--that crying of Bella’s.--Even now he could +not understand exactly why she had cried so then. + +The frightened, furtive life they had all led since--the life of scared +wild things--had left its mark on Pete. His fear for Hugh now threw him +back into the half-forgotten state of apprehension which had been the +atmosphere of all his little boyhood. He had not known then why strange +men were creatures to be feared and shunned. In fact, he had never +been told the reason for Hugh’s flight. Only, bit by bit, he had pieced +together hints and vague allusions until he knew that this strange, +embittered, boasting poet of a brother had killed or had been accused of +killing. In his loyal boy mind Hugh Garth was promptly acquitted. It was +the world that was wrong--not Hugh. Yet to-day, after all the long years +of carefulness, he had gone back to the cruelty of the world. + +Like a beast the boy’s anxiety for his brother began to prowl about the +walls of his mind. He imagined Hugh appearing at the trading-station. He +pictured the curious glances of the Indians and the white natives. +This limping, extravagant, energetic Hugh with his whitening hair and +eyebrows and flaring hazel eyes--with his crooked nose and mouth, +his magnificently desperate manner and his magnificently desperate +voice--attention would inevitably fasten upon him anywhere; how much +more in an empty land such as this! Pete fancied the inquiring looks +turned from the man to the man’s posted picture. It was no longer a +faithful likeness, of course; still, it was a likeness. There was no +other man in all the world like Hugh! He was made of odd, fantastic +fragments, of ill-fitting parts--physically, mentally, spiritually. It +was as if a soul had seen itself in a crooked mirror and had fashioned a +form to match the distorted image. Hugh wouldn’t, couldn’t force himself +to be inconspicuous. He would swagger; he would talk loud; his big, +beautiful voice would challenge attention, create an audience. He would +have some impossible, splendid tale to tell. + +Pete sat up straighter in his chair, gingerly rearranging the ankle, and +lifted his blue and haunted eyes--the eyes of the North--to the window. + +The dazzle of noon had faded to a glow. The short winter day was nearly +done. There would be a long violet twilight, and then, the blaze of +stars. + +But for his aching ankle Pete would be sliding out on soundless skis, +now poised for breathless flight down some long slope, now leaping +fallen trees or buried ditches. He spent half of his wild young +restlessness in such long night runs when, in a sort of ecstasy, he +outraced the stifled longings of his exiled youth. But there would be +no ski-running for several nights now. He was a prisoner, and at a time +when imprisonment was hard to bear. + +If only there were some way of getting quick news of Hugh! Why had +Bella and he let this thing happen? Why had they stood helplessly by and +allowed the rash fool to go singing to his own destruction? They might +have held him by force, if not by argument, long enough to bring him +to his senses. They had been weak; they were always weak before Hugh’s +magnetic strength--always the audience, the following; Bella, for +all her devastating tongue, no less than himself. And Hugh’s liberty, +perhaps his life, might be the price of their acquiescence. + +Straining forward in his chair, listening, there came to Pete, across +the silence, the sound of skis. + +He rose and hopped to the door, flinging it wide. He could not see above +the top of the drift which rose just beyond the roof to a height of nine +or ten feet, but listening intently, he thought he recognized a familiar +slight unevenness in the sliding of the skis. + +“Bella!” he shouted, his boy-voice ringing with relief. “Bella! Here’s +Hugh. He’s come back.” + +Bella was instantly at his side. They stood waiting in the doorway. +Against the violet sky darkening above the blue wall of snow, a bulky +figure rose, blotting out the light. It half slid, half tumbled down +upon them, clumsy and shapeless. + +“Let us in,” panted Hugh. “Let us in.” + +Slipping his feet from the straps of his skis, he staggered past them +and they saw that he was carrying a woman in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +“Shut the door,” Hugh whispered, and laid his burden down on a big +black bear-hide near the stove. He knelt beside it. He had no eyes for +anything else. Pete, hobbling to him, gazed curiously down, and Bella +knelt opposite and drew away Hugh’s mackinaw coat, with which he had +wrapped his trove. It was not a woman whom they looked down upon, but +a girl, and very young--perhaps not yet seventeen--a girl with cropped +dark curly hair and a face so wan and blue and at the same time so +scorched by the snow-glare that its exquisiteness of feature was all the +more marked. Hugh’s handkerchief was tied loosely across her eyes. + +“I heard her crying in the snow,” he said with ineffable tenderness; +“crying like a little bleating lamb with cold and pain and hunger +and fright--the most pitiful thing in God’s cruel trap of life. She’s +blind--snow-blind.” + +Pete gave a sharp exclamation, and Bella gently removed the +handkerchief. The small figure moaned and moved its head. The lids of +her eyes were swollen and discolored. + +“Snow-blind,” echoed Bella. + +“A bad case,” said Hugh. “Get her some soup, Bella, and--perhaps, hot +water--I don’t know.” He looked up helplessly. + +Bella went to the kitchen. She had regained her old look of dumbness. +Beside the figure on the floor Pete touched one of the girl’s small +clenched hands. It was like ice. At the touch she moaned, and Hugh +ordered sharply: “Let her alone.” So the boy dragged himself up again +and stood by the mantel, watching Hugh with puzzled and wondering eyes. + +“Think what she’s been through,” Hugh murmured, “that little delicate +thing, wandering for two days, out in this cold--scared by the woods, +blinded by the pain, starving. When I found her, you’d have thought +she’d be afraid of a wild man like me, but she just lifted up her arms +like a baby and dropped her head on my shoulder. She--she patted my +cheek--” + +Bella brought the soup, and Hugh, raising the small black head on the +crook of his arm, forced a spoonful between the clenched teeth. The girl +swallowed and began again to whimper: “Oh, my eyes! My eyes! They hurt +me so!” She turned her face against Hugh’s chest and clung to him. + +“They’ll be better soon,” he soothed her; then fiercely to Bella: “Can’t +we do something? Don’t you know what to do?” + +Again Bella went to the kitchen, moving like an automaton. Hugh coaxed +and murmured, feeding the girl in spite of her pain. He managed to force +a little of the soup down her throat, and a faint stain of color came +back to her lips and cheeks. Bella presently reappeared with salve and +lotion, and Hugh helped her hold the swollen lids apart, his big hands +very skillful, while she gently washed out the eyes. Then they put the +salve on her sun-scorched face. She sighed as though in some relief, and +again snuggled against Hugh. + +“Don’t go away, please,” she pleaded in a sweet trickle of voice. “I’m +scared to feel you gone. You’re so warm. You’re so strong. Will you talk +to me again, please? Your voice is so comforting, so beau-ti-ful.” + +So Hugh talked. The others drew away and watched and listened. They did +not look at each other. For some reason Pete was ashamed to meet Bella’s +eyes. As usual, they were the audience, those two. They sat, each in a +chair, the width of the room apart; below them, his grizzled head and +warped face transfigured by its new tenderness, Hugh bent over the child +in his arms. Pete held his tumult of curiosity, of interest, in leash. +He could hear his heart pounding. + +“You’re safe now, and warm,” Hugh was murmuring. “No need to be scared, +no need. I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep. I’m strong enough to keep +off anything. You’re safe and snug as a little bird in its nest. That’s +right. Go to sleep.” + +Pete’s blue eyes dwelt on this amazing spectacle with curious wonder. +This was a Hugh he had never seen before. For the first time in fifteen +years, he realized, the man had forgotten himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +To Hugh Garth the girl told her story at last. She seemed to realize +only dimly that there were two other living beings in this house, to +her a house of darkness peopled only by voices--Pete’s modest, rare boy +speeches, Bella’s brief, smothered statements. The great music of Hugh’s +utterance must indeed have filled her narrowed world. So it was to him +she turned--he was always near her, sitting on the pelt beside the chair +to which, after a day and night in Bella’s bed, she was helped. + +She had a charming fashion of speech, rather slow motions of her lips, +which had some difficulty with “r” and “s,” a difficulty which she +evidently struggled against conscientiously, and as she talked, she +gesticulated with her slim little hands. She was a touching thing +sitting there in Hugh’s carved throne--he an abdicated monarch at her +feet, knee in hand, grizzled head tilted back, hazel eyes raised to her +and filled with adoration. + +“I am called Sylvie Doone,” she said with that quaint struggle over +the “S.” “I was always miserable at home.” She gave the quick sigh of +a child. “You see, my father died when I was very little, and then my +mother married again. We lived in the grimmest little town, hardly +more than a dozen houses, beside a stream, up in Massachusetts--farming +country, but poor farming, hard farming, the kind that twists the men +with rheumatism, and makes the women all pinched and worn. Mother +was like that. She died when I was thirteen. You see--there I was, so +queerly fixed. I had to live with Mr. Pynche--there was no other home +for me anywhere. And he kind of resented it. He had enough money not +to need me for work--a sister of his did the housework better than I +could--and yet he was poor enough to hate having to feed me and pay for +my clothes. I was always feeling in the way, and a burden. There was +nothing I could do. + +“Then I saw something about the movies in a magazine, and pictures of +girls, not much better-looking than me, making lots of money. I borrowed +some money from a drug-store clerk who wanted to keep company with +me--I’ve paid it back--and I went to New York. I did get a job. But I’m +not a good actress.” + +She faltered over the rest--a commonplace story of engagements, of +failures, until she found herself touring the West with a wretched +theatrical troupe. “We were booked for a little town off there beyond +your woods, and the train was stalled in a snowstorm. We got on a +stage-coach, but it got stuck in a drift on one of those dreadful roads. +I was freezing cold, and I thought I’d make a short cut through the +woods. The road was running along the edge of a big forest of pines. I +cut off while they were all working to dig out the horses. + +“Mr. Snaring said, ‘Look out for the bears!’ and I laughed and ran up +what looked like a snow-buried trail. There was a hard crust. The woods +were all glittering and so beautiful. I ran into them, laughing. I was +so glad to get away by myself from those people into the woods where it +was so silent and sort of solemn--like being in a church again. I can’t +think how I got so lost. I meant to come round back to the road, but +before I knew it, I didn’t know which way the road was. The pines were +so dense, so all alike, they looked almost as if they kept sort of +shifting about me. I tried to follow back on my footprints, but in +some places snow had shaken down from the branches. And there were so +many--so dreadfully many other tracks--of animals--” She put her hands +over her face and shrank down in her chair. + +“Forget about them, Sylvie,” Hugh admonished gently. “Even if there had +been bears about, they wouldn’t likely have bothered you any.” + +“I can’t bring myself to tell you about that time--I can’t!” + +“Don’t, then--only, how did you live through the night, my dear?” + +“I don’t know--except that I never stayed still. I got out from the +trees because I was afraid of bears, and I lost my hat. The sun was like +fire shining up from underneath and down from up above. My eyes began +to hurt almost at once, and by the time night came, it was agony. The +darkness didn’t seem to help me any either; the glare still seemed to +come in under my lids. I couldn’t sleep for the pain. I knew I’d +freeze if I stood still, so I kept moving all night, trampling round in +circles, I suppose. Next morning the terrible glare began again. Then +everything went red. I was nearly crazy when you found me, Mr. Garth.” + +“Please call me Hugh,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. “I feel in a +way that you belong to me now--I saved you from dying alone there in the +cold and brought you back to my home. I’ve got jettison rights, Sylvie.” + She let him hold her hand, and flushed. + +“You’ll never know what it felt like to hear your voice call to me, to +feel you pulling me up. I’d only just dropped a few minutes before, but +I’d never have struggled up. It would have been the end.” She trembled +in the memory, and he patted her hand. “I don’t know why a man like +you lives off here in this wild place, but thank God, you do live here! +Though,” she added with wistfulness, twisting her soft mouth, “though I +can’t ever quite see why God should care much for a Sylvie Doone.” She +touched the lids of her closed eyes. “I wonder why it doesn’t worry me +more not to be able to see. Now that the pain’s gone, I don’t seem to +care much.” + +“Thank God. Perhaps, though,” he added half-grudgingly, “in a few days +you’ll see again.” + +She smiled. “I’d just love to see _you_. You must be wonderful!” + +“What makes you think that?” he asked, his warped face glowing. + +“You’re so strong and young, such thick hair, such finely shaped hands +and such a voice.” Sylvie’s associates had been of a profession that +deals perpetually in personalities. “If I’d been blind a long time, I +suppose I could just run my hand over your face, and I’d know what you +look like. But I can’t tell a thing.” She felt for his face and brushed +it eagerly with her fingers, laughing at herself. “I just know that you +have thick eyelashes and are clean-shaven. Is Bella your wife? And that +big little boy your son?” + +He started. “No, she’s a faithful thing, the boy’s nurse. And the +kid’s my young brother--a great gawk of a boy for his age, a regular +bean-pole.” + +“It’s so hard to tell anything about people if you can’t see them. I +wouldn’t have thought he was so big. Is he about fourteen or fifteen? He +speaks so low and gently; he might be any age.” + +“And a man’s height--pretty near too big to lick, though he needs it.” + +“And Bella, what’s she like?” + +“A dried-up mummy of a woman.” + +The kitchen door creaked. Hugh started and shot a look over his +shoulder. Bella stood on the kitchen threshold with an expressionless +face and lowered eyelids. + +“Why did you jump?” asked Sylvie nervously. + +Hugh wet his lips with his tongue. “Nothing. The door creaked. Go on. +Tell me more, child,” he urged. + +“No. I want to hear about you now. Tell me your story.” + +Hugh clenched his hands and flushed darkly. He glanced over his shoulder +with a furtive look, but Bella had gone. + +“No one else rightly knows my story, Sylvie. Will you promise me never +to speak of it, to Bella, to Pete, to any one?” + +“Of course, I promise.” Her face beamed with the pride of a child +entrusted with a secret. + +Then, lowering his voice and moving closer to her chair, he began a +fictitious history, a history of persecuted and heroic innocence, of +reckless adventure, of daring self-sacrifice. The girl listened with +parted lips. Her cheeks glowed. And behind the door, Bella too listened, +straining her ears. + +The murmur of Hugh’s recital, rising now and then to some melodramatic +climax, then dropping cautiously, rippled on, broken now and again by +Sylvie’s ejaculations. Behind the door Bella stood like a wooden block, +colorless and stolid as though she understood not a syllable of what +she heard. But after a rigid hour she faltered away, stumbled across the +kitchen and out into the snow. + +There, in the broad light of the setting sun, Pete rhythmically bent and +straightened over his saw. The tool sang with a hissing, ringing rhythm, +and the young man drove it with a lithe, long swing of body, forward and +back, forward and back, in alternate postures of untiring grace. The +air was not cold. There was the cloudy softness premonitory of a spring +storm; the sun glowed like a dying fire through a long, narrow rift in +the shrouded west. Pete had thrown aside his coat and drawn in his belt. +The collar of his flannel shirt was open and turned back; his head was +bare. The bright gold of his short hair, the scarlet of his cheeks, +the vivid blue of his brooding eyes, made shocks of color against the +prevailing whiteness. Even the indigo of his overalls and the dark gray +of his shirt stood out with a curious value of tint and texture. His +bare hands and forearms glowed. He was whistling with a boy’s vigor and +a bird’s sweetness. + +Bella caught Pete’s arm as it bent for one of the strong forward sweeps. +He stopped, let go of his saw, and turned to her, smiling. + +Then--the smile gone: “What’s wrong?” + +Her eyes flamed in her pale, tense face. “We’ve got to stop it, Pete,” + she said. “It’s horrible!” + +“What? Don’t stand out here with those bare arms, Bella.” He was pulling +his own shirt-sleeves down over his glistening bronze forearms as he +spoke. + +“We can’t talk in the house,” she said, “and I’ve got to talk. I--Do you +know what Hugh’s doing--what he’s telling that girl? What he’s letting +her believe?” + +Pete shook his head, but at the same time turned his blue eyes away from +her toward the glowing west. + +“Lies,” said Bella. She laughed a short, explosive laugh. “He’s got his +ideal audience at last--a blind one. She thinks he’s young and handsome +and heroic. Pete, she thinks he’s a hero. She thinks he’s buried himself +out here for the sake of somebody else. Oh, it’s a regular romance, and +it’s been going on for hours--it’s still going on. By now he believes +it all himself. He’s putting in the details. And Sylvie: ‘Oh!’ she’s +saying, and ‘Ah, Mr. Garth, how you must have suffered! How +wonderful you are!’ And--look at me Pete--do you want to know what we +are--according to him--you and I?” + +He did not turn his eyes from the west, even when she shook his arm. + +“I’m a dried-up mummy of a woman--faithful?--yes, I’m faithful--an old +servant. And you’re a child, an overgrown bean-pole of a boy, fourteen +or fifteen years old.” + +The young man stood tall and still--a statue of golden youth in the +golden light--the woman clutching at his arm, her face twisted, her eyes +afire, all the colorlessness of her body and the suppressed flame of her +spirit pitilessly apparent. + +“Look at me, Pete.” + +“Well,” he sighed gently, “what of it?” He looked down at her and +smiled. “It’s the first good time he’s had for fifteen years. You know +we don’t make him happy. I don’t grudge him his joy, Bella, do you? +It can’t last long, anyway. Fairy tales can’t hurt her--Hugh +believes--almost--in his own inventions. She’ll be going back--her +friends will be hunting for her. I’ll let her think I’m a bean-pole of a +boy if it makes him any happier to have me one. And why do you care?” + +She drew in her breath. “Oh, I don’t suppose I care--so much,” she said +haltingly. “But--think of the girl.” + +His eyes widened a little and fell. “The girl?” + +“She’s falling in love with him!” + +Pete threw back his head and laughed aloud. “Oh, Bella, you know, +_that’s_ funny!” + +“It’s not. It’s tragic. It’s horrible. You’ll see. Watch her face.” + +“I have watched it.” He spoke dreamily. “It’s a very pretty and sweet +face.” + +“Pete, Hugh’s robbing _you_.” + +“Me?” + +“Yes, you’re young. You’re ready for loving. This child--God sent her to +you, to get you out of this desolation, to lead you back to loving and +living, to give you what you ought to have--Life.” + +It was as though she had struck him. He started and drew himself away. +“Shut up, Bella,” he said with boyish roughness and limped past her into +the house. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In these days Hugh must have known that his magic-making, as he led the +little blind girl through the forest of his romancing, was at the mercy +of those two that knew him for what he really was; except for queer, +wild, threatening looks now and again, he gave no sign. He played his +part magnificently, even trusting them to come in with help when they +were given their cue. He had dominated them for so long that even they +and the picture of him that they held in their minds were not so real +as his dreams. It was a queer game, queer and breathless, played in this +narrow space shut in by the white wilderness. And as the slow days went +by, the low log house seemed to be filled more and more with smothered +and conflicting emotions. A dozen times the whole extravaganza came near +collapse; a dozen times Hugh saved it by a word, or Pete and Bella by a +silence. Their parts were not easy, and although Pete still smiled, +his young clear face grew whiter and more strained. Sylvie treated him +always as though he were a child. She would pat his head and rumple his +hair if he sat near her; once, suddenly, she kissed him lightly on the +cheek, after he had moved the chair for her. + +“You’re a dear, quiet boy,” she said. “I frightened you to death, then, +didn’t I? Hasn’t anyone ever kissed you before?” His cheek burned so +that, touching it with her fingers, she laughed. “I’ve made you blush, +poor kid! I know. Boys hate petting, don’t they? You’ll have to get used +to it, Pete, because I mean to pet you--oh, a lot! You need some one +to draw you out. These two people snub you too much. Boys of +fourteen aren’t quite children, after all, are they? Besides, they’re +interesting. I know. I was fourteen myself not such ages back. You’re +not cross, are you, Pete?” + +His eyes were misty, and his hands were cold. He could not understand +his own emotion, his own pain. He muttered something and got himself +away. She called him “sullen” and was angry with him, complaining to +Hugh at supper that “Petey” had been “a bear” to her. Hugh simulated a +playful annoyance and began to scold; then a sort of nervous fury came +over him. He stamped and struck the table and snarled at Pete. The young +man rose at his place and stared at his brother silently. There were two +splotches of deep color on his cheeks. Sylvie protested: “Don’t, please, +be so angry with him. I was only teasing, just in fun. Bella, tell +Hugh to stop. I had no business to kiss Pete. But I just wanted to pet +something.” + +Hugh’s threatening suddenly stopped, and Pete sat down. In the +strained silence Bella laughed. Her laughter had the sound of a snapped +bow-string. Sylvie had pushed her chair back a little from the table and +was turning her head quickly from one to the other of them. Her mouth +showed a tremble of uncertainty. It was easy to see that she sensed a +tension, a confusion. Hugh leaned forward and broke into a good-humored +rattle of speech, and as Pete and Bella sat silent, Sylvie gradually was +reassured. Near the end of the meal she put out her hand toward Pete. + +“Please don’t be so cross with me, Pete! Give me a shake for +forgiveness.” + +He touched her hand, his eyes lowered, and drew his fingers away. She +laughed. + +“How shy you are--a wild, forest thing! I’ll have to civilize you.” + +“Leave him alone,” admonished Hugh softly, “leave him alone.” + +As he said this, he did not look at Sylvie, but gazed somberly at Pete. +It was a strange look, at once appealing and threatening, pitiful and +dangerous. Pete fingered his fork nervously. Finally Bella stood up and +began to clear the table with an unaccustomed clatter of noisy energy. + +“How long are you going to keep it up, Pete?” she asked him afterward. +He was helping her wash the dishes, drying them deftly with a piece of +flour-sacking. + +“Since we’ve let it begin, we’ll have to go on with it to a finish,” he +answered coldly. “After all”--he paused, polished a platter and turned +away to put it on its shelf--“he’s not doing anything so dreadful--just +twisting the facts a little. I _am_ an ignorant lout. I might as well be +fourteen, for all I know.” + +“And I _am_ a mummy of a woman?” + +In pity for her he made to put his arm about her. “Don’t be a goose, +Bella,” he said, but she flung his hand from her. “Why does it make you +so sore and angry?” he asked wistfully. “Hugh is not pretty to look +at, but perhaps Sylvie sees him better than we do--in a way; and if she +learns to love him while she’s blind, then, when she sees him, if she +ever sees him--” + +“Chances are she never will. If her eyes don’t get better soon, they +likely never will.” + +“Isn’t it horrible?” + +“You don’t seem to think so. So long’s she has Hugh to paint pictures +for her, what does she need eyes for? What’s to come of it, Pete? She’s +falling in love with the fine figure of a hero he’s made her believe he +is. But how can he marry her?” + +“Couldn’t he go off somewhere else and marry her and start again? +Honest, I think if Hugh had some one who thought he was a god, he’d +likely enough be one. He--he lives by--illusion--isn’t that the word? +It’s kind of easy to be noble when some one you love believes you to be, +isn’t it? That’s Hugh; he--” + +Bella threw down her rag, turned fiercely upon him and gripped his +shoulders. + +“Are you a man or a child?” she said. “You love this girl yourself!” + +“No!” he cried and broke from her and went limping out into the frosty +night with its comfortless glitter of stars. + +As soon as his ankle was stronger, Pete spent all day and most of the +night on his skis, trying to outrun the growing shadow of his misery. +Hugh’s work fell on his shoulders. He had not only his accustomed +chores, the Caliban duties of woodchopping and water-carrying, the +dressing of wild meat, the dish-drying and heavier housework, the +repairs about the cabin--but he had the trapping. In Hugh’s profound +new absorption he seemed to have forgotten the necessity for making a +livelihood. During the first years of their exile they had lived on his +savings, ordering their supplies by the mail, which left them at the +foot of that distant trail leading into the forest. Thence Hugh, under +shelter of night, would carry them--lonely, terrible journeys that taxed +even his strength. When Pete grew big enough to load, he was sent to the +trading-station, and Hugh became an expert trapper. The savings were +not entirely spent, but they were no longer touched; the pelts brought a +livelihood. + +Pete had had his instructions concerning his behavior at the +trading-station; many years before, he had stammered a legend of a +sickly father who had died, who was buried back there by the lonely +cabin where he and his “mother” chose to live. Bella and Hugh had even +dug up a mound for which they had fashioned a rude cross. It could +be seen, in summer, from the living-room window--that mock grave more +terrible in its suggestions than a real grave ever could have been. +There was also a hiding-place under the boards of the floor. No one +had ever seen the grave or driven Hugh into hiding. It was not an +inquisitive country, and its desolation was forbidding. Pete had learned +to discourage the rare sociability of the other traders. + +Now, however, the young man had not only to trade his pelts but to trap +them, and for this business of trapping which was distasteful to him, he +had not a tithe of Hugh’s skill. His bundle of pelts brought him a sorry +supply of necessities. He was ashamed, himself, and having dumped the +burden from his shoulders to the kitchen floor would hurry into the +other room, not to see Bella’s expression when she opened her bundles. + +To-night Pete was tired; the load had not been heavy, but the snow was +beginning to soften under the mild glowing of an April sun, and his skis +had tugged at his feet and gathered a clogging mass. His body ached, +and there was a sullen and despairing weight upon his spirit. A mob +of rebels danced in his heart. He watched Hugh’s face, saw the flaring +adoration of his eyes, thought that Sylvie must feel the scorch of them +on her cheek, so close. In his own eyes there showed a brooding fire. + +Bella broke into the room. + +“Look here,” she said, “you’d better get to trapping again, Hugh Garth. +Pete’s pelts don’t bring a quarter of what we need--especially these +days.” + +Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. “Oh, you mean me,” + she said, “I know you mean me. I’m making trouble. I’m eating too much. +I’ll go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the post-office, +trying to find me? They _must_ be hunting for me.” She had stood up and +was clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete protested in one +breath: “Nonsense, Sylvie!” + +And Pete went on with: “There hasn’t been anyone asking about you, +but--so much the better for us. You’re safe here, and comfortable, +aren’t you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have her +here.” + +It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie’s arrival, and it +was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old boy. +There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the youthful +quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him, to thank +him, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon him, a sudden +bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the edge of the +hearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her in his arms. +For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely, closer and more +fiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength of him and heard the +pounding of his heart. Then Hugh plucked her away with a smothered oath. +He put her into a chair, crushed her hand in one of his, and turned upon +Bella. + +“Go back into the kitchen,” he ordered brutally; “trapping’s not your +business. You mind your cooking.” + +“Be careful, Hugh!” Bella’s whisper whistled like a falling lash, “I’ll +not stand that tone from you. Be careful!” + +“Oh,” pleaded Sylvie, “why do you all quarrel so? Off here by yourselves +with nobody else to care, I’d think you would just love each other. I +love you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know you hate _me_. +Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so angry to have me +here? Does it make your work so much harder? I’ll soon be better; I’m +learning to feel my way about. I’ll be able to help you. I should think +you’d be glad to have a girl in the house--another woman. I’m sorry to +be a nuisance, really I am. I’d go if I could.” + +The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut down +with suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal. For +minutes no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room. She +had not answered Sylvie’s beseeching questions, but had only stood with +lowered head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress. She had +run out just as her face cramped as though for tears. + +When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie’s hands in +his. “You don’t mean that, do you?” he asked brokenly. “You don’t mean +you’d go away if you could, Sylvie!” + +At Hugh’s voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks. “If I +make you quarrel, if I’m a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate me so!” + +“But I”--he said--“I love you.” He drew her head--she was sitting in her +chair again--against his side. “No, don’t smile at me like that; I don’t +mean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly. Can’t you feel how +I love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don’t be frightened. There, +now you know how I love you!” + +He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him. + +“How can a man like you love _me_?” she asked with wistful uncertainty. + +“A man like me?” Hugh groaned. “Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay with +me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!” + +“Now it frightens me,” she whispered, “being blind. It does frighten +me now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you mustn’t +marry a blind girl, a waif. You’ve been so noble, you’ve suffered so +terribly. You ought to have some wonderful woman who would understand +your greatness, would see all that you are.” + +“Now,” he sighed, “now I _am_ great--because you think I am; that’s +water to me--after a lifetime of thirst.” + +“Hugh, _am_ I good enough for you?” She was sobbing and laughing at the +same time. + +It was too much for him. He drew himself gently away. He whispered: “I +can’t bear being loved--being happy. I’ll go out by myself for a bit +alone. Sylvie, Sylvie! Every instant I--I worship _you_!” He threw +himself down before her and pressed his face against her knees. She +caressed the thick, grizzled hair. He stood up and then stumbled away +from her, more blind than she, out of the house into the gathering +night. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +In the big, rudely carved chair Sylvie leaned back her head and pressed +her hands to her unseeing eyes. She was not sorry that Hugh had left +her, for she was oppressed and unnerved by her own emotions. Until he +had kissed her hair, she had not known that she loved him--or rather +loved an invisible presence that had enveloped her in an atmosphere of +sympathy, of protection, that had painted itself, so to speak, in heroic +colors and proportions against her darkness, that had revealed both +strength and tenderness in touch and movement, and warm, deep voice. + +For until now Sylvie’s life had been entirely lacking in protection and +tenderness; she had never known sympathy--her natural romanticism had +been starved. The lacks in her life Hugh had supplied the more lavishly +because he was aided, in her blindness, by the unrestricted powers of +her fancy. But now in all the fervor of this, Sylvie felt, also for +the first time, the full bitterness of her blindness. If she could see +him--if only once! If she could see him! + +And there came to Sylvie unreasonably, disconnectedly, a keen memory of +Pete’s embrace when he had caught her up from falling on the hearth. +A boy of fourteen? Strange that he should be so strong, that his heart +should beat so loud, that his arms should draw themselves so closely, so +powerfully about her. What were they really like, these people who +moved unseen around her and who exerted such great power over her sudden +helplessness? + +She got up and began to walk to and fro restlessly, gropingly across the +room. She wished now that Hugh would come back. He had been with her so +constantly that she had grown utterly dependent upon him. The dense red +fog that lay so thick about her, frightened her when Hugh was not +there to keep her mind busy with his talk to paint pictures for her, to +command her with his magnetic presence. She stood still and strained her +eyes. She _must_ see again. If she tried hard, the red fog would surely +lift. Happiness, and her new love, they would be strong enough to dispel +the mist. There--already it was a shade lighter! She almost thought that +she could make out the brightness of the fire. She went toward it and +sat down on the bear-skin, holding out her tremulous, excited hands. And +with a sudden impulse toward confidence she called: “Pete, O Pete! Come +here a moment, please.” + +He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguely +directed smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve of +his body holding itself at a distance. + +“Pete,” she said wistfully, “what can I do to make you love me?” + +He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing. + +“Are you jealous?” + +“No, Sylvie,” he muttered. + +“Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I’d understand +you better. Pete, try to be a little more--more human. Tell me +about yourself. Haven’t you a bit of fondness for me? You see, I +want--Pete--some day perhaps I’ll be your sister--” + +“Then he has asked you to marry him?” + +He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone. + +“Don’t,” she said. “Hush! We have only just found out. He went away +because he couldn’t bear his own happiness. Pete--” She felt for him and +her hand touched his cheek. “Oh, Pete, your face is wet. You’re crying.” + +“No, I’m not,” he denied evenly. “It was melting from the roof when I +came in.” + +She sighed. “You are so strange, Pete. Will you let me kiss you +now--since you are going to be my big little brother?” + +“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t.” + +She laughed and crooked her arm about his neck, forcing his face down to +hers. His lips were hard and cool. + +The face that Sylvie imagined a boy’s face, shy and blushing, half +frightened, half cross, perhaps a trifle pleased, was so white and +patient a face in its misery that her blind tenderness seemed almost +like an intentional cruelty. It was an intensity of feeling almost +palpable, but Sylvie’s mouth remained unburnt, though it removed itself +with a pathetic little twist of disappointment. + +“You don’t need to say anything,” she said, “You’ve shown me how you +feel. You can’t like me. You are sorry I came. And I want so dreadfully +for some one just now to talk to--to help me, to understand. It’s all +dark and wonderful and frightening. I wish I had a brother--” + +She bent her face to her knees and began to cry simply and passionately. +At that Pete found it easy to forget himself. He put his arm very +carefully about her, laying one of his hands on her bent head and +stroking her hair. + +“You have a brother,” he said. “Right here.” + +The dark small silken head shook. “No. You don’t like me.” + +“I do--I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I’d like +awfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, you’ve +been so much with Hugh, I haven’t had a chance to know you as he does. +And I guess--well--maybe I’m sort of shy.” + +She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in both +of hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten for the +pleasure of its warmth. “You must get over being shy with me, Pete. We +both love Hugh; we both admire him so. I’d so love to talk to you about +him--” + +“Then do, Sylvie.” + +“I’ve never seen him,” she sighed, “and you can see him all day long, +Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me--every bit +of him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his face +and--everything. Tell me all you remember about him always.” + +“I--I’m no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long--why, you +don’t know what he looks like, ‘specially if he’s your own brother.” + +“Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes.” + +“He has hazel eyes--I think you’d call them--” + +“Yes?” she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in her +excitement. “Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you’d do this so much +better.” + +“I--I--but I don’t know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very strong.” + +“Of course. I know that. Didn’t he pick me up out of the snow and carry +me home? He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You are very +strong too, Pete--_very_ strong. Are _your_ eyes hazel?” + +“No; blue.” + +“I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just the +Viking sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You think +I’m a silly goose, don’t you?” + +“Yes, rather.” + +“Don’t keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can’t guess how it +comforts me. I’m awfully alone here, and strange. I don’t suppose you +know how queer and frightening it’s been--this getting lost and being +brought here in the dark, and then--living on in the dark, just trusting +my instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell a lot about +people, don’t they?--more than I ever dreamed they could. Pete, there is +nothing in that--that splendid, generous thing Hugh did, the thing I +am not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from going back to +the world--some place--that is, far away from where it happened--and +beginning again, is there?” + +“I hope not, Sylvie.” + +She sighed. “Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn’t told me of it, I +never should have known half of his greatness; yet I can’t help wishing +he were free. It’s sad to think there will always be the memory of that +dreadful suffering and danger in his life.” + +“Very sad,” said Pete. + +“How alone we both are--he and I! Bella, and you, Pete--don’t be angry, +please--I don’t think you quite understand Hugh, quite appreciate him.” + +“Perhaps not.” + +“He has always been lonely. You are so young, and Bella is so +stupid--stupid and cross.” + +“No, she isn’t, Sylvie. I know Bella a lot better than you do. She’s not +stupid or cross--” + +“Well, I like you to stick up for your old nurse. She certainly must +have loved you a lot to bring you way out here and to stay here all +these years to take care of you. I wonder where she’ll go and what +she’ll do when Hugh and I get married. You’re too old for a nurse +now, Pete. Do you mind if I lean back against you that way? It’s so +comfortable. I’d be happier without Bella, Pete, you know.” + +“Would you, Sylvie? Well, Bella and I will have to go away together +somewhere, I guess.” + +“I didn’t say you, dear. I love you a lot--next best to Hugh. There’s +something awfully sweet about you--you great strong overgrown thing! +Your heart goes _thump-thump-thump-thump_, as though it was as big as +the sun.... I feel much better and happier now. Things have got steady +again. Only--I wish Hugh would come back.” + +Pete gave a strangled sigh. + +“He’ll be back.” And he began to draw himself away from her. “I think I +hear him now, Sylvie.” + +“Stay where you are,” she laughed. “Don’t be ashamed of being found with +a sister leaning against you and holding your hand. Are you afraid of +Hugh? I think sometimes he’s rather hard with you--I’ll have to speak +to him about that. Oh”--in a sudden ecstasy--“how happy I am! I feel as +light as the air. I want every one to be happy. Tell me when Hugh comes +in how happy he looks, Pete--promise me, quick! There he is at the door +now.” + +“Yes,” he whispered, “I promise. Let me go, please, Sylvie.” + +He pulled himself away and stood up. At the instant, the door was opened +and shut quickly, stealthily. It was Hugh, breathing hard, gray with +fear. + +“They’re coming,” he said harshly. “Pete, they’re after me. Men are +coming across the flat.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +“Did they see you?” Pete demanded anxiously. + +“I don’t think so.” Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fled +across the snow at top speed. + +“Get in, then, quick--out of sight.” Pete was already tearing up boards +above that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to step down +into it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing as the +unseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands clasped, +her head turning from side to side. “Look here,” whispered Hugh, still +absorbed in his own danger, “don’t let them know that Sylvie just +wandered in here. Don’t let them start asking her any questions; it’s +too dangerous. Let her be--one of the family.” He smiled maliciously. +“Let her be your wife, Pete.” Then, as though that picture had fired his +love through its hint of jeopardy, he held out both arms suddenly: “Come +here, Sylvie--lead her to me, Pete.” + +The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh’s +shoulders Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmur +of their voices: + +“Hugh, dearest--are you afraid?” And his: “Trust me, little darling. +Love me.” A kiss. + +Then a sharp, whispered summons: “Quick, can’t you, Pete? Get these +boards down.” + +When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stood +flushed and with her hands over her face. + +Bella had meantime been collecting the most characteristic of Hugh’s +belongings--those that could not be supposed to belong to Pete--and now +thrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were rearranged, the +rug laid evenly over them. Then the three stood staring at one another, +listening helplessly to the nearing sounds. + +“Oh, Pete,” Sylvie gasped, “tell me what I must do--or what I ought to +say.” + +“Tell them,” said Bella, “what Hugh told you--that you are Pete’s wife. +They’ll be looking for a different household from that, and it will help +to put them off.” + +“But--but Pete won’t look old enough.” + +“Yes, he will. He looks older than you,” Bella declared harshly. “You +sit down and keep quiet; that’s the best you can do; and for God’s sake +don’t look so scared. There’s a grave outside to show them, and nobody +digs up a six-year-old grave. They won’t find Hugh. Nobody’s ever +seen him. Don’t shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; this +country has sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. I’ll +be in the kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor clothes. They’ll +have seen Hugh’s tracks even if they haven’t seen him, so somebody’s +got to have just come in. Be whistling and talking, natural and calm. +Remember we’re all at home, just quiet and happy--no reason to be +afraid. That’s it.” + +Through her darkness Sylvie heard the knocking and Pete’s opening of +the door, the scraping of snow, the questions, the simplicity of Pete’s +replies. + +Then she was made known. “My wife, gentlemen!” And a moment later: “My +mother!” And she heard Bella’s greeting, loud and cheerful like that +of a woman who is glad to see a visitor. Chairs were drawn up and +cigarettes rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of the +smoke. There was brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that while +they talked, the two strangers searched the place and the faces of its +inmates with cold, keen, suspicious eyes. She was grateful now for her +blindness. There came a sharp statement: + +“We’re looking for Ham Rutherford, the murderer.” Sylvie’s heart +contracted in her breast. + +“Well, sir,” laughed Pete, in his most boyish, light-hearted fashion, +“that sounds interesting. But it’s a new name to me.” + +“It’s an old case, however,” said the man, the man who spoke more like +an Easterner than the sheriff. “Fifteen years old! They’ve dug it up +again back East. The daughter of the man that was killed came into some +money and thinks she can’t spend it any better than in hunting down her +father’s murderer. Now, we’ve traced Rutherford to this country, and +pretty close to this spot. He made a getaway before trial, and he came +out here fifteen years ago. About two years later he sent back East for +his kid brother--he’d be about your age now, Mr.--what you say your name +was?--Garth, Peter Garth. You’ll have to excuse the sheriff; he’s bound +to search your place.” Sylvie had heard the footsteps going through +the three rooms. “A woman named Bertha Scrane, a distant cousin of +Rutherford’s to whom he’d been kind, brought the child out. Now, +Missis--what’s your name?” + +“Bella Garth,” she said tranquilly. “I came out here with my husband, +who died six years ago. He’s buried out there under the snow. I’ve lived +here with my son and my son’s wife.” + +“Yes. It’s not the household we’d been expecting to find. It’s a lonely +place, Missis.” He looked at Sylvie. “I should think you’d prefer going +to some town.” + +“We’re used to it here now,” Bella answered. + +“How’d your husband happen here, ma’am?” + +“His health was poor; he’d heard of this climate, and he wanted to try +trapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad on him, and +Pete’s done well ever since. We haven’t suffered any.” + +“No, I guess not. You don’t look like you’d suffered.” + +The talk went on, an awkward, half-disguised cross-questioning as +to Bella’s birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband’s +antecedents. She was extraordinarily calm, ready and reasonable with her +replies. + +“Well, sir”--the sheriff strolled back into the room--“I reckon these +aren’t the parties we’re after. But look a-here, this is a description +of Ham Rutherford. Likely you might have had a glimpse of him since you +came into the country. When he made his getaway he was about thirty-two, +height five feet eight, ugly, black-haired, noticeable eyes, manner +violent. He was deformed, one leg shorter, one shoulder higher than the +other, mouth twisted, and a scar across the nose. He’d been hurt in a +fire when he was a child--” + +Sylvie broke into a spontaneous ripple of mirth, the full measure of her +relief. “Goodness,” she said with utter spontaneity. “There’s certainly +never been a monster like that in this house, has there, Pete?” + +It did more than all that had gone before to convince the inquisitors. +From that minute there was a distinct relaxation; the evening, indeed, +turned to one of sociability. + +“We hate to inconvenience you, ma’am, but it seems like at this distance +from town we’ve got to ask you for supper and a place to sleep.” + +If it had not been for the thought of Hugh in hiding, that supper and +the evening about the hearth would have been to Sylvie a pleasant one. +The men, apparently laying aside all suspicion, were entertaining; +their adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, moving, humorous +experience. It was Sylvie herself, prompted by curiosity, believing +as she did that the monster the sheriff had described bore no possible +resemblance to the man she loved, who asked suddenly: + +“Do tell us about the man you’re hunting for now--this Rutherford? Tell +us about what he did.” + +The Easterner gave her a look, and Bella, seeing it, chimed in: “Yes, +sure. Tell us about his crime.” + +Pete stood up and rolled another cigarette. Try as he might to steady +his fingers, they trembled. He had never heard Hugh’s story. He did +not want to hear it. The very name of Rutherford that had, in what now +seemed to him another age, belonged to Hugh and to him was terrible +in his ears. A sickness of dread seized him. Fortunately the eyes of +neither of the men were upon him. Sylvie had their whole attention. + +The detective spoke. “He was a storekeeper back in a university town, +way East, where I came from. He kept a bookshop and had a heap of +book-learning. I remember him myself, though I was a youngster. He was a +wonderful, astonishing sort of chap, though as ugly as the devil; had a +great gift of narration, never told the truth in his life, I guess, but +that only made him all the more entertaining. And he had a temper--phew! +Redhot! He’d fly out and storm and strike in all directions. That’s +what did for him. Some fool quarrel about a book it was, and the man, +a frequenter of the shop, a scholar, a scientist, professor at the +university, accused Rutherford of lying. Rutherford had a heavy brass +paper-cutter in his hand. The professor had a nasty tongue in his head. +Well, a tongue’s no match for a paper-cutter. The professor said too +much, called Rutherford a hump-backed liar and got a clip on the head +that did for him.” + +“It’s an ugly story,” said Sylvie. Bella and Pete retained their +silence. + +“Murder ain’t pretty telling, as a general thing,” remarked the sheriff. + +“No, though I’ve heard of cases where a man was justified in killing +another man--I mean to save some one he loved from dreadful suffering,” + Sylvie replied. + +“Well, ma’am, I don’t know about that. I’ve read stories that make it +look that way, but in all my experience, it’s the cowards and the fools +that kill, and they do it because they’re lower down, closer to the +beast, or perhaps to an uncontrolled child, than most of us.” + +“But there was a time,” Bella said, with a smothered passion, “when an +insult to a gentleman’s honor had to be avenged.” + +“Yes, ma’am,” drawled the sheriff, “in them history days things was +fixed up to excuse animal doin’s, kind of neater and easier and more +becomin’ than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we have our beds? We’ve +kept these ladies up talkin’ long enough. Your mother looks plum wore +out.” + +They slept in the bed usually shared by Pete and Hugh. Pete lay on the +floor in the living-room not far from his brother’s hiding-place--lay +there rigid and feverish, staring at the night. Sylvie, at Bella’s side, +slept no better. Her imagination went over and over the story of Ham +Rutherford’s crime. She saw the little dark bookshop, the professor’s +thin, sneering face, the hideous anger of the cripple, the blow, the +dead body, Rutherford’s arrest. And when her brain was sick, it would +turn for relief to the noble story of Hugh’s self-sacrifice, only to be +balked by a sense of unreality. What the detective had told, briefly +and dryly, lived in her mind convincingly; but Hugh’s romance, that had +glowed on his tongue, now lay lifeless on her fancy. Back her mind would +go to the bookshop, the gibing professor, the heavy paper-cutter. + +In the dawn she heard Bella get up with a deep-shaken sigh and go about +her preparations for breakfast. But it was noon before the two men left. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Hugh came up from his hiding-place like a man risen from the dead. They +helped him to his chair before the fire; they poured coffee down him, +rubbed his blue, stiff hands. He sat looking up pitifully, his eyes +turning from one to the other of them like those of a beaten hound. All +the masterfulness, all the bombast, had been crushed out of him; even +the splendor of his flaring hazel eyes was dimmed--they were hollow, +hopeless, old. For a long time he did not speak, only drank the coffee +and submitted himself meekly to their ministrations; then at last he +touched Sylvie with a trembling hand. + +“Sylvie,” he whispered brokenly. + +“Hugh, dear, you’re safe now; please speak; please laugh; you frighten +me more than anything--why is he so silent, Pete? Bella, tell me what’s +wrong?” + +“He’s been crouching there on the damp, cold ground for hours,” said +Bella, “not knowing what might happen.” Her voice trembled; she passed a +hand as shaking as her voice across Hugh’s bent head. “You’re safe now. +You’re safe now,” she murmured. + +Hugh’s teeth chattered, and he bent closer to the fire. + +“Ugh--it was cold down there,” he said, “like a grave! Sylvie, come +here.” Just an echo of his old imperious fashion it was--though the +look was that of a beggar for alms. “Give me those warm little hands of +yours.” She knelt close to him, rubbed his hands in hers, looking up at +Pete with a tremulous mouth that asked for advice. + +“He’ll be all right in a minute,” said Pete. “You talk to him, Sylvie.” + +“Yes, you talk--you talk. Do you remember how I talked to you when you +were afraid of the bears--ah!” He drew her head savagely against his +breast, folded his arms about it, stroked the hair. “Sylvie! Is it all +right? Can it be--the same?” + +“Yes, yes, why not?” + +“Were you frightened?” + +“Not after the first. After they had described you, I knew that they +were looking for the wrong man, and then I felt all right. I didn’t +know--poor Hugh!--how cold and cramped you were. What a shame that you +took a false alarm and hid yourself! I don’t believe there would have +been a bit of danger if you’d stayed out. They’d never even heard of +you, I suppose.” + +Her talk, so gay, so strangely at cross-purposes with reality, was like +a vivifying wine to him. The color came back into his face; a wild sort +of relief lighted his eyes. + +“Then it didn’t occur to you, Sylvie, that that brute might have been +me--that the men might, after all, have been describing me--eh?” he +asked, risking all his hope on one throw. + +She laughed, and, lifting herself a little in his arms, touched her soft +mouth to his. “But, Hugh, you told me your story, don’t you remember? +And it is gloriously, mercifully different from Rutherford’s.” + +He put his chin on his fist and stared over her head into the fire. +She felt the slackening of his embrace and searched his arms with +questioning fingers. “Why are you cross, Hugh? Did I say anything to +hurt you? Let’s forget Ham Rutherford. I wonder where he is, poor, +horrible wretch!” + +“Dead--dead--dead,” Hugh muttered. “Dead and buried--or he ought to be. +O God!” he groaned, and crushed her close against him; “I can’t ask you +to love me, Sylvie--to marry me. Now you know what it is like to love a +man who must be afraid of other men. What right have I to ask any woman +to share my life?” + +“But, Hugh--if I love you?” + +“And you do love me?” he asked. + +“Yes.” + +He laughed out at that, stood up, drawing her to stand beside him. +“Bella--Pete,” he called, “do you hear--you two?” He beckoned them +close, laid a hand on them, drew first one, then the other toward +Sylvie. “She loves me. She sees me as I am!” Suddenly he put his +grizzled head on Sylvie’s shoulder and wept. She felt her way back to +the chair, sat down, and drew him to kneel with his arms about her, her +head bent over him, her small hands caressing him. She looked at Pete +for help, for explanations, but she could not see his pale, tormented +face. + +After a while Hugh was calm and sat at her feet, smoking. But he was +unnaturally silent, and his eyes brooded upon her haggardly. + +It was several days before Hugh regained his old vigor and buoyancy; +then it came to life like an Antaeus flung down to mother earth. His +hour of doubt, of self-distrust, of compunction, was whirled away like +an uprooted tree on the flood of his happiness. He flung reason and +caution to the four winds; he dared Bella or Pete to betray him, he +played his heroic part with boisterous energy; his tongue wagged like a +tipsy troubadour’s. What an empty canvas, a palette piled with rainbow +tints, a fistful of clean brushes would be to an artist long starved for +his tools, such was Sylvie’s mind to Hugh. She was darkness for him to +scrawl upon with light; she was the romantic ear to his romantic tongue; +she was the poet reader for his gorgeous imagery. He had not only the +happiness of the successful lover, but even more, the happiness of the +successful creator. What he was creating was the Hugh that might have +been. + +With Sylvie clinging to his hand, he now went out singing--the three of +them together, great Hugh and happy artist Hugh all but welded into +one man for her and for her love. Those were splendid days, days of +fantastic happiness. Hugh’s joy, his sense of freedom, gave him a +tenfold gift of fascination. + +Yet one day--one of those dim, moist spring days more colorful to Hugh’s +heart than any of his days--there cut into his consciousness like a +hard, thin edge, a sense of a little growing change in Sylvie. It had +been there--the change,--slightly, dimly there, ever since the sheriff’s +visit. It was not that she doubted Hugh--such a suspicion would have +struck him instantly aware and awake--but that she had become in some +way uncertain of herself, restless, depressed, afraid. And it was always +his love-making that brought the reaction, a curious, delicate, inner +recoil, so delicate and slight, so deep beneath the threshold of her +consciousness, that in the blind glory of his self-intoxication he +missed it altogether--might, indeed, have gone on missing it, as she +would have gone on ignoring or repressing it, if it had not been for +their kiss on the mountain-top. + +This was one of Hugh’s madnesses; he would take Sylvie up a mountain and +show her his kingdom, show her himself as lord of the wilderness. He had +been there before many times, to the top of their one mountain, always +under protest from Bella and Pete. It was a bare rock exposed to half +the world and all the eyes of Heaven; and for a man in hiding, a man who +lived, yet whose name was carved above a grave, it was a very target for +untoward accident. Some trader or trapper down in the forest might look +up and behold the misshapen figure black and bold, against the sky. +Yet there was never so mighty a Hugh as when he stood there defiant and +alone. Now he wanted Sylvie to sense that tragic magnificence. + +So they went out, Hugh’s arm about her, as strange a pair of lovers as +ever tempted the spring--the great, scarred, uncouth, gray cripple and +the slim, unseeing girl, groping and clinging, absolutely shut off from +any contact with reality as long as this man should interpret creation +for her. Sylvie turned back to wave at Pete, whom they had left standing +in the doorway. + +“I’ll be hunting for you if you stay out late,” he called--to which Hugh +shouted back: “You hunting for us! Don’t fancy I can’t take care of this +child, myself.” + +“Both of them blind!” Pete muttered to himself in answer. + +They were moving rather slowly across the rough, sagebrush-covered flat, +and presently Hugh led Sylvie into the fragrant silence of the forest +trail. To her it was all scent and sound. Hugh whispered to her what +this drumming meant and that chattering and that sudden rattle almost +under their feet. + +They had to go slowly, Sylvie touching the trees here and there, along +her side of the trail. He lifted her over logs and fallen trees, and +sometimes, before he set her down, he kissed her. Then Sylvie would turn +her head shyly, and he would laugh. Thus they made slow, sweet progress. + +“I see more in the woods with your eyes than I ever could with my own,” + she told him. + +“I have eyes for us both,” he answered. “That’s why God gave me the eyes +I have, because He knew the use I’d be making of them.” + +“Is this the trail Pete follows to the trading-station?” she asked. “I +wish you could take me there, Hugh, or--would you let him take me?” + +He tightened his arm. “I can’t bear to have you out of my sight,” he +answered. + +She sighed. “It seems so queer that they haven’t tried to find me. Do +you suppose they think that I’m dead? Did Pete mail my letter to Miss +Foby, I wonder?” + +“What does Miss Foby matter?” he asked jealously. “What does anything +matter to you but--me? Here we leave Pete’s trail and I take you +straight up the mountain, dear one. We’ll rest now and then; when we get +to the rocky place just below the top, I’ll carry you. Are you happy? +I always feel as if my heart melted with the snow when spring comes--a +wild, free, tumbling feeling of softness and escape.” + +She sighed. “Yes--if only I could see. I miss my eyes out of doors more +than in the house. Does snow-blindness really last so long? Perhaps it +was the nervous shock and the exhaustion as much as the glare. I am sure +it all will just go suddenly some day. I stare and stare sometimes, and +I feel as if I might see--almost.” + +He frowned. “You mustn’t miss anything when you have me, Sylvie. Do you +suppose I miss anything, now that I have you? My career, my old friends, +my old life, my liberty, the world? That for everything!” He snapped his +fingers. “If only I have you.” + +“You love me so much,” she answered, as though she were oppressed, “it +frightens me sometimes.” + +“When you are wholly mine--” he began. “Well, wait till we get to the +top of the mountain; there I’ll tell you all my plans. They’re as big +and beautiful as the world. I feel, with your love, that I can move +mountains. I can fashion the world close to my heart’s desire. We’ll +leave this blank spot and go to some lovely, warm, smiling land where +the water is turquoise and the sky aquamarine--” + +“And perhaps my sight will come back.” It was almost a prayer. + +He did not answer. They had come to a sharp sudden ascent. He took her +in his arms, scrambled across the tumbled rocks, and set her down beside +him on the great granite crest that rose like the edge of a gray wave. +The clean, wild wind smote her and shook her and pressed back her hair +and dress. She clung to him. + +“Is it steep? Are we on the edge of a cliff, Hugh? I’m not afraid!” + +“We’re on the very top of the world,” he told her breathlessly, his +voice filled with a sense of awe, “our world, Sylvie, I’m master here. +There’s no greater mind than my own in all that dark green circle. It’s +pines, pines, pines to the edge of the earth, Sylvie, an ocean of purple +and green--silver where the wind moves, treading down, like Christ +walking on the water. And the sky is all gray, like stone.” + +“Can you see the flat, the cabin?” + +“The flat, yes--a round green spot, way down there behind us. The cabin? +No. That’s in a hollow, you may be sure, well out of sight. I’m an +outlaw, dearest, remember. There’s a curve of the river, like a silver +elbow. And Sylvie, up above us, an eagle is turning and turning in a +huge circle. He thinks he’s king. But, Sylvie, it’s our world--yours and +mine. This is our marriage.” + +She drew back. “What do you mean?” + +“Haven’t you a feeling for such images? We’ll go before a parson--don’t +be afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you too much for that. +Why, Sylvie, what’s wrong?” + +When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her face +to his arm and began to cry. + +“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.... But please don’t kiss me like that, +not like that!” + +He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for him, +found him and clung. + +“Hugh, don’t be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps +it’s because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait. +Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don’t understand? You’re angry? +But I can’t explain it any better.” + +“You can lay your hand on me,” he said hoarsely. “God knows I’m real +enough.” And he thought so! “My love for you is here like a granite +block, Sylvie.” + +“I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know +you--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little, Hugh. +Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog will lift. +Then we’ll really be on top of the mountain.” She laughed, but rather +sadly. + +“I will always hate this mountain-top,” he said. “I used to love it. I +was so close to happiness, and now you’ve snatched it out of my reach.” + He drew in sobbing breaths. + +“No--it’s myself I’m keeping from happiness, not you,” she answered. +“I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh, be +patient.” She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her lips. +“Please be patient. Let’s go down out of this wind. I can’t see your +world, and I’m cold.” + +So, in silence--a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +They came down the hill rapidly and carelessly. Hugh, stung by pain and +anger, threw himself over the rocks, and Sylvie was too proud to show +her timidity or to ask for help. She crept and climbed up and down, +saving herself with groping hand, letting one foot test the distances +before she put the other down. At last the rattle of his progress +sounded so far below that she quavered: “Aren’t you going to wait for +me, Hugh?” + +He stopped short, and for a moment watched her silently; then, smitten +by the pathos of her progress--a little child, she seemed, against the +mountain toppling so close behind her--he came swinging up to her and +gave her his hand. + +“You _need_ me, anyway, don’t you?” he asked with a tender sort of +roughness. + +She couldn’t answer because she didn’t want him to know that he had +made her cry. She kept her face turned from him and hurried along at his +side. + +“Why do you go so fearfully fast?” she was forced at last to protest. + +“Because I want to get down from this accursed mountain. I want to get +down into the woods again where I was happy.” + +“Hugh”--she pulled at his arm--“you are only a child after all.” + +“Perhaps.” + +“Well--” She stopped. “Go home alone, then. I’ll be no worse off than +when you found me the first time. Pete will come out and hunt for me. +He has a far sweeter temper than you, Hugh, and doesn’t think only of +himself.” + +He swung away at that, resting his hand against a big rock to clear +a hole; then, seeing her about to step down into it, he pivoted back, +caught her up bodily in his arms, and, laughing, ran with her down the +hill, bounding over the rocks, leaping over the crevices, while she +clung to him in fright. + +“You silly child!” he cried. “This is the way I’ll take you home. Now +I’ve got you, and I’ll punish you well, too.” She clung to him and +begged him to stop. She was frightened by their rash, plunging progress, +by his speech. She struggled. “Let me down. I won’t be carried like this +against my will. Hugh, let me down!” + +“All right!” He fairly flung her from him on a grassy spot. He was about +to leave her when a rushing rattle sounded above them. The boulder +he had twice used to turn his own weight upon was charging down the +hillside! Just in time he caught Sylvie, threw her to one side and fell +prone, helpless, in the path of the slide. He cried out, flinging up his +arm, and, as though his cry had been of magic, the boulder faltered and +stopped. A root half buried just above his body had made a hollow and a +ledge; it had rocked the rolling fragment back up on its haunches, so to +speak, and balanced it to a stop. + +“Hugh! Hugh!” sobbed Sylvie. “What was it? Are you hurt?” + +She crept up to him. + +“No,” Hugh told her, breathing heavily. “It was a rolling rock.” + +“How did you stop it? You must be hurt, crushed, bruised.” + +“My arm’s wrenched--not badly.” He had in fact wrenched it slightly. + +“Your poor arm! You were so quick, so strong. You didn’t think of your +own life. And I’ve been so cruel. Hugh, Hugh, kiss me.” + +Hugh took his reward, none the less sweet to his strange nature, in that +it was only potentially earned. And joy, like a warm flood, crept up +again to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small love +close. One of his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. She +rubbed it for him. + +“You’d better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badly +hurt. You’re sure it isn’t broken?” she asked. + +“Quite sure.” + +“Lean on me! I’ll help you down. You can tell me where to step.” + +“Nonsense,” he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. “A +strained arm won’t hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover’s quarrel, +didn’t we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the boulder!” + +“Don’t joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Are +you always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you had +been--” She shivered. + +“Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours, Sylvie?” + He bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned his lesson, +and there was restraint and timidity in that kiss. + +“The sun’s come out,” cried Sylvie. + +“Yes, it’s splendidly bright. There’s a clean slit in the sky; there at +the western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch, the way +a boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he’s caught. All’s gold behind +it, Sylvie, burning gold. The rocks are like bright copper. And the +pines, they’re incandescent, phosphorescent green--” + +“If I could only see it!” + +Down near the pines a tall, still figure stood watching them. It was +Pete, and his smile, usually so frank and sweet, had now a sardonic +twist. As they came down out of their sun into his shadow, he spoke with +a drag to his syllables. + +“Hullo,” he said. “That was a narrow escape you had, you two!” + +The voice might have been a pistol-shot for the start it gave to Hugh. + +“Why, it’s Pete. We must be late, Pete,” Sylvie called joyously. “Did +you see how Hugh saved my life? He threw himself down before the rock +and stopped it. He’s hurt his poor arm. The great stone was right on top +of us, and he threw me out of the way and set his own strength against +it. I couldn’t see the rock, Pete, but it felt like a mountain.” + +“It was big enough to smash you both,” said Pete. + +He looked at Hugh, whose eyes glared in a strained, shamed face. The +older man’s fingers worked nervously; he opened his lips and closed them +again. It was easy to understand the travail of his mind, unwilling +to forego the imaginary bit of heroism, and yet abashed by the boy’s +awareness of the lie. + +Pete gave one short laugh; then, springing suddenly across a fallen tree +that separated them, he caught Sylvie up into his arms. + +“You can’t carry her with a wrenched arm,” he said, half gayly, half +tauntingly, “and at the best rate she can go, it will be night before we +get her home. I’m strong. I’ll carry her myself.” + +Sylvie laughed protesting that she was being treated like a doll, and +resigned herself to Pete’s swift, smooth stride. It was as though she +were skimming through space, so quietly did his moccasined feet press +the pine-needled earth, so exquisitely did his young strength save her +from any jar. He whistled softly through his teeth as he ran in long, +swift strides. And as he did not speak to her, she lay silent, yet +strangely peaceful and happy. Hugh was left far behind. The forest +fragrance moved cool and resinous against her face. + +“I feel as if we could go on and on forever,” she said with a sigh, +“forever and ever and ever.” + +“We will,” he answered through his teeth, hardly pausing in his +whistling for the odd reply. “We will.” + +But for all that, he set her gently and suddenly down, and she knew that +she stood again at the cabin door. + +“Pete, where are you?” she asked. + +But he had disappeared, still in utter silence, like a genie whose task +is done. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +“What did he say to you? What did he say to you?” asked Hugh again and +again. + +Sylvie laughed at him. + +“He didn’t say anything--hardly a word, except that he pretended he was +going on forever. He said: ‘We will, we will.’ That’s absolutely all, +Hugh. Don’t be so silly. What _could_ he say?” + +“I don’t know,” Hugh answered. “He might have made fun of me.” + +“Fun of you! After saving my life! I’d have boxed his ears! No, no, +Peter wouldn’t do that. He’s afraid of me.” + +She was so proud of this that Hugh, perforce, laughed. It was after +supper, and they had walked a little way from the cabin. They were +standing just above the river on a little hillock topped with three big +pines. The dusk was thick about them; stars pricked the soft sky. Sylvie +was wrapped in Hugh’s coat, and they were linked by their hands hanging +at their sides. Every one but Sylvie had been very silent at supper, but +she had told her story of Hugh’s heroism again and again until finally +even Hugh had grumbled at “the fuss.” + +“What makes you think anyone could be afraid of you?” He smiled down at +the small dark head which did not reach his shoulder. + +“He’s afraid I’ll kiss him. Don’t grip my hand that way; it hurts. You +couldn’t be jealous of a boy! Besides, I _don’t_ kiss him any more. I +never have kissed him but that once--no, twice, when I told him that I +was going to be his sister.” + +“You told him that?” Hugh’s voice had an odd anxiety. “How did he take +it?” + +“I don’t think he was very enthusiastic. He loves you so much, Hugh; you +are the very heart of his universe, and I suppose he is jealous of your +love for me. Since then he’s avoided me and is as dumb as a fish when I +talk to him. I think his body has outgrown his mind, Hugh.” + +“Perhaps. I don’t know,” he answered. + +“And Bella is so silent, too. Hugh, it must have been a lonely life for +you before I came. Those two people, though they love you so much, are +not companionable. I think, Hugh, that they aren’t able to understand +you. You are so brilliant, and they are so dull; you are so articulate, +and they are so dumb; you are so warm, so quick to see, to feel, to +sympathize, while they are so slow and so cold. Dear Hugh, I’m glad I +came. I am stupid myself, but I have enough intelligence to understand +you--a little, haven’t I, dear?” + +“So much more than enough!” The low speech with its tremor of humility +was almost lost. + +“What a noise the river makes!” he said presently. + +“Yes. And the pines. The whole air is full of rushing and sighing and +clapping and rattling. Sounds tell me so much now. They fill my whole +life. It is very queer. Why, a voice means more to me now, I think, than +a face ever did.... Is it a deep river, Hugh?” + +“Now it is--deep and dangerous. But it goes down very quickly when the +snow at its source has melted. In summer it is a friendly little brook, +and in the fall a mere trickle that hardly wets your shoe. I have a boat +here tied to the root of one of these trees, a boat I made myself, to +pole across when the stream is too deep for wading. I’ll take you out in +it when the flood’s down; it wouldn’t last fifteen minutes now. In +the spring, Sylvie, a nymph comes down from the mountain, a wild white +nymph. She has ice-green hair and frost-white arms; you can see her +lashing the water, and if you listen, you can hear her sing and cry. +Let’s go in, dear; you’re tired and cold--I can feel you shivering. +We’ll start a big fire, and I’ll tell you how that nymph caught me +once and nearly strangled me with her cold, wet arms. I was trying to +save--you’ll laugh when I tell you about it--a baby bear.” + +Pete and Bella made room for them silently about the hearth where Pete +had already built up a fire. Sylvie groped her way to the throne from +which the other woman slipped half furtively and so noiselessly that +Sylvie never guessed her usurpation. + +“Hugh is going to tell us a story,” she said, and rested her head back +so that her small chin pointed out and her slim neck was drawn up--“a +wonderful story about the river and a bear. I hope it’s a baby bear, +Hugh, for you know how I feel about bears. I honestly think that being +so afraid of seeing them is what made me blind!” She gave her small, shy +laugh. “I thought I saw them everywhere I looked that day and night. It +seems so long ago now, and yet it is not so many weeks. I can still hear +Hugh’s voice calling out to me across the snow. And now,” she said, “the +snow’s all gone and none of you are strangers any more, and--Go on with +your story, Hugh.” + +Pete added a log to the fire so that the flames stretched up bravely +and made a great fan of light against which they all seemed painted +like ornamental figures, Hugh lounging along the rug to make a striking +central figure. Bella was drawn up rigidly on a stiff, hard chair; she +hemmed a long, coarse towel with her blunt, work-roughened fingers. + +Pete sat opposite Sylvie on the floor, his back against the corner of +the fireplace, his knees drawn up in his hands, his head a little bent. +He too--from under his long level brows--looked for the most part at +Hugh, not devotedly, not wistfully, but with a somber wondering. It was +only now and then, and as though he couldn’t help it, that the blue, +smouldering Northern eyes were turned to Sylvie on her throne. Then they +would brighten painfully, and his lips would tighten so that the dimple, +meant for laughter, cut itself like a touch of pain into his cheek. The +firelight heightened his picturesqueness--the dull blue of his shirt, +open at the round, smooth throat, the dark gold-brown of his corduroy +trousers, against which the long, tanned hands, knit strongly together, +stood out in the rosy, leaping light--beautifully painted against the +background of old brown logs. + +Yet it was Hugh, after all, who dominated the room by right of his +power, his magnetism, the very distortion of his spirit. Here in this +lonely square of light and warmth, surrounded by a world of savage, +lawless winds heightening the voices of vast loneliness, these three +people were imprisoned by him, a Merlin of the West. + +He sat up to begin his story, pressing tobacco into his pipe. “Oh, it’s +not so much of a story, Sylvie. It was last spring when the river was +high and I’d been out with my traps. I was coming home along the river +edge, pretty tired, a big load on my back. I came around a bend of the +river, and not far below me a little black bear, round as a barrel, was +trying to scramble over the flood on a very shaky log. The mother was +on the other side, but I didn’t know that then. Well, there’s nothing in +God’s world, Sylvie, so beguiling as a baby bear. This little fellow was +scared by what he was doing, but he was bound he’d get across the river. +He’d make a few steps; then he’d back up and half rise on his hind legs. +I watched him a long time. Then he made up his mind he’d better make a +dash for it. He began scrambling like a frantic kitten, and it was just +in the most ticklish spot that he heard me and jumped and went rolling +off into the river. I tell you, my heart came right up into my mouth.” + +“Oh, _was_ he drowned?” wailed Sylvie. + +Hugh rose and stood with his back to the fire, dominating the room even +more convincingly, with his vivid ugliness. Sylvie’s face turned up to +him like a white flower to the sun it lives by, without seeing. It was +strange to watch the adoration, the worship on that small face, and at +the same time to behold the grotesqueness toward which it was directed. +Bella was listening with her lowered eyes and tightened lips. She was +interested in spite of herself; and Pete’s inscrutable face followed the +story with absorption. + +“Well, in he rolled with a splash and went rattling down the current, +turning over and over. Like a fool, I threw away my hides, ran down the +bank and jumped in after him--that is, I meant to hold on to a branch +and stand out in the water and catch him as he went by. But the nymph +I told you about had her own plans. She wrapped her arms round me, and +away we went, bear all. Oh, yes, I’d caught the cub all right, and he +was about half drowned by that time--no fight left in him. + +“Well, for a bit it was a question whether the world wouldn’t be quickly +and well rid of us both, but we tumbled up against a root and scrambled +out, and when I’d rested, I picked up limp and trembling Master Bear and +went back for my hides. And while I was collecting them, I heard a sort +of grumpy, grumbling sound, and I looked up--and, by Jove, Mother Bear +was coming across that log with the longest steps you ever saw. That’s +when I ran to collect my gun--it was a little farther up the bank than +my hides, worse luck!” + +Even Bella had forgotten her bitterness in listening, and Pete’s parted +lips were those of an excited child. Sylvie leaned forward in her chair, +her cheeks tingling, her hands locked. Hugh had thrown himself into the +action of his story; his face was slightly contorted as though sighting +along a gun-barrel, his arm raised, the ungainliness of his deformity +strongly accentuated. He was not looking at Sylvie; true to his nature +and his habit, he had forgotten every one but that Hugh of adventure +and of romance, the one companion of his soul. None of them was watching +Sylvie, and when she gave a sharp, little cry, a queer start and then +sat utterly still, Hugh accepted it--they all accepted it--as a tribute +to his story-telling powers. + +But Sylvie, leaning her elbows on her knees, raised trembling hands to +her eyes and hid them. She sat very still, very white, while the story +went on, vividly imagined, picturesquely told. When it was over, and the +mother bear, after a worthy struggle, defeated, Hugh looked about for +his applause. It came, grudgingly from Bella, eagerly from Pete--and +from Sylvie in a sudden extravagant clapping of hands, a ripple of high, +excited laughter, and a collapse in her chair. She had fainted in a limp +little heap. + +She came to in an instant, but seemed bewildered and, unprotesting, +permitted herself to be carried to bed. She declared she felt quite well +again and wanted only to be alone. She repeated this moaningly. “Oh, to +be alone!” + +Hugh seated himself on the end of the bed and kissed her forehead and +her hand, but it quivered under his lips and was drawn away. + +He came back into the living-room with a pale, bewildered face. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Next day there came out of that room a new Sylvie or rather a dozen new +Sylvies: a flighty witch of a Sylvie who tempted her blindness with rash +ventures about the rooms and even out of doors, who laughed at Hugh and +led him on, and drew him out to his maddest improvisations, who treated +Pete to snubs and tauntings that stung like so many little whips; and +again a Sylvie who was still and timid and a trifle furtive, who +rarely spoke, but sat with locked hands in an attitude of desperate +concentration and seemed to be planning something secret and dangerous; +and then there was a haughty, touch-me-not Sylvie; and a Sylvie who +mysteriously wept. But all of these Sylvies showed an impetuous, new +tenderness toward Bella. + +“I’ve been all wrong about you, Bella,” she confessed. “I know you’re +not really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face.” + Bella, awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick of +the light, young fingers. “I’m learning the touch of the blind,” Sylvie +boasted. “Now, listen--isn’t this right? You have thick, straight +eyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella, or bright +gray?” + +“They’re gray,” said Pete. + +Hugh was watching from eyes sunk in a nervous, pallid face. He had come +in from his traps in the midst of Sylvie’s experiment. + +“And she has a nice, straight, strong, short nose, and a mouth that she +holds too tight. Loosen your mouth, Bella; it might be very sweet if +you gave it a chance. And she has a sharp chin--not pretty, your +chin, but--look! If you’d soften your hair, pull it over your ears and +forehead--Why do you brush it back that way? It _must_ be unbecoming. +And, Bella, it’s curly, or would be with a little freedom. What color is +your hair?” + +“Gray--like my eyes,” said Bella, scarlet now, and trying to draw +herself away. + +“Is it really gray, Pete? Tell me the truth, if you can.” + +“Her hair is a very light brown,” said Pete, flushed as scarlet now as +Bella; “sort of a grayish brown; you wouldn’t notice any gray hairs, +hardly.” + +“Bella, I’m sure you don’t look a day older than thirty-five. Your skin +feels smooth and young. Why do you let Hugh call you an old woman? Poor +Bella, I’m afraid you’ve spoiled those two boys?” + +Sylvie turned suddenly and imperiously upon the men, and Bella made +her escape, not from the room, for she was too stirred, too full of an +excited suspense, to bring herself to leave. From a far corner, near the +window through which came the soft May wind, she watched them. + +“Now, Pete,” said Sylvie, “it’s your turn. If I’m to learn the touch of +the blind, I must have practice. What can I make of you! Come here. Why +don’t you come?” She stamped her foot. “My, but you are badly trained. +Really, Hugh, you ought to discipline him. Wait until I am your +sister-in-law.” + +Hugh started angrily. “Don’t joke about that!” he threatened in a harsh, +sudden voice. + +She turned toward him with quickness and bent her head sidelong as +though listening intently for what else he might have to say. Her lips +were set close and narrow. She had listened to him like this, almost +breathlessly, ever since her sudden faintness, listened as though she +would draw his very soul in through her ears. + +He too flushed. “It’s life and death to me, Sylvie,” he pleaded. + +“Life and death--life _or_ death,” she repeated strangely. She stood, +as if turning the speech over in her mind, then gave her head a quick +little shake like a diver coming to the surface of deep water, and moved +a step toward Pete. “Are you coming, boy, or not? I want to feel your +face.” + +“Do as she says,” Hugh commanded harshly, and Pete came slowly to her +and stood with his hands locked behind him, bending over the little +figure. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a shake, and +smiled. + +“Such a big, strong boy! Where’s your face?” It winced and paled under +her touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh’s, who watched +with unsteady breathing and white lips. + +“Your face is as smooth as a girl’s, Pete. What a wide, low forehead +and crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must be +a pretty boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and--oh, Pete, Pete! I +believe you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple like a slit +in your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so? They’re long eyes, +with thick, short lashes. What a strong, round neck! I think I like your +face.” + +She patted his cheek, the pat more like a smart slap. He pulled away. +“That’s for disobedience. Come back. I’m not through with you. Where’s +your mouth? A big, long mouth. Pete, why does your mouth tremble?” Her +hand fell from his lips, and she turned away. “Take me out for a walk, +Hugh, please,” she said. “This cabin is stuffy, now that the days are +warm. I want to sit under the pines and listen to the river. You can +tell me one of your wonderful stories about yourself.” + +“What does it mean, Bella?” Pete asked breathlessly when Hugh had gone +out, not so much leading the girl as hurrying after her to save her from +the rashness of her impetuous progress. “What does it mean?” Pete was as +white as paper. + +“I don’t know.” Bella came over from the window and stood by the +fireplace, rolling her arms in her apron and shaking her head. “She’s a +crazy little witch. She’ll drive us mad. Hugh is half mad now--have you +noticed? She won’t let him touch her. And you, poor boy! Pete, why don’t +you go away?” + +“I’ve thought about it,” he said. “I--I can’t.” He flung himself down in +Hugh’s chair and rested his head in his hands. + +Bella bent over him. “Poor Pete! It’s cruel for you--and,” she added +softly, uncertainly, “and for me.” + +“For you too, Bella?” He looked up at her through tears. + +She nodded her head, and her face worked. “Perhaps you could take her +back to her friends, Pete?” + +“And leave Hugh? Didn’t you hear what he said, Bella? Life and death! It +would kill him if she should go away with me. Or--he’d follow and kill +me.” + +“Yes,” Bella assented somberly; “yes, he’d kill you. The devil is still +living in his heart.” + +“No. Sylvie will marry him. Hugh gets his will.” Pete shook his head. +“Wait a few days--you’ll see. She’s fighting against him now; I don’t +know why--some instinct. But though he tells her so many lies, he +doesn’t lie about one thing. He loves her. He does love her.” + +“No! No!” Bella’s passion, tearing its way through her long habit of +repression, was almost terrifying. “He loves the image she has of him. +If he knew that she could see him as I do, his love would shrivel up +like a flower in a drought. Hugh can’t love the truth. He can’t love +anything but his delusions. Pete, tell her the truth. For God’s sake, +tell her the truth. Give her back her eyesight. Let her know his name, +his story--his _face_!” + +“Don’t dare ask me, Bella!” + +“Why not?” She seemed to be out of breath, like a person who has been +climbing in thin air. Her lips were dry. + +“Because--well, would you do it yourself?” + +“Ah! He would hate me, if I did. But you, Pete, when Sylvie loved +you--and if she knew you, she would surely love you; any woman +would--why, then you could bear Hugh’s hatred. I have only him--only +him.” + +She locked her hands and lifted them to her forehead and was now making +blind steps toward the kitchen door. + +Pete followed her, and turning her about, drew down the hands from her +face. + +“Bella--_you_? Without saying a word? All these years?” + +Under the first pressure of sympathy that her agony had ever known, she +could not speak. She bent her head for an instant against his arm, +then moved away from him, groping through the kitchen door, back to her +unutterable loneliness. + +Pete stood staring after her. A new Bella, this, not the cousin, the +little cousin from the farm; not the nurse who had saved him from Hugh’s +hardness and told him limping fairy tales and doctored his hurts; not +the accepted necessity, but a woman--a woman young, yes, young. In the +instant when he had glimpsed her face, broken and quivering, the tight +lips parted and the hair disarranged about flushed, quivering cheeks, +the eyes deep with widened pupils, she had revealed beauty and +passion--the two halves of youth. How blind, how blind Hugh had been, +blind and selfish and greedy, drinking up the woman’s heart, feeding +upon her youth! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +“When you sit so silent, Pete,” Sylvie said softly, “I sometimes wonder +if you’re not staring at me.” + +“When I’m making a trap,” he answered, smiling a little to himself and +instinctively shifting his gaze, “I can’t very well be staring at you, +can I?” + +He was kneeling on the ground before the cabin door, she sitting on the +low step under the shadow of the roof. Her chin rested on the backs of +her hands, the limber wrists bent up a little, the sleeves slipped away +from her slim, white wrists. Her face was brightly rosy, her lips very +red--at once a little stern, yet very sweet. + +“Traps are cruel,” she said. + +“I think so myself. But we have to make a living, don’t we?” + +“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself sometimes, Pete?” + +“For making traps, and catching live things in them?” + +“Yes. It’s a sort of deceitful cruelty, catching the little blind, +wandering wild things.” + +“Blind?” he repeated blankly, then flushed. + +“Yes, blind. But it wasn’t only that I meant.” + +“What else ought I to be ashamed of?” + +“Of living on your brother.” He winced sharply, but she went on coolly: +“Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now. Many a boy of +your age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the world to make his +own way. There’s no reason for _you_ to hide, is there? _You_ haven’t +sacrificed your life for anyone.” + +“No,” he answered doubtfully, “n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one has +to take the skins. It isn’t safe for Hugh.” + +“Yes, of course. So that’s what you’ll do all your life--carry loads to +and fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh goes +away himself?” + +“Yes?” he asked breathlessly. + +His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare. + +“You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marry +me, to start life again.” + +“And--and you will, Sylvie?” + +“Give me your advice,” she said. She pressed her red lips together; her +face was bent upon him as though she watched. + +“But,” he stammered, “you tell me all the time, a dozen times a day, +that I’m badly trained. What good’s my advice?” + +“_Are_ you badly trained?” + +“I suppose so.” + +“You are absurdly unselfish, Pete!” She moved a chip along the ground +with her foot, but Pete failed to notice this curious seeing gesture. + +“Why? What do you mean?” + +She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, his +hands had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregular +heartbeats from his lips. + +At last she spoke deliberately. “You would lay down your life for your +friend?” she said. It was almost a whisper. + +Pete’s face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of his +heart he searched for loyal words. + +“I love Hugh--if that’s what you mean,” he said. + +“I love you?” she repeated softly, perversely. “Did you say ‘Hugh’ or +‘you,’ Pete?” + +His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. “I said ‘Hugh!’” + +“Ah--you love only him--nobody else in all the world?” + +Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggled +as though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to remember +Hugh. He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he made +a short step toward the waiting girl. She _was_ waiting, breathing fast. +Pete’s arms quivered at his sides. + +A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had come +up behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray; his +eyes were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to become a +straight, hard line. The effort gave a twitch to the pale, lower lip. + +Sylvie stood up, singing as though in absent-minded idleness, and +vanished into the house. It would have been difficult to tell whether or +not she had heard Hugh’s arrival. + +“What’s the matter?” Pete stammered like a boy wakened from a dream to +behold a lifted cane. “Let go my arm, Hugh. Your fingers cut.” + +“Come away from the house,” said Hugh coldly, tightening the iron grip +as though Pete’s wincing gave him satisfaction. “Come up here by the +pines. I want to talk to you.” + +“I’ll come,” said Pete. “Let go my arm.” + +There was that in his voice that compelled obedience. Hugh’s hand fell +and knotted into a fist. Pete walked beside him up the abrupt slope of +their hollow to the little hill above the river. Its noise was loud in +the still, sunny air. There was no wind stirring. It was high noon. A +sloping tent of shadow drooped from the pines and made a dark circle +about their roots. In this transparent, purplish tent the brothers faced +each other. Pete’s lips were tremulous, and Hugh’s distorted. + +“Now,” said Hugh, breathing irregularly and speaking very low, “I’ll +tell you what I think of you.” + +“No, Hugh, don’t,” Pete pleaded. “You’ll say things you don’t +mean--unkind things, terrible things. I don’t deserve it from you. +You--you think that I--that I--” + +“Go on. Don’t stop. Tell me what I think--I think--that you--that you--” + +It was an unbearable moment, an impossible atmosphere, for the +revelation of a first love. Pete felt stripped and shamed. + +“You think that I was telling Sylvie, that Sylvie--that I--” + +Hugh lifted his hand and struck. The younger man sprang back, then +forward, and was at his elder’s throat. For an instant they struggled, +silently, terribly, slipping on the red pine-needles. Then Pete gave a +hard laugh. “Are we tigers?” he asked, and he pulled himself back and +leaned, shaking, against a tree-trunk, gripping it with his hands. His +blue eyes were cold and blazing in his white face, against which Hugh’s +blow had made a mark. “You won’t strike me again,” Pete said. All +boyishness was gone from his hard, level voice. “Go on. Say what you +like. I’ll listen.” + +“You liar!” stormed Hugh. “You cheat!” + +Pete laughed again. + +A certain quality in his bitter self-control flicked Hugh. He tried to +emulate the young man’s coolness. + +“I’ve trusted you,” he began again; “and behind my back you have been +trying to win the love of the woman who has promised to be my wife.” + +“I have not.” + +“You were not making love to her there, then, when I came up behind you? +When you were so excited that you didn’t hear me? when you were moving +toward her--trembling all over? _I_ felt your arm!” + +Pete’s eyes dropped, then lifted as though under a great weight. + +“And you say you’re not a liar!” + +“I _am_ a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars. We +have caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her, all +three of us--Bella and I, and you, Hugh--you have lied most of all.” + +“She loves me,” Hugh panted. “She knows me. She understands me.” + +“Yes,” Pete answered, trembling. “I’ve seen that. I’ve kept quiet. Bella +and I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by striking me and +calling me a liar and a cheat!” + +Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the +justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, put a +hand on each of his brother’s shoulders, searching the white, young face +with his wild eyes. + +“I must have Sylvie,” he groaned. “Pete, I must. You don’t know; you +can’t know--” He dropped his grizzled head against Pete’s neck, and his +breath caught. “You don’t know what I felt when I saw you there, when I +thought--Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take my love, my +only joy, my one prize away from me?” + +After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically +across the twisted, gasping back. + +“Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn’t. But I’ve had to play a part, and +it’s not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it’s been, because +you seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I went away?” + +He was gripped again, shaken a little. “No, don’t leave me. Wait. It +won’t be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets over +a girl’s timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don’t stand dumb; +tell me that she does.” + +“She does,” Pete repeated tonelessly. + +“I’m sorry I struck you. I have a devil’s temper. And I think of you as +still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have beaten +you.” He put this forward as though it were a reasonable excuse. + +“Yes.” Pete smiled grimly. “I can remember your beatings.” He drew +himself away. “Shall we go back?” + +Hugh still held him, though at arm’s length. “First I must have a +promise from you.” He spoke sternly. + +“What do you want?” + +“I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the end.” + +“You won’t trust me, then?” + +“Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your arm.” + +Pete was silent. He studied the ground. There was a sullen look on his +face, and his tightened mouth deepened the odd, incongruous dimple. + +“Well, perhaps you’re right. I promise.” He flashed up a blue +desperation of young eyes as he asked: “How long will it last, Hugh?” + +“Not long. Not long. Surely not long.” + +“I promise.” + +“Give me your hand.” + +They came back down from the hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Pete looked forward with white-hot impatience to the day of his trip +to the trading-station; twelve hours of relief, it would mean, from the +worst pressure of his torment--twelve hours of merciful solitude in the +old, voiceful friendliness of his forest trail. He started early, at the +break of a sweet, singing dawn. The earth was elastic under his feet, +the air tingling and mellow with a taste of growth; the flooded river +chattered loudly like a creature half beside itself with joy. Pete +came out of the dark and silent cabin in which he had made his tiptoe +preparations, and lifted his face, letting the light, soft fingers of +the wind, cooler and softer even than Sylvie’s, smooth out the knots of +suffering from his tired brain. He shook his shoulders before settling +them under the load of pelts. He would, he swore, just for this day, +be a boy again. He sprang lightly up from the hollow and strode forward +with long, swift steps, swinging a companionable stick in his free hand. + +Loneliness and the dawn and love had made a poet of the young man, so +that he had the release of poetry and forgot reality in its translation +into a tale that is told. He thought of Sylvie, but he thought of her as +a man thinks of a lovely memory. He went through the wood with his chin +lifted, half smiling, almost happy, an integral part of the wild, glad, +wistful spring. + +It was not until the afternoon when he was nearing the station--just, in +fact, before he left the wood-trail for the rutted, frontier road--that +his mind was caught as sharply as a cloth by a needle, by the light +sound of following steps. In the solitude of that trail which his feet +alone had worn, the sound brought him to a stop with a sense of terror +and suspense. His mind leaped to Hugh, and for the first time in his +loyal life Pete remembered, and remembering, felt a creeping on his +skin, that this brother of his, who had grown harsh and jealous and +suspicious, had been a murderer. The cold, unkindly memory slid along +his senses like a snake. On the edge of the sloping road-bank, studded +with little yellow flowers, just where the trees stopped, Pete set down +his load and waited, instinctively bracing his body, drawing it back +beneath the shelter of one of the big pines. + +The steps were light and swift and stealthy. In the purplish confusion +of the distance, a tangled and yet ordered regiment of trunks and +boughs, sun-splotches and shadow-blots, through which the uncertain +trail seemed to rise like a slender thread of smoke to the pale, flecked +sky, Pete made out a moving shape. It slipped in and out; it hesitated, +hurried, paused, moved on. With a shudder of relief and of surprise, +Pete saw it; out from behind the great, close trunks came Sylvie, +her chin lifted, her hands stretched out on either side, brushing the +swinging branches along the trail, her small head turning from this side +to that, as though she listened in suspense. + +Pete called out her name and ran quickly to meet her. Forgetting +his part of a dull, sullen boy, he spoke eagerly, catching her hand, +watching the warm, happy blush flow in her cheeks. + +“Where were you?” she asked. She had stood to wait for him as soon as +his voice reached her. “I couldn’t see--I mean, I lost the sound of your +steps. I’ve been following you for hours and hours and hours. I was so +afraid of being lost again that I didn’t dare drop too far behind.” + +“But why didn’t you call to me? Why have you come? Is anything wrong at +home?” + +Her fingers moved uncertainly in his grasp, like the fingers of a shy +child. “Nothing is wrong. I wanted to come with you. I wanted to go to +the trading-station and the post-office. I didn’t dare ask you to +take me with you. I was afraid you’d send me home. I suppose I’ll be a +nuisance, but--Oh, Pete, please be nice to me and take care of me, won’t +you?” She paused, turned her face away from him and smiled. “After +all, since you have called me your wife before witnesses, you ought to +introduce me to your friends at the trading-station, oughtn’t you? They +might think it was queer that I should hide myself, now that the snow +has gone.” + +He dropped her hand. Suddenly he realized the consequences, the +necessary effect upon Hugh of this willful venture of hers. + +“Does Hugh know where you are?” he asked painfully. + +“No. I ran away. I heard you getting ready, and I just felt that I +couldn’t bear to be left behind. I slipped out of bed so quietly that +Bella didn’t even stir, and I dressed just as quietly, and when you had +gone half across the clearing, I ran out after you, listening to your +steps. You see, I have the hearing, as well as the touch, of the blind.” + This was said with a cunning sort of recklessness; but Pete, absorbed in +his anxiety, did not challenge the improbable statement. “Please don’t +be angry with me, Pete.” She touched his hand where it hung at his side. +“Can’t I have my adventure? Let’s call it _ours_.” + +In spite of himself, the young man’s pulse quickened, but his face and +voice were stern. + +“Do you know that we’ll be very late?” he said. “It will be midnight +before we can possibly make it back to the cabin, if you can even do it +at all. You’ll have to spend the night somewhere at the station. What +will they think? They will be anxious, Bella and Hugh.” + +“But what can they think?” Her cheeks were unexplainably scarlet. “If I +choose to trust you to take care of me, why should they grumble? And I +won’t have to spend the night. You don’t know how strong I am. I’m +very strong. I don’t feel tired. We’ll go back by moonlight. There’s a +beautiful moon.” + +“It will be almost morning.” He made a reckless gesture. “Well, it’s too +late to think of that now. Come on.” + +He threw himself down the bank, held up his hands to catch hers, and +swung her down beside him. The sun slanted warmly along the road and +just ahead flickered the blue ripples of a lake. + +Sylvie moved quickly and easily beside him, barely touching his arm with +her hand. She seemed definitely to decide to put away her childishness. +She treated him as though she had forgotten his supposed youth; she +talked straightforwardly, with a certain dignity, about her childhood, +about her amusing and pitiful experience as a third-rate little actress, +and she asked him a question now and then half diffidently, which +he answered in stumbling, careful speech, always weighed upon by his +promise, by the deception he must practice, by the dread of what must +come. Nevertheless, minute by minute, his pulse quickened. This, God be +thanked, would mean the end. The insufferable knot of circumstance, +so fantastic, so extravagantly unlivable and unreal, would break, Hugh +would tear the tangle of his making to tatters with angry hands when +they got back. His difficult trust in Pete’s promise would go down under +the strain of these long and unexplained hours of Sylvie’s absence in +his company. It was the last act in the extravaganza, queer and painful, +that had twisted them all out of their real shapes for the confusion of +a blind waif. This adventure that Sylvie’s impatience had planned would +bring down the curtain. After all, no matter what came of it, Pete was +glad. The color warmed his face; his blue eyes deepened; he smiled +down at Sylvie beside him. For this hour she seemed to belong to him +rightfully, naturally, by her own will. He let go of his inhibitions and +resigned himself to Fate. + +When, on the far shore of the lake, the low walls of the trading-station +came in sight, a double image, reflected faithfully with the strip of +sand at its door, the low, level wall of pines behind and the blue, +still sky above, Pete caught the girl’s hand in his. + +“Here we are, Sylvie,” he said. “Keep quiet and follow my lead. +Remember, now, that I am supposed to be your husband and you my wife. +Can you play that part?” + +She nodded, bending down her face so that he saw only the tip of her +small, sunburnt chin. She was hatless; the sun struck blue, bright lines +in her black hair. + +“I’ll be careful, Pete.” + +She pressed his hand, and he returned the pressure. + +The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a serious +buck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret of their +observation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down one side +of which ran a long and littered counter, there was another, even more +interested spectator of the young couple’s entrance. He sat at a +small table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and from over +a spread-out time-table he gave them a large and heavy share of +his attention. He was a man of middle age and sturdy build, round, +clean-shaven, dressed in Eastern outing clothes of dignified +correctness. He put on a pair of glasses to peer closer at the two +who came in hand in hand like adventuring children, with the lithe, +half-fearful grace of wild things. + +A tall and sallow man behind the counter smiled under his long, ragged, +blond mustache and made a gesture of polite greeting. + +“Well, you’ve sure kept us in the dark as to your movements, Peter +Garth. We had no notion there was a bride in these parts until the +sheriff brought us back word the other day. Ma’am, I’m glad to make your +acquaintance.” He glanced keenly and curiously at Sylvie’s averted face. + +“I’d have been here before,” she said, “but I’ve been suffering from +snow-blindness.” + +“Ah, that’s bad sometimes. Your eyes are better now?” + +“Y-yes, I think so.” + +“I can give you a first-class lotion, lady.” + +Sylvie and he discussed the lotion while Pete stood, drawn up, proud +and silent, his cheeks flushed, waiting to dispose of his pelts. The +bartering prolonged itself in spite of his best endeavors. Sylvie seemed +to have no sense of peril or anxiety. She insisted upon taking a bite of +early supper, forced coffee and bread and meat upon her companion, and +chatted affably. Pete saw that the Eastern stranger had riveted upon her +his attention, that he observed every gesture, listened to every +word, and while she ate, that he walked over and asked a few murmured +questions of the trader, nodding his head, then shaking it over the +answers as though they confirmed some suspicion or anxiety. + +At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie come +with him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back over her +shoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards along the +beach trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across the porch +and waved his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without replying. +Then came a summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice: “Hi, there! +One moment, please.” + +It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunset +light. Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, and +formidable; Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious summons +gave her a first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man’s square +body and square, serious face bore down upon them, freighted with +incongruous judgments. He came sturdily, defying the unspoken threat of +loneliness. + +He spoke when he came up to them--spoke with evident effort. + +“My friends,” he said, “I am a minister of the gospel, and though +my mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in its +ministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will not +allow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual aid.” + +He cleared his throat. “Your name I didn’t catch,” he said doubtfully, +and Pete did not supply the knowledge, “but I heard you introduce this +young woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched you, +too, sir; I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you. I have +had much and varied experience in the study of human nature.” Here he +put out a broad, clean hand with square finger-tips and lifted Sylvie’s +brown, unwilling left hand high from her side. “I am a minister of the +gospel,” he repeated. “In a land where such a symbol is thought much of, +this woman has no wedding-ring. There is no register of your marriage +here in the one spot where such a registration might have been most +conveniently made--” + +Sylvie jerked away her fingers; Pete laid down his load and slowly drew +his right hand into a terrible fist. + +“No, no!” The square-tipped fingers were lifted deprecatingly. “You must +not be angry with me, my children. I am not here to judge you. I have +no knowledge of your temptation, of your difficulties; you have met and +loved in a wild and difficult land. I was not even sure of my surmise. +Now, however; your silence and your anger confirm my opinion. I want +only to offer you my services. Will you continue in your life and love +as I have seen them to be, or will you, if only for the sake of other +lives not yet your responsibility--perhaps, will you take advantage of +this opportunity which God has now given you and let me make you indeed +man and wife?” + +Pete’s fist was still terrible, and his lips were gathering their words, +when Sylvie unbelievably spoke. + +“Pete,” she asked tremulously, and he felt her drawing even closer to +his side, “Pete, don’t you want--you _do_ want--I know--I mean, will +you, would you--marry me?” + +He was dumb as a rock, and gray. His hand opened; he stared from her +to the impossible intruder, the worker of the miracle, or rather for +he felt like a beast trapped, the strange layer of the snare. For an +instant the lake and the forest and the red sky turned in a great wheel +before his eyes. Then he caught Sylvie’s wrist almost brutally in his +hand. “Be quiet!” he said; it was the savage speaking to his woman. +“You’ve gone mad. Come with me. As for you, sir, my marrying or not +marrying is none of your business--” + +The minister looked sadly up into the young man’s white and rigid face. + +“God be with you!” + +He bowed, turned and walked back along the beach, hands locked behind +his broad tweed back, his head bent. + +Pete tightened his grip on Sylvie’s arm. “Come,” he said to her as +harshly as before. “We must hurry. It’s nearly night.” + +Sylvie set her small teeth tight, bent down her head, and followed him +without a word. Their silence seemed to grow into a pressure, a weight. +It bent Pete’s shoulders and Sylvie’s slender neck, and whitened their +lips. All that they did not dare to say aloud bulked itself, huge and +thunderous, before the combined consciousness which makes a strange +third companion in such dual silences. They dared not pause, or look at +each other, or move their strained lips for fear truth, the desperate, +treacherous truth, would leap out and link them like a lightning-flash. +The somber forest enveloped them. They moved through it as through a +deep wall that opened by enchantment. The moon came up, gibbous and +white and glittering, paler than silver; and the forest became streaked +and mottled with its light. A soft, sudden wind tore the light and shade +into eerie, dancing ribbons and tatters and shreds. There were such +sounds as are not heard in daylight--moon sounds and cloud sounds and +sounds of dark wind; branches talked and other small voices answered in +anxious undertones. A moose rubbed his antlers and coughed. They heard +his big body hulking through a swamp down there in a well of darkness. + +“I can’t go so fast.” Sylvie’s shaken voice moved doubtfully. “I’m +tired.” + +She pulled at his arm and stopped. The whole forest seemed to sway and +stir and urge them to haste and secrecy. + +“A storm’s coming,” Pete answered. “I can’t carry you, Sylvie, unless I +leave my load.” + +“Do you think I’d let you carry me?” she answered through her set teeth. +“I’d rather die here than let you lift me up in your arms. I’ll go on +till I drop. I don’t care for the storm. But I can’t walk so fast. How +can you see? The moon isn’t--can’t be, I mean--very, very bright here in +the woods.” + +“The moon? There’s a big storm-cloud just going to wipe it out. Listen! +Don’t you hear that thunder, that wind?” + +The storm blew its distant trumpets, shouted louder, trampled the world +with great steps, crashed and came upon them with a wet, cold blast. +They were stunned with noise, dazzled with flashes, smothered and beaten +with long, wet whips. Under a big rocking pine which shouted with a +hundred confused tongues they found a dangerous shelter. Not far from +them a tree was struck, splitting their ears, half stunning them. When +the worst was over, Pete drew Sylvie out relentlessly and started in +the heavily falling rain. The storm was drawing away, but the night was +still impenetrably black. They walked for a few groping yards when Pete +gave a sudden desperate laugh and stopped. + +“What’s the good of this! We’re off the trail. We’ll have to wait for +the light. My God! How cold and wet and trembling you are.” He threw +down his pack, took off his coat, wet only on the outside, and wrapped +it closely about her. She felt that he parted branches for her, and she +knew that they were in a dry, still, scented place whose walls stirred +and breathed. She sank down beside him on the smooth pine-needles +and crept close. They were giddy, beaten and confused; they felt each +other’s trembling warmth; for greater comfort she tucked her hands under +his arm. Her head dropped back against his shoulder so that her breath +fell on his cheek. He felt the silent tears of her humiliation, hot and +bitter and human after the cold, impersonal wetness of rain. It was as +though a hand drew them together in the darkness; they moved numbly at +the same instant, by the same impulse; then with a sort of convulsion +they were in each other’s arms. Cold, wet, tremulous, their lips met. +The night became the beating of a heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Hugh sat in his great carved chair, his hands laid out across the bulky +arms, his head bent forward a little so that his eyes encompassed all +the restless beauty of the fire. After nightfall, when the wind began +to shake the cabin, he had built up the fire, and its light now fought +ruddily against the whiteness of the moon. Hugh had not lighted his +lamp, nor let Bella light it, but he told her to make some strong coffee +and keep it hot on the stove. “When Sylvie comes in,” he had said, +“she’ll be exhausted. We’ll give her a hot drink and send her to bed, +eh, Bella! The foolish child!” This had been said softly, but with a +wild, half-vacant look which Bella could not meet. + +It was her belief that Pete and Sylvie had gone, not to return that +night or any other night. In a desperate, still fashion she guarded this +flaming conviction, peering up from long contemplations of it to learn +whether there flickered any light of torment on Hugh’s face. But all +day, after the queer blankness of face and eyes with which he had first +received her news of Sylvie’s disappearance, he had been alternately gay +and tranquil. All morning he had mended his boat, and in the afternoon +he had cleaned his gun; and whenever he could cajole Bella into being +his audience, he had talked. His talk was all of Sylvie, of her pretty +childishness, her sweet, wayward ways, of her shyness, her timidity; and +later, when supper was cleared away and he had throned himself in +the center of that familiar circle of firelight, he had dropped his +beautiful voice to a lower key and had boasted of Sylvie’s love for him. + +Bella sat on a big log sawed to the height of a low stool. She sat with +her face bent down between her hands as though she were saving her eyes +from the fire, but those bright, devoted eyes never left Hugh’s face, +though sometimes they made of it but a blurred image set in the broken +crystals of her tears. + +Thus, together, they heard the first rumble of the storm and saw the +white squares of moonlight wiped from the floor as with a dark cloth. +Next, the windows seemed to jump at them and jump away. “Lightning!” + said Hugh. “She’ll be afraid! Will Pete be able to comfort her? Will he, +Bella?” Then, because she took courage to look into his face, she saw +that his heart had been burnt all day, but that his faith, stronger than +his fear, had kept the flame smothered, almost below his consciousness. + +While the storm raged across their roof, beat a brutal tattoo close +above their deafened heads, pushed at the door, drove a pool of water +under the threshold, Hugh walked up and down, to and fro, from fire +to window, from door to wall, but not fast, rather with a sort of +stateliness. Sometimes he looked sidelong at Bella’s expressionless, +listening face. At last he forced himself back to the chair and sat +there, mechanically polishing the barrel of his gun, but his tongue +still spoke the saga of illusion. It stopped when the storm dropped into +the bottomless silence of dawn. Then there was only the dripping from +their eaves. Hugh sat there, very white, his gun laid across his lap. +Bella, as white, lifted her face. + +“They’re coming,” she whispered, and got stiffly to her feet. + +Hugh moved back into his chair, turning sidewise and gathering himself +as though for a spring. His nervous hands clutched at his gun. Upon the +silence the door opened, and Pete and Sylvie came into the room. Wet and +storm-beaten and beautiful they were, with scarlet cheeks. + +Pete came quickly over to Hugh’s chair; he let fall his pack and gazed +resolutely down at his brother’s face. + +“Sylvie had a fancy to come with me to the trading-station,” he said. +“She came out after me and didn’t overtake me until just where the trail +comes out into the road. We hurried back, but the storm caught us. It +was pitch-black in the woods; we couldn’t keep the trail. We had to +wait for daylight. I hope you weren’t too anxious about her, +Hugh.--Bella”--he glanced over his shoulder--“could you make us some hot +coffee and help Sylvie into some dry clothes? We are properly drenched, +both of us.” + +This speaker of terse, authoritative sentences was not the boy that had +gone out that morning. That boy was gone forever. + +Hugh stood up and looked slowly from Sylvie, who had stayed near the +door and held her head up like a queen, to Pete. + +“Where were you,” he asked gently--“where were you while it stormed?” + +Pete moved toward the fire, holding out his hands. “Ugh!” he shivered, +“I’m numb with cold.” + +“Where were you,” Hugh repeated, “during the storm?” + +Pete lifted his eyes slowly. They were bluer than the blue heart of a +sapphire. “Under a pine-tree,” he answered casually enough, and then, +just as Hugh would have smiled, the color creeping up into his lips, +Pete’s young and honest blood poured over his forehead, engulfing him, +blazing the truth across his face. Bella saw it and clenched her hands. +Sylvie’s cheeks, too, caught fire. Hugh turned from him, blinded by +terror, saw Sylvie’s trembling mouth in her dyed countenance, and turned +back. He lifted the hand that had held, all this while, to the chair, +and balled it into a fist. + +“Don’t strike him,” said Sylvie quietly, not moving from her place by +the door. “Don’t ever strike him again--_Ham Rutherford_!” + +Hugh’s bones seemed to crumble; his knees bent; he leaned back against +the chair, holding to it behind him with both hands. The gun clattered +to the floor. In the silence Sylvie walked across the room and lifted +her face. As if for the first time they saw her eyes, black and +brilliant and young, sharpening the softness of her features. She looked +at Hugh mercilessly, pitilessly. + +“I’ve been able to see you for a long time now, Ham Rutherford,” she +said. “And the instant I first saw you, I knew your name. Ever since the +night you told me that story about the river, I’ve been watching you. +You are a great and infamous liar! Yes, I know that you once killed a +man for telling you that. Kill me if you like, for I am going to repeat +it after him--a liar, hideous and deformed outside and in. I have no +pity for a liar. Not even your physical misfortune shall shield you! +You have made too great a mockery of it. You brought me here, blind, as +helpless as one of the things you catch in your traps, and you played +the hero with me. And you fed me with lies and lies and lies. I’ve eaten +and drunk them until I’m sick. Now stand up and look at the truth. You +are to eat that until _you_ are sick.--No, Bella; no, Pete; I’m going to +speak; no one can stop me. I know you love him. How you can look at him +and see him as he is and know what he has done and still love him, I +can’t understand. Now, Hugh Garth--the name you tried to make me love +you by--I’ll tell these people that love you, some of the beautiful +fables with which you tried to win _my_ love. Maybe, then, they will +begin to see you as you are. Here is the first: ‘There was once a very +noble youth who had a friend--’” + +“Don’t!” Hugh groaned pitifully, his head bent before her. + +“Perhaps I won’t; after all, it’s not interesting unless you’re fool +enough, or blind enough, to be tricked into fancying it’s the truth. But +let me tell them some of the other things. This noble youth, this man +sacrificed his life for his friend and bore the blame of that friend’s +guilt. He is as handsome as a Viking, the very ideal of a girl’s +imagination, strong and shapely and graceful. Has he a humped shoulder +and a lame leg and a scarred face revealing his scarred soul? Answer +me.” + +Hugh flinched as though under a lash. + +Pete put out his hand uncertainly; his face was drawn with pain. +“Sylvie--stop. You _must_ stop. You’re too cruel. He did lie to you, but +remember, that was because he--” + +The brilliant black eyes flashed back at him. + +“Because he loved me, you were going to say? When you love a woman, do +you try to ruin her life? Do you creep up in the dark under cover of her +blindness and touch her with some dreadful, poisonous wound? You +don’t know my horror of that man, Pete. Oh, he kissed--kissed me!” She +shivered. “A murderer! Yes, a murderer. Oh, Ham Rutherford, if I could +only _make_ you see yourself! If I could give you my eyes when they +opened, and I saw Pete’s beauty and Bella’s sweetness and the horrible +ugliness of you! And then, day by day--you see, I was afraid to let you +know that I _had_ seen you. I was in terror of you, of what you might +do to me. I was afraid of you all; you had all deceived me. Day by day +I learned the utter distortion of you, mind, body, and soul. How could +I help but--but--” She faltered and half turned to Pete, holding out +her hands. Her indignation at the treachery practiced upon her, an anger +that had grown in silence to unbearable heat, had spent itself in words. +She was all for consolation now--for sympathy. But Pete stepped back +from her. He was looking at Hugh, and his clear, young face was an open +wound. + +Hugh pushed himself up and slowly lifted his face. It was then that he +saw Sylvie’s hands stretched out to Pete. He started--no one knew what +the convulsive movement meant; but as he started--the gun tripped him. +He caught it up carelessly, blindly. There was a flash--a crash. Pete +leaped and bent, holding his arm. Blood spurted between his fingers, +soaking his wet sleeve; and Sylvie, crying aloud, wrapped him in +trembling, protective arms. + +“I’m not much hurt,” he said half dazedly. “It--it was an accident. He +didn’t mean it. I was looking at him. The gun went off. He didn’t shoot +at me.... _Hugh_!” + +The man was staring straight ahead of him, and now he drew his hand +across his eyes, the fingers crooked as though they tore a veil. + +“Now,” he said, “I do see myself just as I am. Yes, I did shoot at you. +Yes, I think I meant to kill you. I must have meant to kill you. That’s +the truth. For the second time I’m a murderer. Yet now, as God lives, +even if I am down in the dust, I’ll lay hold of my stars. I’m going to +walk out of your lives so that they can shape themselves to their +own good ends. Sylvie can shape yours with you, Pete.” He hesitated a +moment. “If a coward, a murderer, can say ‘God bless you,’ take that +blessing!” + +He picked up his gun and shuffled across the floor, flinching aside from +Bella as though he could bear no further touch or word, and went out of +the door, letting in the brightness of the sunrise. + +Pete had sunk into a chair, faint from the shock and weakness of his +wound; and Sylvie bent over him. For a minute, in great and bitter +loneliness Bella stood and watched them; then she followed Hugh. + +He had put down his gun and gone slowly up from the hollow and was +walking along the river-bank. He had the look of a man who strolls in +meditation. When he came to his boat where it lay near the roots of the +three big pines, he turned it over--he had been mending its bottom the +morning of yesterday--and began to push it down toward the plunging +stream. The glitter of morning took all the swirlings and ripplings +and plungings of the swift water in its golden hands. Hugh steadied the +boat. Above him on the bank Bella spoke quietly. + +“Hugh,” she said, “look up at me. What are you going to do?” + +He lifted his face, still holding to the boat. + +“What are you going to do?” she repeated. + +“Why do you want to know? You’ve heard the truth.” + +She came down the bank and stood beside him so close that her hair, +loosened by the wind, was blown against his shoulder. She pressed it +back and gazed into his eyes. The inner glow had worn through at last. +She was all warmth, all flame now. She smiled with soft and parted lips. +“Do you think that was the truth of you, my dear,” she said, “_my_ truth +of you? I have always seen you as you are. But”--she drew a big breath, +like a climber who has reached the height--“but--I came to you, didn’t +I?” + +Hugh’s eyes widened, the pupils swallowing her light. “You--you came to +me? Not for Pete’s sake?” + +“Never for his sake.” + +“But, Bella--you laughed at me.” + +“Yes, once, for your poor folly in trying to be what you are not. When +have I ever laughed at what you are? It’s what you are I’ve loved, my +dear, just what you are--a tormented child. Only be honest with me, +Hugh. Tell me what do you want: the moon now or--or all the truth?” + +“I want the truth--and the end,” he said. “I’m going down the river.” + +She glanced at the flood as though it were a brook. “I am going with you +then. You must take me. My life has always been yours.” + +He laid one of his hands on either of her cheeks so that her face was +framed for him to read. It was flushed; the deep eyes were beautiful. + +“You--all these empty years! _You_, Bella.” It was as though he saw her +now for the first time. The revelation dazzled him. “I’ve gone thirsty, +with wine at my elbow, until it’s too late.” He shook his shoulders. +“Come with me, then, if you must.” + +She stepped into the boat and sat in the stern, her hands folded in her +lap, her eyes in their great and sudden beauty still fixed on his face. +The wind blew her hair wildly in a long, streaming veil across her +forehead, down her cheek, out over her shoulder. She was beautiful with +the joy that was hers at last. + +Hugh stepped in and stood to push the boat out from the shore. His +eyes never left hers. It was a deep, long look of which her soul drank, +quenching its thirst. Very slowly the boat moved; then it turned. A hand +seemed to grip it’s prow. There was a mighty, confused roaring in their +ears; the bank seemed to be snatched back from them. The sunlight, shone +into Hugh’s face. Suddenly he caught at his oar. + +“The river is not so high,” he shouted; “the flood’s going down.” He +looked away from her and back. “We have--just a chance. We’ll leave it +to the river. It may be the end of you and me--or, Bella, it may be the +beginning.” + +He steadied the boat with all his skill. It was drawn with frightful +swiftness down the swollen stream. + + * * * * * + +Before noon Sylvie and Pete moved slowly across the open space and went +back along their forest trail. They walked like lovers, and Sylvie’s +arm helped to support him. Just before he stepped in among the trees he +turned for a long, desolate, backward look. + +Now the hoop of green, once white as paper under the noon sun, and the +level, circular rim of the forest are empty and silent except for the +rattling of the river and the moving of the pines against the fixed, +grave stars. The human tragedy--or was it comedy?--has burnt itself out +like the embers of a camp-fire that will never again be kindled in that +lonely spot. + + THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + +***** This file should be named 7520-0.txt or 7520-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/5/2/7520/ + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett + +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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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/7520-0.zip b/7520-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..37c47f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/7520-0.zip diff --git a/7520-h.zip b/7520-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..62d2b07 --- /dev/null +++ b/7520-h.zip diff --git a/7520-h/7520-h.htm b/7520-h/7520-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db60cf1 --- /dev/null +++ b/7520-h/7520-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4304 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Snow-blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + +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: Snow-Blind + +Author: Katharine Newlin Burt + +Release Date: July 24, 2009 [EBook #7520] +Last Updated: November 2, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + + + + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra, Wendy Crockett, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + SNOW-BLIND + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Katharine Newlin Burt + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + Author Of The Branding Iron, Etc. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Under a noon sun the vast, flat country, buried deep in snow, lay like a + paper hoop rimmed by the dark primeval forest; its surface shone with an + unbearable brightness as of sun-struck glass, every crystal gleaming and + quivering with intense cold light. To the north a single blunt, low + mountain-head broke the evenness of the horizon line. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Garth seemed to leap through paper like a tiny active clown as he + dropped down into the small space shoveled clear in front of his hidden + cabin door. The roof was weighted with drift, so that a curling mass like + the edge of a wind-crowded wave about to break hung low over the eaves. + Long icicles as thick as a man’s arm stretched from roof to ground in a + row of twisted columns. Under this overhanging cornice of snow near the + door there was a sudden icy purple darkness. + </p> + <p> + As Hugh plunged down into it, his face lost a certain rapt brightness and + shadowed deeply. He let slip the load of fresh pelts from his back, drew + his feet from the skis which he stuck up on their ends in the snow, and + removed the fur cap from his head and the huge dark spectacles from his + eyes. Then, crouching, he went in at the low, ill-hung door. It stuck to + its sill, and he cursed it; all his movements expressed the anger of + frustration. He slammed the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + Buried in drifts, the cabin was dim even at this bright hour of noon. The + stove glowed in a corner with a subdued redness, its bulging cheeks and + round mouth dully scarlet. The low room was pleasant to look at, for it + had the beauty of brown bark and the salmon tints of old rough boards, and + its furniture, wrought painstakingly by an unskillful hand, had the charm + of all handwork even when unskilled. Some of the chairs were rudely + carved, one great throne especially, awkward, pretentious, and carefully + ornate. + </p> + <p> + There was, too, a solid table in the center of the floor; and on it a + woman was setting heavy earthenware plates nicked and discolored. She was + heavy and discolored herself, but like the stove, she too seemed to have a + dull glow. She was no longer young, but she might still have encouraged + her youthfulness to linger pleasantly; she was not in the least degree + beautiful, but she might have fostered a charm that lurked somewhere about + her small, compact body and in her square, dark face. Her hair of a sandy + brown was stretched back brutally so that her bright, devoted eyes—gray + and honest eyes, very deep-set beneath their brows—lacked the usual + softness and mystery of women’s eyes. Her lips were tight set; her chin + held out with an air of dogged effort which seemed to possess no relation + to her mechanical occupation, yet to have a strong habitual relation to + her state of mind. She seemed, in fact, under a shell of self-control, to + conceal an inner light, like a dimly burning dark-lantern. Her expression + was dumb. She moved about like a deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness and + stony self-repression were extraordinary. + </p> + <p> + A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he entered. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo,” he said. “How many did you get?” + </p> + <p> + It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs his + natural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The tone was + astonishingly young, a quiet, husky boy-voice. + </p> + <p> + “Damn you, Pete!” was snarled at him for answer. “Haven’t you got my boot + mended yet?” + </p> + <p> + The boot, still lacking its heel, lay on the floor near the stove, and + Hugh now picked it up and hurled it half across the room. + </p> + <p> + “I have to get out into this ice chest of a wilderness and this flaming + glare that cuts my eyeballs open, and work till the sweat freezes on my + face, and then come home to find you loafing by the fire as if you were a + house cat—purring and rubbing against my legs when I come in,” he + snarled. “Thanking me for a quiet nap and a saucer of milk, eh? You + loafer! What do I keep you for? You gorge the bread and meat I earn by + sweating and freezing, and you keep your sluggish mountain of bones + covered. A year or two ago I’d have urged you along with a stick. I used + to get some work out of you then. But you think you’re too big for that, + now, don’t you? You fancy I’m afraid of your bigness, eh? Well, do you + want me to try it out? What about it?” + </p> + <p> + During the first part of his brother’s speech, Pete had faced him, but in + the middle he had turned his back and stood in front of one of the clumsy + windows. He looked out now at a white wall of snow, above which shone the + dazzle of the midday. He whistled very softly to himself and sank his + hands deep into the pockets of his corduroys. He did not answer the + snarling question, but his wide, quiet mouth, exquisitely shaped, ran into + a smile and a dimple, deep and narrow, cut into his thin and ruddy cheek. + </p> + <p> + Between the woman, who went on with her work as though no one had come + into the room, and the silent smiling youth, Hugh Garth prowled the floor + like a shadow thrown by a moving light. + </p> + <p> + He was a man of forty-five, gray-haired, misshapen, heavy above the waist + and light to meanness below; a man lame in one leg and with an + ill-proportioned face, malicious, lined, lead-colored; a man who limped + and leaped about the room with a fierce energy, the while his tongue, + gifted with a rich and resonant voice, poured vitriol upon the silence. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the woman spoke. She turned back on the threshold of the kitchen + door through which her work had been taking her to and fro during Garth’s + outbreak. Her voice was monotonous and smothered; it had its share in her + unnatural self-repression. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you tell him to be quiet, Pete? You’ve been chopping wood since + daybreak to make up for what he didn’t do last week, and you only came in + about ten minutes before he did. Why don’t you speak out? You’re getting + to be pretty close to a man now, and it isn’t suitable for you to let + yourself be talked to that way. You always stand like a fool and take it + from him.” + </p> + <p> + Pete turned. “Oh, well,” he answered good-humoredly, “I guess maybe he’s + tired. Let up, Hugh, will you? I’ll finish your boot after dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “The hell you will! You’ll do it now!” Venting on his brother his anger at + the woman’s intervention, Garth swung his misshapen body around the end of + the table and thrust an elbow violently against Pete’s chest. The attack + was so unexpected that Pete staggered, lost his balance, and stepping down + into the shallow depression of a pebbled hearth, fell, twisting his ankle. + The agony was sharp. After a dumb minute he lifted a white face and pulled + himself up, one hand clutching the board mantel. “Now you’ve done it!” he + said between his teeth. “How will you get your pelts to the station now? I + won’t be able to take them.” + </p> + <p> + There ensued a dismayed silence. The woman had come back from the kitchen + and stood with a steaming dish in her hands. After the brief pause of + consternation she set down the dish and went over to Pete. “Here,” she + said, “sit down and let me take off your moccasin and bathe your ankle + before it begins to swell.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh Garth had seated himself in the thronelike chair at the head of the + table. His expression was still defiant, indifferent, and lordly. “Come + and eat your dinner, both of you,” he commanded. “You’ve had your lesson, + Pete. After this, I guess you’ll do what I tell you to—not choose + the work that happens to suit your humor. Don’t, for God’s sake, baby him, + Bella. Don’t start being a grandmother before you’ve ever been a + sweetheart. You’re too young for the one even if you’re getting a bit too + old for the other!” + </p> + <p> + Bella flushed deep and hot. She went to her place, and Pete hobbled to + his, opposite his brother. Between them the woman sat, dyed deep in her + sudden unaccustomed wave of scarlet. Pete’s whiteness too was stained in + sympathy. But Hugh only chuckled. “As for the pelts,” he said royally, + “I’ll take them down myself.” + </p> + <p> + Bella looked slowly up. + </p> + <p> + “You think I don’t mean it, I suppose?” Hugh demanded. + </p> + <p> + They did not answer, but the eyes of the boy and the woman met. This + silence and this dumb exchange of understanding infuriated Garth. He + clinched his hands on the carved arms of his chair and leaned a little + forward. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take the pelts myself,” he repeated boisterously. “I’m not afraid to + be seen at the station. I’m sick of skulking. Buried here—with <i>my</i> + talents—in this damn country, spending my days trapping and skinning + beasts to keep the breath in our three useless bodies. Wouldn’t death be + better for a man like me? Easier to bear? Fifteen years of it! Fifteen + years! My best years!” He stared over Pete’s head. “In all that time no + beauty to feed my starved senses, no work for my starved brain, no hope + for my starved heart.” The woman and the youth watched him still in + silence. “That fox I killed this morning had a better life to lose than + I.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be safe for you to go, Hugh,” said Pete gently. + </p> + <p> + “Why not—watchdog?” + </p> + <p> + The sneer deepened the flush on Pete’s face, but he answered with the same + gentleness, fixing his blue eyes on his brother’s. + </p> + <p> + “Because not two months ago there was a picture of you tacked up in the + post-office.” + </p> + <p> + Bella’s face whitened, and Hugh’s cheeks grew a shade more leaden. “T-two + months ago!” he stammered painfully; “but that’s not p-possible. They—they’ve + given me up. They’ve f-forgotten me. They th-think I’m dead. After fifteen + years? My God, Pete! Why didn’t you tell me?” He pleaded the last with a + shaken sort of sharpness, in pitiful contrast to the bombast of the + preceding speech. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t see the good of telling you. I was waiting until this trip to + see if the picture was still there, and maybe to ask some questions.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” whispered Bella. + </p> + <p> + “It means they’ve some fresh reason to hunt me—some fresh impulse—God + knows what or why. How can we tell out here, buried in the snows of + fifteen winters. Well!” He struck his hands down on the table edge and + stood up. He drew his mouth into a crooked smile and looked at the other + two as a naughty child looks at its doting but disapproving elders. The + smile transfigured his ugliness. “I’ve a fancy to see that picture. Want + to be reminded of what I looked like fifteen years ago. I was a handsome + fellow then. I’m going to take the pelts.” + </p> + <p> + Pete looked dumbly up at him, his lips parted. Bella twisted her apron + about her hands. Both seemed to know the hopelessness of protest. In the + same anxious dumbness they watched Garth make ready for his trip. As he + pulled his cap down close about his ears, Pete at last found his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh,” he began doubtfully, “I wish you wouldn’t risk it. We can get on + without supplies until next trading-day, when I’ll surely be all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue! I’m going,” was the answer. “I tell you, the spirit of + adventure has me. Who knows what I may meet with out there?” He flung back + the door and, pointing with a long arm, stood silhouetted against the + dazzle. + </p> + <p> + “Beauty? Opportunity? Danger? Hope? Death? I shan’t shirk it this time. + I’ll meet whatever comes. But—” He came back a step into the room. + His harsh face melted to a shamefaced gentleness; his voice softened. “If + they get me down there, if I <i>don’t</i> come back, you two try to think + kindly of me, will you? I know what you think of me now. I know you won’t + see me as I am—no one but God will ever do me that kindness; but you + two—be easy with me in your memories.” + </p> + <p> + Bella, her arms now twisted to their red elbows in her apron, took a few + stiff steps across the floor. Her face was expressionless, her eyes + lowered. Garth smiled at them both and went out, shutting the door. They + heard him singing as he put on his skis: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A hundred men were riding, + A-hunting for Pierre. + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + They rode around by moonlight; + They rode around by day; + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. +</pre> + <p> + Then came the sharp scraping of his runners across the surface of the snow + on a level with the buried roof. It lessened from a hissing speech to a + hissing whisper. It sighed away. Bella sat down abruptly on a chair, + pulled in her chin like an unhappy child; her bosom lifted as though a sob + would force its way out. + </p> + <p> + “If he doesn’t come back!” she murmured. “If he doesn’t come back!” She + was speaking to God. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Pete blinked, swallowed hard and began to talk fast and hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll come back. I don’t believe he’ll get halfway there, Bella,” he + reassured the woman. “He’ll come to his senses. You know how moody he is. + Come over here and doctor up my ankle, please. ‘Make a fuss over me, + Bell.’ Isn’t that what I used to say?” + </p> + <p> + He coaxed until at last she came and knelt before him and removed his + moccasin and heavy woolen sock. The strong white foot was like marble, but + the ankle was swollen and discolored. Bella clicked her tongue. “He <i>is</i> + a brute, you know!” She laughed shortly. Since Garth’s departure she had + become almost a human being. The deaf-mute look had melted from her, and a + sardonic humor emerged; her eyes cleared; she could even smile. “Why do we + care so much for him, Pete—the two of us?” + </p> + <p> + Pete winced under her touch and puckered his brows. “Because he’s such a + kid, I guess. He’s always fretting after the moon.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you ever get angry with him, Pete? He does treat you shameful + sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “N-no. Not often. He’s always sorry and ashamed afterward. He’d like to be + as kind as God. I believe if he could only fool us into thinking he <i>was</i> + God, he could act like Him—ouch, Bella! Go easy.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re an awful smart boy, Pete. It’s a sin you’ve never had any + schooling.” + </p> + <p> + “Schooling! Gosh! I’ve had all the schooling I could digest. Hugh beat it + into me. He’s taught me all he had in his head and a whole lot he never + ought to have had there, I guess. But <i>you’ve</i> taught me most, Bella—that’s + the truth of it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Me</i>! I never knew anything. They saw to that. They never did + anything for me at home but abuse me. Hugh Garth was the only relation I + ever had in the world that spoke kind to me. Remember how I used to run + over from my folks to tuck you into bed in your little room above the + shop, Pete? No, you were too little.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I remember,” the boy replied. “The ankle’s fine now, Bella. + Let up. I can’t stand that rubbing. Let me stick the foot up on another + chair. There—that’s great. It doesn’t hurt near so bad now. I + remember Hugh’s bookshop; yes, I do—honest! I remember sitting on + the ladder and listening to him talk to the students when they came in. He + always was a gorgeous talker, Bella. They used to stand around and listen + to his yarns like kids to a fairy story. Just the same as you and I do now—when + we can get him into a good humor. But, you know, he used to like strangers + best—to talk to, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + Bella assented, bitterly. She had begun to clear the table of its almost + untouched meal. “Because he could put it over better with a stranger. It + isn’t the <i>truth</i> Hugh likes—about himself, or others.” + </p> + <p> + Pete had begun to whittle a piece of wood. He was a charming figure, + slouching down in his chair, slim and graceful, his shapely golden head + ruffled, his chin pressed against his chest. His expression was + indescribably sweet and boyish, the shadow of anxiety and pain + accentuating a wistful if determined cheerfulness. He was deliberately + entertaining Bella, diverting her mind from its agony of apprehension. She + saw through him, but like a sick child she took the entertainment + languidly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, <i>you’re</i> too dead bent on the truth, Bella. You know you are. + You’re a regular bear for the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t see anything else,” she said gloomily. “Things are just so to me—no + blinking them.” + </p> + <p> + He put his head a little to one side and contemplated her. “What do you + see when you look into the water-bucket, Bella?” + </p> + <p> + “The water-bucket?” She flushed. “Just because you caught me prinking that + once!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you had a mirror, what would you see in it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “An ugly old woman, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “There! Your mind’s just the wrong-side-out of Hugh’s. He won’t see + himself ugly, and you won’t see yourself pretty. I’m the only sane fellow + in this house.” + </p> + <p> + “And you never in your life saw a pretty woman to remember her. Besides, + you’re too young.” She said it with a tart sweetness and vanished into the + kitchen. + </p> + <p> + With her departure Pete’s whittling ceased, his hands fell slack and he + began to stare out through the snow-walled window. His anxiety for Hugh + slipped imperceptibly into a vague pondering over his own youthfulness. + That’s what those two were always telling him, sometimes savagely, + sometimes tenderly! “You’re too young.” What did it mean to him, anyhow, + that he was “too young”? A desolation from which at times he suffered in + secret overcame him. + </p> + <p> + He was twenty-one or -two—or his memory lied. They had never + celebrated his birthdays, but he was five or six years old when Hugh had + been so suddenly, so unexplainably taken from the house, back there in the + little Eastern college town where they had lived. It was a few months + later that Bella—Cousin Bella, who worked at “the farm”—came + for him, a furtive, desperate Bella with a bruised face—a Bella + tight-strung for flight, for a breaking of the galling accustomed ties of + her life, for a terrible plunge into unknown adventure. She had muttered + to him, as she dressed him and bundled together a few of his belongings, + that they “were going to Hugh”—only it was another name she used, a + name since blotted from their lives. + </p> + <p> + Hugh had sent for them. She was the only person in the world that Hugh + could trust. But no one must know where they were going. They must be away + by the time the man who took charge of the shop came back in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Pete remembered the journey. He remembered the small frontier station + where they left the train at last. He remembered that strange, far-flung + horizon, streaked with dawn, and his first taste of the tangy, heady air. + There had been a long, long drive and a parting with the friendly driver + where Bella turned on to the trail through the woods. It had been dim and + dark and terrible among the endless regiments of trees—mazy and + green and altogether bewildering. And after vague hop-o’-my-thumb + wanderings, he had a disconnected memory of Hugh—a wild, rugged, + ragged, bearded Hugh who caught him up fiercely as though he had an ogrish + hunger for the feel of little boys. It was night when they came to Hugh’s + hiding-place. For miles Pete had been carried in his brother’s arms. Bella + had limped behind them. There had been a ford, he remembered; the + splashing water had roused Pete, and he stayed awake afterward until he + found himself before a dancing fire of logs in a queer, dark, + resinous-smelling house, very low, with unglazed windows. He remembered, + too, that Bella had burst out crying. That was the queerest memory of them + all—that crying of Bella’s.—Even now he could not understand + exactly why she had cried so then. + </p> + <p> + The frightened, furtive life they had all led since—the life of + scared wild things—had left its mark on Pete. His fear for Hugh now + threw him back into the half-forgotten state of apprehension which had + been the atmosphere of all his little boyhood. He had not known then why + strange men were creatures to be feared and shunned. In fact, he had never + been told the reason for Hugh’s flight. Only, bit by bit, he had pieced + together hints and vague allusions until he knew that this strange, + embittered, boasting poet of a brother had killed or had been accused of + killing. In his loyal boy mind Hugh Garth was promptly acquitted. It was + the world that was wrong—not Hugh. Yet to-day, after all the long + years of carefulness, he had gone back to the cruelty of the world. + </p> + <p> + Like a beast the boy’s anxiety for his brother began to prowl about the + walls of his mind. He imagined Hugh appearing at the trading-station. He + pictured the curious glances of the Indians and the white natives. This + limping, extravagant, energetic Hugh with his whitening hair and eyebrows + and flaring hazel eyes—with his crooked nose and mouth, his + magnificently desperate manner and his magnificently desperate voice—attention + would inevitably fasten upon him anywhere; how much more in an empty land + such as this! Pete fancied the inquiring looks turned from the man to the + man’s posted picture. It was no longer a faithful likeness, of course; + still, it was a likeness. There was no other man in all the world like + Hugh! He was made of odd, fantastic fragments, of ill-fitting parts—physically, + mentally, spiritually. It was as if a soul had seen itself in a crooked + mirror and had fashioned a form to match the distorted image. Hugh + wouldn’t, couldn’t force himself to be inconspicuous. He would swagger; he + would talk loud; his big, beautiful voice would challenge attention, + create an audience. He would have some impossible, splendid tale to tell. + </p> + <p> + Pete sat up straighter in his chair, gingerly rearranging the ankle, and + lifted his blue and haunted eyes—the eyes of the North—to the + window. + </p> + <p> + The dazzle of noon had faded to a glow. The short winter day was nearly + done. There would be a long violet twilight, and then, the blaze of stars. + </p> + <p> + But for his aching ankle Pete would be sliding out on soundless skis, now + poised for breathless flight down some long slope, now leaping fallen + trees or buried ditches. He spent half of his wild young restlessness in + such long night runs when, in a sort of ecstasy, he outraced the stifled + longings of his exiled youth. But there would be no ski-running for + several nights now. He was a prisoner, and at a time when imprisonment was + hard to bear. + </p> + <p> + If only there were some way of getting quick news of Hugh! Why had Bella + and he let this thing happen? Why had they stood helplessly by and allowed + the rash fool to go singing to his own destruction? They might have held + him by force, if not by argument, long enough to bring him to his senses. + They had been weak; they were always weak before Hugh’s magnetic strength—always + the audience, the following; Bella, for all her devastating tongue, no + less than himself. And Hugh’s liberty, perhaps his life, might be the + price of their acquiescence. + </p> + <p> + Straining forward in his chair, listening, there came to Pete, across the + silence, the sound of skis. + </p> + <p> + He rose and hopped to the door, flinging it wide. He could not see above + the top of the drift which rose just beyond the roof to a height of nine + or ten feet, but listening intently, he thought he recognized a familiar + slight unevenness in the sliding of the skis. + </p> + <p> + “Bella!” he shouted, his boy-voice ringing with relief. “Bella! Here’s + Hugh. He’s come back.” + </p> + <p> + Bella was instantly at his side. They stood waiting in the doorway. + Against the violet sky darkening above the blue wall of snow, a bulky + figure rose, blotting out the light. It half slid, half tumbled down upon + them, clumsy and shapeless. + </p> + <p> + “Let us in,” panted Hugh. “Let us in.” + </p> + <p> + Slipping his feet from the straps of his skis, he staggered past them and + they saw that he was carrying a woman in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + “Shut the door,” Hugh whispered, and laid his burden down on a big black + bear-hide near the stove. He knelt beside it. He had no eyes for anything + else. Pete, hobbling to him, gazed curiously down, and Bella knelt + opposite and drew away Hugh’s mackinaw coat, with which he had wrapped his + trove. It was not a woman whom they looked down upon, but a girl, and very + young—perhaps not yet seventeen—a girl with cropped dark curly + hair and a face so wan and blue and at the same time so scorched by the + snow-glare that its exquisiteness of feature was all the more marked. + Hugh’s handkerchief was tied loosely across her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I heard her crying in the snow,” he said with ineffable tenderness; + “crying like a little bleating lamb with cold and pain and hunger and + fright—the most pitiful thing in God’s cruel trap of life. She’s + blind—snow-blind.” + </p> + <p> + Pete gave a sharp exclamation, and Bella gently removed the handkerchief. + The small figure moaned and moved its head. The lids of her eyes were + swollen and discolored. + </p> + <p> + “Snow-blind,” echoed Bella. + </p> + <p> + “A bad case,” said Hugh. “Get her some soup, Bella, and—perhaps, hot + water—I don’t know.” He looked up helplessly. + </p> + <p> + Bella went to the kitchen. She had regained her old look of dumbness. + Beside the figure on the floor Pete touched one of the girl’s small + clenched hands. It was like ice. At the touch she moaned, and Hugh ordered + sharply: “Let her alone.” So the boy dragged himself up again and stood by + the mantel, watching Hugh with puzzled and wondering eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Think what she’s been through,” Hugh murmured, “that little delicate + thing, wandering for two days, out in this cold—scared by the woods, + blinded by the pain, starving. When I found her, you’d have thought she’d + be afraid of a wild man like me, but she just lifted up her arms like a + baby and dropped her head on my shoulder. She—she patted my cheek—” + </p> + <p> + Bella brought the soup, and Hugh, raising the small black head on the + crook of his arm, forced a spoonful between the clenched teeth. The girl + swallowed and began again to whimper: “Oh, my eyes! My eyes! They hurt me + so!” She turned her face against Hugh’s chest and clung to him. + </p> + <p> + “They’ll be better soon,” he soothed her; then fiercely to Bella: “Can’t + we do something? Don’t you know what to do?” + </p> + <p> + Again Bella went to the kitchen, moving like an automaton. Hugh coaxed and + murmured, feeding the girl in spite of her pain. He managed to force a + little of the soup down her throat, and a faint stain of color came back + to her lips and cheeks. Bella presently reappeared with salve and lotion, + and Hugh helped her hold the swollen lids apart, his big hands very + skillful, while she gently washed out the eyes. Then they put the salve on + her sun-scorched face. She sighed as though in some relief, and again + snuggled against Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go away, please,” she pleaded in a sweet trickle of voice. “I’m + scared to feel you gone. You’re so warm. You’re so strong. Will you talk + to me again, please? Your voice is so comforting, so beau-ti-ful.” + </p> + <p> + So Hugh talked. The others drew away and watched and listened. They did + not look at each other. For some reason Pete was ashamed to meet Bella’s + eyes. As usual, they were the audience, those two. They sat, each in a + chair, the width of the room apart; below them, his grizzled head and + warped face transfigured by its new tenderness, Hugh bent over the child + in his arms. Pete held his tumult of curiosity, of interest, in leash. He + could hear his heart pounding. + </p> + <p> + “You’re safe now, and warm,” Hugh was murmuring. “No need to be scared, no + need. I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep. I’m strong enough to keep off + anything. You’re safe and snug as a little bird in its nest. That’s right. + Go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Pete’s blue eyes dwelt on this amazing spectacle with curious wonder. This + was a Hugh he had never seen before. For the first time in fifteen years, + he realized, the man had forgotten himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + To Hugh Garth the girl told her story at last. She seemed to realize only + dimly that there were two other living beings in this house, to her a + house of darkness peopled only by voices—Pete’s modest, rare boy + speeches, Bella’s brief, smothered statements. The great music of Hugh’s + utterance must indeed have filled her narrowed world. So it was to him she + turned—he was always near her, sitting on the pelt beside the chair + to which, after a day and night in Bella’s bed, she was helped. + </p> + <p> + She had a charming fashion of speech, rather slow motions of her lips, + which had some difficulty with “r” and “s,” a difficulty which she + evidently struggled against conscientiously, and as she talked, she + gesticulated with her slim little hands. She was a touching thing sitting + there in Hugh’s carved throne—he an abdicated monarch at her feet, + knee in hand, grizzled head tilted back, hazel eyes raised to her and + filled with adoration. + </p> + <p> + “I am called Sylvie Doone,” she said with that quaint struggle over the + “S.” “I was always miserable at home.” She gave the quick sigh of a child. + “You see, my father died when I was very little, and then my mother + married again. We lived in the grimmest little town, hardly more than a + dozen houses, beside a stream, up in Massachusetts—farming country, + but poor farming, hard farming, the kind that twists the men with + rheumatism, and makes the women all pinched and worn. Mother was like + that. She died when I was thirteen. You see—there I was, so queerly + fixed. I had to live with Mr. Pynche—there was no other home for me + anywhere. And he kind of resented it. He had enough money not to need me + for work—a sister of his did the housework better than I could—and + yet he was poor enough to hate having to feed me and pay for my clothes. I + was always feeling in the way, and a burden. There was nothing I could do. + </p> + <p> + “Then I saw something about the movies in a magazine, and pictures of + girls, not much better-looking than me, making lots of money. I borrowed + some money from a drug-store clerk who wanted to keep company with me—I’ve + paid it back—and I went to New York. I did get a job. But I’m not a + good actress.” + </p> + <p> + She faltered over the rest—a commonplace story of engagements, of + failures, until she found herself touring the West with a wretched + theatrical troupe. “We were booked for a little town off there beyond your + woods, and the train was stalled in a snowstorm. We got on a stage-coach, + but it got stuck in a drift on one of those dreadful roads. I was freezing + cold, and I thought I’d make a short cut through the woods. The road was + running along the edge of a big forest of pines. I cut off while they were + all working to dig out the horses. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Snaring said, ‘Look out for the bears!’ and I laughed and ran up what + looked like a snow-buried trail. There was a hard crust. The woods were + all glittering and so beautiful. I ran into them, laughing. I was so glad + to get away by myself from those people into the woods where it was so + silent and sort of solemn—like being in a church again. I can’t + think how I got so lost. I meant to come round back to the road, but + before I knew it, I didn’t know which way the road was. The pines were so + dense, so all alike, they looked almost as if they kept sort of shifting + about me. I tried to follow back on my footprints, but in some places snow + had shaken down from the branches. And there were so many—so + dreadfully many other tracks—of animals—” She put her hands + over her face and shrank down in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Forget about them, Sylvie,” Hugh admonished gently. “Even if there had + been bears about, they wouldn’t likely have bothered you any.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t bring myself to tell you about that time—I can’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, then—only, how did you live through the night, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—except that I never stayed still. I got out from the + trees because I was afraid of bears, and I lost my hat. The sun was like + fire shining up from underneath and down from up above. My eyes began to + hurt almost at once, and by the time night came, it was agony. The + darkness didn’t seem to help me any either; the glare still seemed to come + in under my lids. I couldn’t sleep for the pain. I knew I’d freeze if I + stood still, so I kept moving all night, trampling round in circles, I + suppose. Next morning the terrible glare began again. Then everything went + red. I was nearly crazy when you found me, Mr. Garth.” + </p> + <p> + “Please call me Hugh,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. “I feel in a + way that you belong to me now—I saved you from dying alone there in + the cold and brought you back to my home. I’ve got jettison rights, + Sylvie.” She let him hold her hand, and flushed. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll never know what it felt like to hear your voice call to me, to + feel you pulling me up. I’d only just dropped a few minutes before, but + I’d never have struggled up. It would have been the end.” She trembled in + the memory, and he patted her hand. “I don’t know why a man like you lives + off here in this wild place, but thank God, you do live here! Though,” she + added with wistfulness, twisting her soft mouth, “though I can’t ever + quite see why God should care much for a Sylvie Doone.” She touched the + lids of her closed eyes. “I wonder why it doesn’t worry me more not to be + able to see. Now that the pain’s gone, I don’t seem to care much.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God. Perhaps, though,” he added half-grudgingly, “in a few days + you’ll see again.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “I’d just love to see <i>you</i>. You must be wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think that?” he asked, his warped face glowing. + </p> + <p> + “You’re so strong and young, such thick hair, such finely shaped hands and + such a voice.” Sylvie’s associates had been of a profession that deals + perpetually in personalities. “If I’d been blind a long time, I suppose I + could just run my hand over your face, and I’d know what you look like. + But I can’t tell a thing.” She felt for his face and brushed it eagerly + with her fingers, laughing at herself. “I just know that you have thick + eyelashes and are clean-shaven. Is Bella your wife? And that big little + boy your son?” + </p> + <p> + He started. “No, she’s a faithful thing, the boy’s nurse. And the kid’s my + young brother—a great gawk of a boy for his age, a regular + bean-pole.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s so hard to tell anything about people if you can’t see them. I + wouldn’t have thought he was so big. Is he about fourteen or fifteen? He + speaks so low and gently; he might be any age.” + </p> + <p> + “And a man’s height—pretty near too big to lick, though he needs + it.” + </p> + <p> + “And Bella, what’s she like?” + </p> + <p> + “A dried-up mummy of a woman.” + </p> + <p> + The kitchen door creaked. Hugh started and shot a look over his shoulder. + Bella stood on the kitchen threshold with an expressionless face and + lowered eyelids. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you jump?” asked Sylvie nervously. + </p> + <p> + Hugh wet his lips with his tongue. “Nothing. The door creaked. Go on. Tell + me more, child,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “No. I want to hear about you now. Tell me your story.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh clenched his hands and flushed darkly. He glanced over his shoulder + with a furtive look, but Bella had gone. + </p> + <p> + “No one else rightly knows my story, Sylvie. Will you promise me never to + speak of it, to Bella, to Pete, to any one?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I promise.” Her face beamed with the pride of a child + entrusted with a secret. + </p> + <p> + Then, lowering his voice and moving closer to her chair, he began a + fictitious history, a history of persecuted and heroic innocence, of + reckless adventure, of daring self-sacrifice. The girl listened with + parted lips. Her cheeks glowed. And behind the door, Bella too listened, + straining her ears. + </p> + <p> + The murmur of Hugh’s recital, rising now and then to some melodramatic + climax, then dropping cautiously, rippled on, broken now and again by + Sylvie’s ejaculations. Behind the door Bella stood like a wooden block, + colorless and stolid as though she understood not a syllable of what she + heard. But after a rigid hour she faltered away, stumbled across the + kitchen and out into the snow. + </p> + <p> + There, in the broad light of the setting sun, Pete rhythmically bent and + straightened over his saw. The tool sang with a hissing, ringing rhythm, + and the young man drove it with a lithe, long swing of body, forward and + back, forward and back, in alternate postures of untiring grace. The air + was not cold. There was the cloudy softness premonitory of a spring storm; + the sun glowed like a dying fire through a long, narrow rift in the + shrouded west. Pete had thrown aside his coat and drawn in his belt. The + collar of his flannel shirt was open and turned back; his head was bare. + The bright gold of his short hair, the scarlet of his cheeks, the vivid + blue of his brooding eyes, made shocks of color against the prevailing + whiteness. Even the indigo of his overalls and the dark gray of his shirt + stood out with a curious value of tint and texture. His bare hands and + forearms glowed. He was whistling with a boy’s vigor and a bird’s + sweetness. + </p> + <p> + Bella caught Pete’s arm as it bent for one of the strong forward sweeps. + He stopped, let go of his saw, and turned to her, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Then—the smile gone: “What’s wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes flamed in her pale, tense face. “We’ve got to stop it, Pete,” she + said. “It’s horrible!” + </p> + <p> + “What? Don’t stand out here with those bare arms, Bella.” He was pulling + his own shirt-sleeves down over his glistening bronze forearms as he + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “We can’t talk in the house,” she said, “and I’ve got to talk. I—Do + you know what Hugh’s doing—what he’s telling that girl? What he’s + letting her believe?” + </p> + <p> + Pete shook his head, but at the same time turned his blue eyes away from + her toward the glowing west. + </p> + <p> + “Lies,” said Bella. She laughed a short, explosive laugh. “He’s got his + ideal audience at last—a blind one. She thinks he’s young and + handsome and heroic. Pete, she thinks he’s a hero. She thinks he’s buried + himself out here for the sake of somebody else. Oh, it’s a regular + romance, and it’s been going on for hours—it’s still going on. By + now he believes it all himself. He’s putting in the details. And Sylvie: + ‘Oh!’ she’s saying, and ‘Ah, Mr. Garth, how you must have suffered! How + wonderful you are!’ And—look at me Pete—do you want to know + what we are—according to him—you and I?” + </p> + <p> + He did not turn his eyes from the west, even when she shook his arm. + </p> + <p> + “I’m a dried-up mummy of a woman—faithful?—yes, I’m faithful—an + old servant. And you’re a child, an overgrown bean-pole of a boy, fourteen + or fifteen years old.” + </p> + <p> + The young man stood tall and still—a statue of golden youth in the + golden light—the woman clutching at his arm, her face twisted, her + eyes afire, all the colorlessness of her body and the suppressed flame of + her spirit pitilessly apparent. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he sighed gently, “what of it?” He looked down at her and smiled. + “It’s the first good time he’s had for fifteen years. You know we don’t + make him happy. I don’t grudge him his joy, Bella, do you? It can’t last + long, anyway. Fairy tales can’t hurt her—Hugh believes—almost—in + his own inventions. She’ll be going back—her friends will be hunting + for her. I’ll let her think I’m a bean-pole of a boy if it makes him any + happier to have me one. And why do you care?” + </p> + <p> + She drew in her breath. “Oh, I don’t suppose I care—so much,” she + said haltingly. “But—think of the girl.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes widened a little and fell. “The girl?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s falling in love with him!” + </p> + <p> + Pete threw back his head and laughed aloud. “Oh, Bella, you know, <i>that’s</i> + funny!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not. It’s tragic. It’s horrible. You’ll see. Watch her face.” + </p> + <p> + “I have watched it.” He spoke dreamily. “It’s a very pretty and sweet + face.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete, Hugh’s robbing <i>you</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you’re young. You’re ready for loving. This child—God sent her + to you, to get you out of this desolation, to lead you back to loving and + living, to give you what you ought to have—Life.” + </p> + <p> + It was as though she had struck him. He started and drew himself away. + “Shut up, Bella,” he said with boyish roughness and limped past her into + the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + In these days Hugh must have known that his magic-making, as he led the + little blind girl through the forest of his romancing, was at the mercy of + those two that knew him for what he really was; except for queer, wild, + threatening looks now and again, he gave no sign. He played his part + magnificently, even trusting them to come in with help when they were + given their cue. He had dominated them for so long that even they and the + picture of him that they held in their minds were not so real as his + dreams. It was a queer game, queer and breathless, played in this narrow + space shut in by the white wilderness. And as the slow days went by, the + low log house seemed to be filled more and more with smothered and + conflicting emotions. A dozen times the whole extravaganza came near + collapse; a dozen times Hugh saved it by a word, or Pete and Bella by a + silence. Their parts were not easy, and although Pete still smiled, his + young clear face grew whiter and more strained. Sylvie treated him always + as though he were a child. She would pat his head and rumple his hair if + he sat near her; once, suddenly, she kissed him lightly on the cheek, + after he had moved the chair for her. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a dear, quiet boy,” she said. “I frightened you to death, then, + didn’t I? Hasn’t anyone ever kissed you before?” His cheek burned so that, + touching it with her fingers, she laughed. “I’ve made you blush, poor kid! + I know. Boys hate petting, don’t they? You’ll have to get used to it, + Pete, because I mean to pet you—oh, a lot! You need some one to draw + you out. These two people snub you too much. Boys of fourteen aren’t quite + children, after all, are they? Besides, they’re interesting. I know. I was + fourteen myself not such ages back. You’re not cross, are you, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were misty, and his hands were cold. He could not understand his + own emotion, his own pain. He muttered something and got himself away. She + called him “sullen” and was angry with him, complaining to Hugh at supper + that “Petey” had been “a bear” to her. Hugh simulated a playful annoyance + and began to scold; then a sort of nervous fury came over him. He stamped + and struck the table and snarled at Pete. The young man rose at his place + and stared at his brother silently. There were two splotches of deep color + on his cheeks. Sylvie protested: “Don’t, please, be so angry with him. I + was only teasing, just in fun. Bella, tell Hugh to stop. I had no business + to kiss Pete. But I just wanted to pet something.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s threatening suddenly stopped, and Pete sat down. In the strained + silence Bella laughed. Her laughter had the sound of a snapped bow-string. + Sylvie had pushed her chair back a little from the table and was turning + her head quickly from one to the other of them. Her mouth showed a tremble + of uncertainty. It was easy to see that she sensed a tension, a confusion. + Hugh leaned forward and broke into a good-humored rattle of speech, and as + Pete and Bella sat silent, Sylvie gradually was reassured. Near the end of + the meal she put out her hand toward Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t be so cross with me, Pete! Give me a shake for forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + He touched her hand, his eyes lowered, and drew his fingers away. She + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “How shy you are—a wild, forest thing! I’ll have to civilize you.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave him alone,” admonished Hugh softly, “leave him alone.” + </p> + <p> + As he said this, he did not look at Sylvie, but gazed somberly at Pete. It + was a strange look, at once appealing and threatening, pitiful and + dangerous. Pete fingered his fork nervously. Finally Bella stood up and + began to clear the table with an unaccustomed clatter of noisy energy. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you going to keep it up, Pete?” she asked him afterward. He + was helping her wash the dishes, drying them deftly with a piece of + flour-sacking. + </p> + <p> + “Since we’ve let it begin, we’ll have to go on with it to a finish,” he + answered coldly. “After all”—he paused, polished a platter and + turned away to put it on its shelf—“he’s not doing anything so + dreadful—just twisting the facts a little. I <i>am</i> an ignorant + lout. I might as well be fourteen, for all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “And I <i>am</i> a mummy of a woman?” + </p> + <p> + In pity for her he made to put his arm about her. “Don’t be a goose, + Bella,” he said, but she flung his hand from her. “Why does it make you so + sore and angry?” he asked wistfully. “Hugh is not pretty to look at, but + perhaps Sylvie sees him better than we do—in a way; and if she + learns to love him while she’s blind, then, when she sees him, if she ever + sees him—” + </p> + <p> + “Chances are she never will. If her eyes don’t get better soon, they + likely never will.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it horrible?” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seem to think so. So long’s she has Hugh to paint pictures for + her, what does she need eyes for? What’s to come of it, Pete? She’s + falling in love with the fine figure of a hero he’s made her believe he + is. But how can he marry her?” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t he go off somewhere else and marry her and start again? Honest, + I think if Hugh had some one who thought he was a god, he’d likely enough + be one. He—he lives by—illusion—isn’t that the word? + It’s kind of easy to be noble when some one you love believes you to be, + isn’t it? That’s Hugh; he—” + </p> + <p> + Bella threw down her rag, turned fiercely upon him and gripped his + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a man or a child?” she said. “You love this girl yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried and broke from her and went limping out into the frosty + night with its comfortless glitter of stars. + </p> + <p> + As soon as his ankle was stronger, Pete spent all day and most of the + night on his skis, trying to outrun the growing shadow of his misery. + Hugh’s work fell on his shoulders. He had not only his accustomed chores, + the Caliban duties of woodchopping and water-carrying, the dressing of + wild meat, the dish-drying and heavier housework, the repairs about the + cabin—but he had the trapping. In Hugh’s profound new absorption he + seemed to have forgotten the necessity for making a livelihood. During the + first years of their exile they had lived on his savings, ordering their + supplies by the mail, which left them at the foot of that distant trail + leading into the forest. Thence Hugh, under shelter of night, would carry + them—lonely, terrible journeys that taxed even his strength. When + Pete grew big enough to load, he was sent to the trading-station, and Hugh + became an expert trapper. The savings were not entirely spent, but they + were no longer touched; the pelts brought a livelihood. + </p> + <p> + Pete had had his instructions concerning his behavior at the + trading-station; many years before, he had stammered a legend of a sickly + father who had died, who was buried back there by the lonely cabin where + he and his “mother” chose to live. Bella and Hugh had even dug up a mound + for which they had fashioned a rude cross. It could be seen, in summer, + from the living-room window—that mock grave more terrible in its + suggestions than a real grave ever could have been. There was also a + hiding-place under the boards of the floor. No one had ever seen the grave + or driven Hugh into hiding. It was not an inquisitive country, and its + desolation was forbidding. Pete had learned to discourage the rare + sociability of the other traders. + </p> + <p> + Now, however, the young man had not only to trade his pelts but to trap + them, and for this business of trapping which was distasteful to him, he + had not a tithe of Hugh’s skill. His bundle of pelts brought him a sorry + supply of necessities. He was ashamed, himself, and having dumped the + burden from his shoulders to the kitchen floor would hurry into the other + room, not to see Bella’s expression when she opened her bundles. + </p> + <p> + To-night Pete was tired; the load had not been heavy, but the snow was + beginning to soften under the mild glowing of an April sun, and his skis + had tugged at his feet and gathered a clogging mass. His body ached, and + there was a sullen and despairing weight upon his spirit. A mob of rebels + danced in his heart. He watched Hugh’s face, saw the flaring adoration of + his eyes, thought that Sylvie must feel the scorch of them on her cheek, + so close. In his own eyes there showed a brooding fire. + </p> + <p> + Bella broke into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” she said, “you’d better get to trapping again, Hugh Garth. + Pete’s pelts don’t bring a quarter of what we need—especially these + days.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. “Oh, you mean me,” she + said, “I know you mean me. I’m making trouble. I’m eating too much. I’ll + go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the post-office, trying to + find me? They <i>must</i> be hunting for me.” She had stood up and was + clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete protested in one breath: + “Nonsense, Sylvie!” + </p> + <p> + And Pete went on with: “There hasn’t been anyone asking about you, but—so + much the better for us. You’re safe here, and comfortable, aren’t you? And—Hugh, + <i>you</i> tell her what it means to us to have her here.” + </p> + <p> + It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie’s arrival, and it + was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old boy. + There was a new somber note in his voice, too—some of the youthful + quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him, to thank him, + perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon him, a sudden + bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the edge of the hearth, + and to save her from falling, Pete caught her in his arms. For an instant + he held her close, held her fiercely, closer and more fiercely than he + knew, and Sylvie felt the strength of him and heard the pounding of his + heart. Then Hugh plucked her away with a smothered oath. He put her into a + chair, crushed her hand in one of his, and turned upon Bella. + </p> + <p> + “Go back into the kitchen,” he ordered brutally; “trapping’s not your + business. You mind your cooking.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful, Hugh!” Bella’s whisper whistled like a falling lash, “I’ll + not stand that tone from you. Be careful!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” pleaded Sylvie, “why do you all quarrel so? Off here by yourselves + with nobody else to care, I’d think you would just love each other. I love + you all—yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know you hate <i>me</i>. + Bella, <i>why</i> do you hate me? Why does it make you so angry to have me + here? Does it make your work so much harder? I’ll soon be better; I’m + learning to feel my way about. I’ll be able to help you. I should think + you’d be glad to have a girl in the house—another woman. I’m sorry + to be a nuisance, really I am. I’d go if I could.” + </p> + <p> + The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut down with + suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal. For minutes + no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room. She had not + answered Sylvie’s beseeching questions, but had only stood with lowered + head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress. She had run out just + as her face cramped as though for tears. + </p> + <p> + When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie’s hands in his. + “You don’t mean that, do you?” he asked brokenly. “You don’t mean you’d go + away if you could, Sylvie!” + </p> + <p> + At Hugh’s voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks. “If I + make you quarrel, if I’m a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate me so!” + </p> + <p> + “But I”—he said—“I love you.” He drew her head—she was + sitting in her chair again—against his side. “No, don’t smile at me + like that; I don’t mean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly. + Can’t you feel how I love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don’t be + frightened. There, now you know how I love you!” + </p> + <p> + He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him. + </p> + <p> + “How can a man like you love <i>me</i>?” she asked with wistful + uncertainty. + </p> + <p> + “A man like me?” Hugh groaned. “Ah, but I do—I do! You must stay + with me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married—you—and I!” + </p> + <p> + “Now it frightens me,” she whispered, “being blind. It does frighten me + now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you mustn’t marry + a blind girl, a waif. You’ve been so noble, you’ve suffered so terribly. + You ought to have some wonderful woman who would understand your + greatness, would see all that you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he sighed, “now I <i>am</i> great—because you think I am; + that’s water to me—after a lifetime of thirst.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, <i>am</i> I good enough for you?” She was sobbing and laughing at + the same time. + </p> + <p> + It was too much for him. He drew himself gently away. He whispered: “I + can’t bear being loved—being happy. I’ll go out by myself for a bit + alone. Sylvie, Sylvie! Every instant I—I worship <i>you</i>!” He + threw himself down before her and pressed his face against her knees. She + caressed the thick, grizzled hair. He stood up and then stumbled away from + her, more blind than she, out of the house into the gathering night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + In the big, rudely carved chair Sylvie leaned back her head and pressed + her hands to her unseeing eyes. She was not sorry that Hugh had left her, + for she was oppressed and unnerved by her own emotions. Until he had + kissed her hair, she had not known that she loved him—or rather + loved an invisible presence that had enveloped her in an atmosphere of + sympathy, of protection, that had painted itself, so to speak, in heroic + colors and proportions against her darkness, that had revealed both + strength and tenderness in touch and movement, and warm, deep voice. + </p> + <p> + For until now Sylvie’s life had been entirely lacking in protection and + tenderness; she had never known sympathy—her natural romanticism had + been starved. The lacks in her life Hugh had supplied the more lavishly + because he was aided, in her blindness, by the unrestricted powers of her + fancy. But now in all the fervor of this, Sylvie felt, also for the first + time, the full bitterness of her blindness. If she could see him—if + only once! If she could see him! + </p> + <p> + And there came to Sylvie unreasonably, disconnectedly, a keen memory of + Pete’s embrace when he had caught her up from falling on the hearth. A boy + of fourteen? Strange that he should be so strong, that his heart should + beat so loud, that his arms should draw themselves so closely, so + powerfully about her. What were they really like, these people who moved + unseen around her and who exerted such great power over her sudden + helplessness? + </p> + <p> + She got up and began to walk to and fro restlessly, gropingly across the + room. She wished now that Hugh would come back. He had been with her so + constantly that she had grown utterly dependent upon him. The dense red + fog that lay so thick about her, frightened her when Hugh was not there to + keep her mind busy with his talk to paint pictures for her, to command her + with his magnetic presence. She stood still and strained her eyes. She <i>must</i> + see again. If she tried hard, the red fog would surely lift. Happiness, + and her new love, they would be strong enough to dispel the mist. There—already + it was a shade lighter! She almost thought that she could make out the + brightness of the fire. She went toward it and sat down on the bear-skin, + holding out her tremulous, excited hands. And with a sudden impulse toward + confidence she called: “Pete, O Pete! Come here a moment, please.” + </p> + <p> + He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguely + directed smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve of + his body holding itself at a distance. + </p> + <p> + “Pete,” she said wistfully, “what can I do to make you love me?” + </p> + <p> + He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Are you jealous?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sylvie,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I’d understand you + better. Pete, try to be a little more—more human. Tell me about + yourself. Haven’t you a bit of fondness for me? You see, I want—Pete—some + day perhaps I’ll be your sister—” + </p> + <p> + “Then he has asked you to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” she said. “Hush! We have only just found out. He went away + because he couldn’t bear his own happiness. Pete—” She felt for him + and her hand touched his cheek. “Oh, Pete, your face is wet. You’re + crying.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not,” he denied evenly. “It was melting from the roof when I came + in.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. “You are so strange, Pete. Will you let me kiss you now—since + you are going to be my big little brother?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed and crooked her arm about his neck, forcing his face down to + hers. His lips were hard and cool. + </p> + <p> + The face that Sylvie imagined a boy’s face, shy and blushing, half + frightened, half cross, perhaps a trifle pleased, was so white and patient + a face in its misery that her blind tenderness seemed almost like an + intentional cruelty. It was an intensity of feeling almost palpable, but + Sylvie’s mouth remained unburnt, though it removed itself with a pathetic + little twist of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t need to say anything,” she said, “You’ve shown me how you feel. + You can’t like me. You are sorry I came. And I want so dreadfully for some + one just now to talk to—to help me, to understand. It’s all dark and + wonderful and frightening. I wish I had a brother—” + </p> + <p> + She bent her face to her knees and began to cry simply and passionately. + At that Pete found it easy to forget himself. He put his arm very + carefully about her, laying one of his hands on her bent head and stroking + her hair. + </p> + <p> + “You have a brother,” he said. “Right here.” + </p> + <p> + The dark small silken head shook. “No. You don’t like me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do—I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I’d + like awfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, you’ve + been so much with Hugh, I haven’t had a chance to know you as he does. And + I guess—well—maybe I’m sort of shy.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in both of + hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten for the + pleasure of its warmth. “You must get over being shy with me, Pete. We + both love Hugh; we both admire him so. I’d so love to talk to you about + him—” + </p> + <p> + “Then do, Sylvie.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never seen him,” she sighed, “and you can see him all day long, + Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me—every bit of + him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his face and—everything. + Tell me all you remember about him always.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I’m no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long—why, + you don’t know what he looks like, ‘specially if he’s your own brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “He has hazel eyes—I think you’d call them—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in her + excitement. “Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you’d do this so much + better.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I—but I don’t know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very + strong.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I know that. Didn’t he pick me up out of the snow and carry me + home? He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You are very strong + too, Pete—<i>very</i> strong. Are <i>your</i> eyes hazel?” + </p> + <p> + “No; blue.” + </p> + <p> + “I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just the Viking + sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You think I’m a + silly goose, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, rather.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can’t guess how it + comforts me. I’m awfully alone here, and strange. I don’t suppose you know + how queer and frightening it’s been—this getting lost and being + brought here in the dark, and then—living on in the dark, just + trusting my instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell a + lot about people, don’t they?—more than I ever dreamed they could. + Pete, there is nothing in that—that splendid, generous thing Hugh + did, the thing I am not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from going + back to the world—some place—that is, far away from where it + happened—and beginning again, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, Sylvie.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. “Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn’t told me of it, I + never should have known half of his greatness; yet I can’t help wishing he + were free. It’s sad to think there will always be the memory of that + dreadful suffering and danger in his life.” + </p> + <p> + “Very sad,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “How alone we both are—he and I! Bella, and you, Pete—don’t be + angry, please—I don’t think you quite understand Hugh, quite + appreciate him.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not.” + </p> + <p> + “He has always been lonely. You are so young, and Bella is so stupid—stupid + and cross.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she isn’t, Sylvie. I know Bella a lot better than you do. She’s not + stupid or cross—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I like you to stick up for your old nurse. She certainly must have + loved you a lot to bring you way out here and to stay here all these years + to take care of you. I wonder where she’ll go and what she’ll do when Hugh + and I get married. You’re too old for a nurse now, Pete. Do you mind if I + lean back against you that way? It’s so comfortable. I’d be happier + without Bella, Pete, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you, Sylvie? Well, Bella and I will have to go away together + somewhere, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say you, dear. I love you a lot—next best to Hugh. There’s + something awfully sweet about you—you great strong overgrown thing! + Your heart goes <i>thump-thump-thump-thump</i>, as though it was as big as + the sun.... I feel much better and happier now. Things have got steady + again. Only—I wish Hugh would come back.” + </p> + <p> + Pete gave a strangled sigh. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be back.” And he began to draw himself away from her. “I think I + hear him now, Sylvie.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay where you are,” she laughed. “Don’t be ashamed of being found with a + sister leaning against you and holding your hand. Are you afraid of Hugh? + I think sometimes he’s rather hard with you—I’ll have to speak to + him about that. Oh”—in a sudden ecstasy—“how happy I am! I + feel as light as the air. I want every one to be happy. Tell me when Hugh + comes in how happy he looks, Pete—promise me, quick! There he is at + the door now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he whispered, “I promise. Let me go, please, Sylvie.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled himself away and stood up. At the instant, the door was opened + and shut quickly, stealthily. It was Hugh, breathing hard, gray with fear. + </p> + <p> + “They’re coming,” he said harshly. “Pete, they’re after me. Men are coming + across the flat.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + “Did they see you?” Pete demanded anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so.” Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fled across + the snow at top speed. + </p> + <p> + “Get in, then, quick—out of sight.” Pete was already tearing up + boards above that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to step + down into it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing as the + unseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands clasped, + her head turning from side to side. “Look here,” whispered Hugh, still + absorbed in his own danger, “don’t let them know that Sylvie just wandered + in here. Don’t let them start asking her any questions; it’s too + dangerous. Let her be—one of the family.” He smiled maliciously. + “Let her be your wife, Pete.” Then, as though that picture had fired his + love through its hint of jeopardy, he held out both arms suddenly: “Come + here, Sylvie—lead her to me, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh’s shoulders + Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmur of their + voices: + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, dearest—are you afraid?” And his: “Trust me, little darling. + Love me.” A kiss. + </p> + <p> + Then a sharp, whispered summons: “Quick, can’t you, Pete? Get these boards + down.” + </p> + <p> + When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stood + flushed and with her hands over her face. + </p> + <p> + Bella had meantime been collecting the most characteristic of Hugh’s + belongings—those that could not be supposed to belong to Pete—and + now thrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were rearranged, + the rug laid evenly over them. Then the three stood staring at one + another, listening helplessly to the nearing sounds. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Pete,” Sylvie gasped, “tell me what I must do—or what I ought + to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them,” said Bella, “what Hugh told you—that you are Pete’s + wife. They’ll be looking for a different household from that, and it will + help to put them off.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but Pete won’t look old enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he will. He looks older than you,” Bella declared harshly. “You sit + down and keep quiet; that’s the best you can do; and for God’s sake don’t + look so scared. There’s a grave outside to show them, and nobody digs up a + six-year-old grave. They won’t find Hugh. Nobody’s ever seen him. Don’t + shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; this country has + sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. I’ll be in the + kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor clothes. They’ll have seen + Hugh’s tracks even if they haven’t seen him, so somebody’s got to have + just come in. Be whistling and talking, natural and calm. Remember we’re + all at home, just quiet and happy—no reason to be afraid. That’s + it.” + </p> + <p> + Through her darkness Sylvie heard the knocking and Pete’s opening of the + door, the scraping of snow, the questions, the simplicity of Pete’s + replies. + </p> + <p> + Then she was made known. “My wife, gentlemen!” And a moment later: “My + mother!” And she heard Bella’s greeting, loud and cheerful like that of a + woman who is glad to see a visitor. Chairs were drawn up and cigarettes + rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of the smoke. There was + brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that while they talked, the two + strangers searched the place and the faces of its inmates with cold, keen, + suspicious eyes. She was grateful now for her blindness. There came a + sharp statement: + </p> + <p> + “We’re looking for Ham Rutherford, the murderer.” Sylvie’s heart + contracted in her breast. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” laughed Pete, in his most boyish, light-hearted fashion, + “that sounds interesting. But it’s a new name to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an old case, however,” said the man, the man who spoke more like an + Easterner than the sheriff. “Fifteen years old! They’ve dug it up again + back East. The daughter of the man that was killed came into some money + and thinks she can’t spend it any better than in hunting down her father’s + murderer. Now, we’ve traced Rutherford to this country, and pretty close + to this spot. He made a getaway before trial, and he came out here fifteen + years ago. About two years later he sent back East for his kid brother—he’d + be about your age now, Mr.—what you say your name was?—Garth, + Peter Garth. You’ll have to excuse the sheriff; he’s bound to search your + place.” Sylvie had heard the footsteps going through the three rooms. “A + woman named Bertha Scrane, a distant cousin of Rutherford’s to whom he’d + been kind, brought the child out. Now, Missis—what’s your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Bella Garth,” she said tranquilly. “I came out here with my husband, who + died six years ago. He’s buried out there under the snow. I’ve lived here + with my son and my son’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It’s not the household we’d been expecting to find. It’s a lonely + place, Missis.” He looked at Sylvie. “I should think you’d prefer going to + some town.” + </p> + <p> + “We’re used to it here now,” Bella answered. + </p> + <p> + “How’d your husband happen here, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “His health was poor; he’d heard of this climate, and he wanted to try + trapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad on him, and + Pete’s done well ever since. We haven’t suffered any.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I guess not. You don’t look like you’d suffered.” + </p> + <p> + The talk went on, an awkward, half-disguised cross-questioning as to + Bella’s birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband’s + antecedents. She was extraordinarily calm, ready and reasonable with her + replies. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir”—the sheriff strolled back into the room—“I reckon + these aren’t the parties we’re after. But look a-here, this is a + description of Ham Rutherford. Likely you might have had a glimpse of him + since you came into the country. When he made his getaway he was about + thirty-two, height five feet eight, ugly, black-haired, noticeable eyes, + manner violent. He was deformed, one leg shorter, one shoulder higher than + the other, mouth twisted, and a scar across the nose. He’d been hurt in a + fire when he was a child—” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie broke into a spontaneous ripple of mirth, the full measure of her + relief. “Goodness,” she said with utter spontaneity. “There’s certainly + never been a monster like that in this house, has there, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + It did more than all that had gone before to convince the inquisitors. + From that minute there was a distinct relaxation; the evening, indeed, + turned to one of sociability. + </p> + <p> + “We hate to inconvenience you, ma’am, but it seems like at this distance + from town we’ve got to ask you for supper and a place to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + If it had not been for the thought of Hugh in hiding, that supper and the + evening about the hearth would have been to Sylvie a pleasant one. The + men, apparently laying aside all suspicion, were entertaining; their + adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, moving, humorous experience. + It was Sylvie herself, prompted by curiosity, believing as she did that + the monster the sheriff had described bore no possible resemblance to the + man she loved, who asked suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “Do tell us about the man you’re hunting for now—this Rutherford? + Tell us about what he did.” + </p> + <p> + The Easterner gave her a look, and Bella, seeing it, chimed in: “Yes, + sure. Tell us about his crime.” + </p> + <p> + Pete stood up and rolled another cigarette. Try as he might to steady his + fingers, they trembled. He had never heard Hugh’s story. He did not want + to hear it. The very name of Rutherford that had, in what now seemed to + him another age, belonged to Hugh and to him was terrible in his ears. A + sickness of dread seized him. Fortunately the eyes of neither of the men + were upon him. Sylvie had their whole attention. + </p> + <p> + The detective spoke. “He was a storekeeper back in a university town, way + East, where I came from. He kept a bookshop and had a heap of + book-learning. I remember him myself, though I was a youngster. He was a + wonderful, astonishing sort of chap, though as ugly as the devil; had a + great gift of narration, never told the truth in his life, I guess, but + that only made him all the more entertaining. And he had a temper—phew! + Redhot! He’d fly out and storm and strike in all directions. That’s what + did for him. Some fool quarrel about a book it was, and the man, a + frequenter of the shop, a scholar, a scientist, professor at the + university, accused Rutherford of lying. Rutherford had a heavy brass + paper-cutter in his hand. The professor had a nasty tongue in his head. + Well, a tongue’s no match for a paper-cutter. The professor said too much, + called Rutherford a hump-backed liar and got a clip on the head that did + for him.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an ugly story,” said Sylvie. Bella and Pete retained their silence. + </p> + <p> + “Murder ain’t pretty telling, as a general thing,” remarked the sheriff. + </p> + <p> + “No, though I’ve heard of cases where a man was justified in killing + another man—I mean to save some one he loved from dreadful + suffering,” Sylvie replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ma’am, I don’t know about that. I’ve read stories that make it look + that way, but in all my experience, it’s the cowards and the fools that + kill, and they do it because they’re lower down, closer to the beast, or + perhaps to an uncontrolled child, than most of us.” + </p> + <p> + “But there was a time,” Bella said, with a smothered passion, “when an + insult to a gentleman’s honor had to be avenged.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” drawled the sheriff, “in them history days things was fixed + up to excuse animal doin’s, kind of neater and easier and more becomin’ + than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we have our beds? We’ve kept these + ladies up talkin’ long enough. Your mother looks plum wore out.” + </p> + <p> + They slept in the bed usually shared by Pete and Hugh. Pete lay on the + floor in the living-room not far from his brother’s hiding-place—lay + there rigid and feverish, staring at the night. Sylvie, at Bella’s side, + slept no better. Her imagination went over and over the story of Ham + Rutherford’s crime. She saw the little dark bookshop, the professor’s + thin, sneering face, the hideous anger of the cripple, the blow, the dead + body, Rutherford’s arrest. And when her brain was sick, it would turn for + relief to the noble story of Hugh’s self-sacrifice, only to be balked by a + sense of unreality. What the detective had told, briefly and dryly, lived + in her mind convincingly; but Hugh’s romance, that had glowed on his + tongue, now lay lifeless on her fancy. Back her mind would go to the + bookshop, the gibing professor, the heavy paper-cutter. + </p> + <p> + In the dawn she heard Bella get up with a deep-shaken sigh and go about + her preparations for breakfast. But it was noon before the two men left. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Hugh came up from his hiding-place like a man risen from the dead. They + helped him to his chair before the fire; they poured coffee down him, + rubbed his blue, stiff hands. He sat looking up pitifully, his eyes + turning from one to the other of them like those of a beaten hound. All + the masterfulness, all the bombast, had been crushed out of him; even the + splendor of his flaring hazel eyes was dimmed—they were hollow, + hopeless, old. For a long time he did not speak, only drank the coffee and + submitted himself meekly to their ministrations; then at last he touched + Sylvie with a trembling hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvie,” he whispered brokenly. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, dear, you’re safe now; please speak; please laugh; you frighten me + more than anything—why is he so silent, Pete? Bella, tell me what’s + wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s been crouching there on the damp, cold ground for hours,” said + Bella, “not knowing what might happen.” Her voice trembled; she passed a + hand as shaking as her voice across Hugh’s bent head. “You’re safe now. + You’re safe now,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s teeth chattered, and he bent closer to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh—it was cold down there,” he said, “like a grave! Sylvie, come + here.” Just an echo of his old imperious fashion it was—though the + look was that of a beggar for alms. “Give me those warm little hands of + yours.” She knelt close to him, rubbed his hands in hers, looking up at + Pete with a tremulous mouth that asked for advice. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be all right in a minute,” said Pete. “You talk to him, Sylvie.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you talk—you talk. Do you remember how I talked to you when + you were afraid of the bears—ah!” He drew her head savagely against + his breast, folded his arms about it, stroked the hair. “Sylvie! Is it all + right? Can it be—the same?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Were you frightened?” + </p> + <p> + “Not after the first. After they had described you, I knew that they were + looking for the wrong man, and then I felt all right. I didn’t know—poor + Hugh!—how cold and cramped you were. What a shame that you took a + false alarm and hid yourself! I don’t believe there would have been a bit + of danger if you’d stayed out. They’d never even heard of you, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Her talk, so gay, so strangely at cross-purposes with reality, was like a + vivifying wine to him. The color came back into his face; a wild sort of + relief lighted his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Then it didn’t occur to you, Sylvie, that that brute might have been me—that + the men might, after all, have been describing me—eh?” he asked, + risking all his hope on one throw. + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and, lifting herself a little in his arms, touched her soft + mouth to his. “But, Hugh, you told me your story, don’t you remember? And + it is gloriously, mercifully different from Rutherford’s.” + </p> + <p> + He put his chin on his fist and stared over her head into the fire. She + felt the slackening of his embrace and searched his arms with questioning + fingers. “Why are you cross, Hugh? Did I say anything to hurt you? Let’s + forget Ham Rutherford. I wonder where he is, poor, horrible wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead—dead—dead,” Hugh muttered. “Dead and buried—or he + ought to be. O God!” he groaned, and crushed her close against him; “I + can’t ask you to love me, Sylvie—to marry me. Now you know what it + is like to love a man who must be afraid of other men. What right have I + to ask any woman to share my life?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Hugh—if I love you?” + </p> + <p> + “And you do love me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed out at that, stood up, drawing her to stand beside him. “Bella—Pete,” + he called, “do you hear—you two?” He beckoned them close, laid a + hand on them, drew first one, then the other toward Sylvie. “She loves me. + She sees me as I am!” Suddenly he put his grizzled head on Sylvie’s + shoulder and wept. She felt her way back to the chair, sat down, and drew + him to kneel with his arms about her, her head bent over him, her small + hands caressing him. She looked at Pete for help, for explanations, but + she could not see his pale, tormented face. + </p> + <p> + After a while Hugh was calm and sat at her feet, smoking. But he was + unnaturally silent, and his eyes brooded upon her haggardly. + </p> + <p> + It was several days before Hugh regained his old vigor and buoyancy; then + it came to life like an Antaeus flung down to mother earth. His hour of + doubt, of self-distrust, of compunction, was whirled away like an uprooted + tree on the flood of his happiness. He flung reason and caution to the + four winds; he dared Bella or Pete to betray him, he played his heroic + part with boisterous energy; his tongue wagged like a tipsy troubadour’s. + What an empty canvas, a palette piled with rainbow tints, a fistful of + clean brushes would be to an artist long starved for his tools, such was + Sylvie’s mind to Hugh. She was darkness for him to scrawl upon with light; + she was the romantic ear to his romantic tongue; she was the poet reader + for his gorgeous imagery. He had not only the happiness of the successful + lover, but even more, the happiness of the successful creator. What he was + creating was the Hugh that might have been. + </p> + <p> + With Sylvie clinging to his hand, he now went out singing—the three + of them together, great Hugh and happy artist Hugh all but welded into one + man for her and for her love. Those were splendid days, days of fantastic + happiness. Hugh’s joy, his sense of freedom, gave him a tenfold gift of + fascination. + </p> + <p> + Yet one day—one of those dim, moist spring days more colorful to + Hugh’s heart than any of his days—there cut into his consciousness + like a hard, thin edge, a sense of a little growing change in Sylvie. It + had been there—the change,—slightly, dimly there, ever since + the sheriff’s visit. It was not that she doubted Hugh—such a + suspicion would have struck him instantly aware and awake—but that + she had become in some way uncertain of herself, restless, depressed, + afraid. And it was always his love-making that brought the reaction, a + curious, delicate, inner recoil, so delicate and slight, so deep beneath + the threshold of her consciousness, that in the blind glory of his + self-intoxication he missed it altogether—might, indeed, have gone + on missing it, as she would have gone on ignoring or repressing it, if it + had not been for their kiss on the mountain-top. + </p> + <p> + This was one of Hugh’s madnesses; he would take Sylvie up a mountain and + show her his kingdom, show her himself as lord of the wilderness. He had + been there before many times, to the top of their one mountain, always + under protest from Bella and Pete. It was a bare rock exposed to half the + world and all the eyes of Heaven; and for a man in hiding, a man who + lived, yet whose name was carved above a grave, it was a very target for + untoward accident. Some trader or trapper down in the forest might look up + and behold the misshapen figure black and bold, against the sky. Yet there + was never so mighty a Hugh as when he stood there defiant and alone. Now + he wanted Sylvie to sense that tragic magnificence. + </p> + <p> + So they went out, Hugh’s arm about her, as strange a pair of lovers as + ever tempted the spring—the great, scarred, uncouth, gray cripple + and the slim, unseeing girl, groping and clinging, absolutely shut off + from any contact with reality as long as this man should interpret + creation for her. Sylvie turned back to wave at Pete, whom they had left + standing in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be hunting for you if you stay out late,” he called—to which + Hugh shouted back: “You hunting for us! Don’t fancy I can’t take care of + this child, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Both of them blind!” Pete muttered to himself in answer. + </p> + <p> + They were moving rather slowly across the rough, sagebrush-covered flat, + and presently Hugh led Sylvie into the fragrant silence of the forest + trail. To her it was all scent and sound. Hugh whispered to her what this + drumming meant and that chattering and that sudden rattle almost under + their feet. + </p> + <p> + They had to go slowly, Sylvie touching the trees here and there, along her + side of the trail. He lifted her over logs and fallen trees, and + sometimes, before he set her down, he kissed her. Then Sylvie would turn + her head shyly, and he would laugh. Thus they made slow, sweet progress. + </p> + <p> + “I see more in the woods with your eyes than I ever could with my own,” + she told him. + </p> + <p> + “I have eyes for us both,” he answered. “That’s why God gave me the eyes I + have, because He knew the use I’d be making of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this the trail Pete follows to the trading-station?” she asked. “I + wish you could take me there, Hugh, or—would you let him take me?” + </p> + <p> + He tightened his arm. “I can’t bear to have you out of my sight,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + She sighed. “It seems so queer that they haven’t tried to find me. Do you + suppose they think that I’m dead? Did Pete mail my letter to Miss Foby, I + wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “What does Miss Foby matter?” he asked jealously. “What does anything + matter to you but—me? Here we leave Pete’s trail and I take you + straight up the mountain, dear one. We’ll rest now and then; when we get + to the rocky place just below the top, I’ll carry you. Are you happy? I + always feel as if my heart melted with the snow when spring comes—a + wild, free, tumbling feeling of softness and escape.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. “Yes—if only I could see. I miss my eyes out of doors + more than in the house. Does snow-blindness really last so long? Perhaps + it was the nervous shock and the exhaustion as much as the glare. I am + sure it all will just go suddenly some day. I stare and stare sometimes, + and I feel as if I might see—almost.” + </p> + <p> + He frowned. “You mustn’t miss anything when you have me, Sylvie. Do you + suppose I miss anything, now that I have you? My career, my old friends, + my old life, my liberty, the world? That for everything!” He snapped his + fingers. “If only I have you.” + </p> + <p> + “You love me so much,” she answered, as though she were oppressed, “it + frightens me sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “When you are wholly mine—” he began. “Well, wait till we get to the + top of the mountain; there I’ll tell you all my plans. They’re as big and + beautiful as the world. I feel, with your love, that I can move mountains. + I can fashion the world close to my heart’s desire. We’ll leave this blank + spot and go to some lovely, warm, smiling land where the water is + turquoise and the sky aquamarine—” + </p> + <p> + “And perhaps my sight will come back.” It was almost a prayer. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. They had come to a sharp sudden ascent. He took her in + his arms, scrambled across the tumbled rocks, and set her down beside him + on the great granite crest that rose like the edge of a gray wave. The + clean, wild wind smote her and shook her and pressed back her hair and + dress. She clung to him. + </p> + <p> + “Is it steep? Are we on the edge of a cliff, Hugh? I’m not afraid!” + </p> + <p> + “We’re on the very top of the world,” he told her breathlessly, his voice + filled with a sense of awe, “our world, Sylvie, I’m master here. There’s + no greater mind than my own in all that dark green circle. It’s pines, + pines, pines to the edge of the earth, Sylvie, an ocean of purple and + green—silver where the wind moves, treading down, like Christ + walking on the water. And the sky is all gray, like stone.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you see the flat, the cabin?” + </p> + <p> + “The flat, yes—a round green spot, way down there behind us. The + cabin? No. That’s in a hollow, you may be sure, well out of sight. I’m an + outlaw, dearest, remember. There’s a curve of the river, like a silver + elbow. And Sylvie, up above us, an eagle is turning and turning in a huge + circle. He thinks he’s king. But, Sylvie, it’s our world—yours and + mine. This is our marriage.” + </p> + <p> + She drew back. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you a feeling for such images? We’ll go before a parson—don’t + be afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you too much for that. + Why, Sylvie, what’s wrong?” + </p> + <p> + When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her face + to his arm and began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.... But please don’t kiss me like that, + not like that!” + </p> + <p> + He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for him, + found him and clung. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, don’t be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps it’s + because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait. Soon it + will be spring for me, too. You don’t understand? You’re angry? But I + can’t explain it any better.” + </p> + <p> + “You can lay your hand on me,” he said hoarsely. “God knows I’m real + enough.” And he thought so! “My love for you is here like a granite block, + Sylvie.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know you—your + love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little, Hugh. Try to be + patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog will lift. Then we’ll + really be on top of the mountain.” She laughed, but rather sadly. + </p> + <p> + “I will always hate this mountain-top,” he said. “I used to love it. I was + so close to happiness, and now you’ve snatched it out of my reach.” He + drew in sobbing breaths. + </p> + <p> + “No—it’s myself I’m keeping from happiness, not you,” she answered. + “I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh, be + patient.” She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her lips. + “Please be patient. Let’s go down out of this wind. I can’t see your + world, and I’m cold.” + </p> + <p> + So, in silence—a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the + valley. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + They came down the hill rapidly and carelessly. Hugh, stung by pain and + anger, threw himself over the rocks, and Sylvie was too proud to show her + timidity or to ask for help. She crept and climbed up and down, saving + herself with groping hand, letting one foot test the distances before she + put the other down. At last the rattle of his progress sounded so far + below that she quavered: “Aren’t you going to wait for me, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short, and for a moment watched her silently; then, smitten by + the pathos of her progress—a little child, she seemed, against the + mountain toppling so close behind her—he came swinging up to her and + gave her his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>need</i> me, anyway, don’t you?” he asked with a tender sort of + roughness. + </p> + <p> + She couldn’t answer because she didn’t want him to know that he had made + her cry. She kept her face turned from him and hurried along at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you go so fearfully fast?” she was forced at last to protest. + </p> + <p> + “Because I want to get down from this accursed mountain. I want to get + down into the woods again where I was happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh”—she pulled at his arm—“you are only a child after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” She stopped. “Go home alone, then. I’ll be no worse off than + when you found me the first time. Pete will come out and hunt for me. He + has a far sweeter temper than you, Hugh, and doesn’t think only of + himself.” + </p> + <p> + He swung away at that, resting his hand against a big rock to clear a + hole; then, seeing her about to step down into it, he pivoted back, caught + her up bodily in his arms, and, laughing, ran with her down the hill, + bounding over the rocks, leaping over the crevices, while she clung to him + in fright. + </p> + <p> + “You silly child!” he cried. “This is the way I’ll take you home. Now I’ve + got you, and I’ll punish you well, too.” She clung to him and begged him + to stop. She was frightened by their rash, plunging progress, by his + speech. She struggled. “Let me down. I won’t be carried like this against + my will. Hugh, let me down!” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” He fairly flung her from him on a grassy spot. He was about + to leave her when a rushing rattle sounded above them. The boulder he had + twice used to turn his own weight upon was charging down the hillside! + Just in time he caught Sylvie, threw her to one side and fell prone, + helpless, in the path of the slide. He cried out, flinging up his arm, + and, as though his cry had been of magic, the boulder faltered and + stopped. A root half buried just above his body had made a hollow and a + ledge; it had rocked the rolling fragment back up on its haunches, so to + speak, and balanced it to a stop. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh! Hugh!” sobbed Sylvie. “What was it? Are you hurt?” + </p> + <p> + She crept up to him. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Hugh told her, breathing heavily. “It was a rolling rock.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you stop it? You must be hurt, crushed, bruised.” + </p> + <p> + “My arm’s wrenched—not badly.” He had in fact wrenched it slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Your poor arm! You were so quick, so strong. You didn’t think of your own + life. And I’ve been so cruel. Hugh, Hugh, kiss me.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh took his reward, none the less sweet to his strange nature, in that + it was only potentially earned. And joy, like a warm flood, crept up again + to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small love close. One of + his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. She rubbed it for him. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badly hurt. + You’re sure it isn’t broken?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Lean on me! I’ll help you down. You can tell me where to step.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. “A + strained arm won’t hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover’s quarrel, + didn’t we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the boulder!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Are you + always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you had been—” + She shivered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours, Sylvie?” He + bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned his lesson, and + there was restraint and timidity in that kiss. + </p> + <p> + “The sun’s come out,” cried Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s splendidly bright. There’s a clean slit in the sky; there at + the western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch, the way a + boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he’s caught. All’s gold behind it, + Sylvie, burning gold. The rocks are like bright copper. And the pines, + they’re incandescent, phosphorescent green—” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only see it!” + </p> + <p> + Down near the pines a tall, still figure stood watching them. It was Pete, + and his smile, usually so frank and sweet, had now a sardonic twist. As + they came down out of their sun into his shadow, he spoke with a drag to + his syllables. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo,” he said. “That was a narrow escape you had, you two!” + </p> + <p> + The voice might have been a pistol-shot for the start it gave to Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s Pete. We must be late, Pete,” Sylvie called joyously. “Did you + see how Hugh saved my life? He threw himself down before the rock and + stopped it. He’s hurt his poor arm. The great stone was right on top of + us, and he threw me out of the way and set his own strength against it. I + couldn’t see the rock, Pete, but it felt like a mountain.” + </p> + <p> + “It was big enough to smash you both,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + He looked at Hugh, whose eyes glared in a strained, shamed face. The older + man’s fingers worked nervously; he opened his lips and closed them again. + It was easy to understand the travail of his mind, unwilling to forego the + imaginary bit of heroism, and yet abashed by the boy’s awareness of the + lie. + </p> + <p> + Pete gave one short laugh; then, springing suddenly across a fallen tree + that separated them, he caught Sylvie up into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t carry her with a wrenched arm,” he said, half gayly, half + tauntingly, “and at the best rate she can go, it will be night before we + get her home. I’m strong. I’ll carry her myself.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie laughed protesting that she was being treated like a doll, and + resigned herself to Pete’s swift, smooth stride. It was as though she were + skimming through space, so quietly did his moccasined feet press the + pine-needled earth, so exquisitely did his young strength save her from + any jar. He whistled softly through his teeth as he ran in long, swift + strides. And as he did not speak to her, she lay silent, yet strangely + peaceful and happy. Hugh was left far behind. The forest fragrance moved + cool and resinous against her face. + </p> + <p> + “I feel as if we could go on and on forever,” she said with a sigh, + “forever and ever and ever.” + </p> + <p> + “We will,” he answered through his teeth, hardly pausing in his whistling + for the odd reply. “We will.” + </p> + <p> + But for all that, he set her gently and suddenly down, and she knew that + she stood again at the cabin door. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, where are you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + But he had disappeared, still in utter silence, like a genie whose task is + done. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + “What did he say to you? What did he say to you?” asked Hugh again and + again. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t say anything—hardly a word, except that he pretended he + was going on forever. He said: ‘We will, we will.’ That’s absolutely all, + Hugh. Don’t be so silly. What <i>could</i> he say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” Hugh answered. “He might have made fun of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Fun of you! After saving my life! I’d have boxed his ears! No, no, Peter + wouldn’t do that. He’s afraid of me.” + </p> + <p> + She was so proud of this that Hugh, perforce, laughed. It was after + supper, and they had walked a little way from the cabin. They were + standing just above the river on a little hillock topped with three big + pines. The dusk was thick about them; stars pricked the soft sky. Sylvie + was wrapped in Hugh’s coat, and they were linked by their hands hanging at + their sides. Every one but Sylvie had been very silent at supper, but she + had told her story of Hugh’s heroism again and again until finally even + Hugh had grumbled at “the fuss.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think anyone could be afraid of you?” He smiled down at + the small dark head which did not reach his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “He’s afraid I’ll kiss him. Don’t grip my hand that way; it hurts. You + couldn’t be jealous of a boy! Besides, I <i>don’t</i> kiss him any more. I + never have kissed him but that once—no, twice, when I told him that + I was going to be his sister.” + </p> + <p> + “You told him that?” Hugh’s voice had an odd anxiety. “How did he take + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he was very enthusiastic. He loves you so much, Hugh; you + are the very heart of his universe, and I suppose he is jealous of your + love for me. Since then he’s avoided me and is as dumb as a fish when I + talk to him. I think his body has outgrown his mind, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. I don’t know,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “And Bella is so silent, too. Hugh, it must have been a lonely life for + you before I came. Those two people, though they love you so much, are not + companionable. I think, Hugh, that they aren’t able to understand you. You + are so brilliant, and they are so dull; you are so articulate, and they + are so dumb; you are so warm, so quick to see, to feel, to sympathize, + while they are so slow and so cold. Dear Hugh, I’m glad I came. I am + stupid myself, but I have enough intelligence to understand you—a + little, haven’t I, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “So much more than enough!” The low speech with its tremor of humility was + almost lost. + </p> + <p> + “What a noise the river makes!” he said presently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And the pines. The whole air is full of rushing and sighing and + clapping and rattling. Sounds tell me so much now. They fill my whole + life. It is very queer. Why, a voice means more to me now, I think, than a + face ever did.... Is it a deep river, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Now it is—deep and dangerous. But it goes down very quickly when + the snow at its source has melted. In summer it is a friendly little + brook, and in the fall a mere trickle that hardly wets your shoe. I have a + boat here tied to the root of one of these trees, a boat I made myself, to + pole across when the stream is too deep for wading. I’ll take you out in + it when the flood’s down; it wouldn’t last fifteen minutes now. In the + spring, Sylvie, a nymph comes down from the mountain, a wild white nymph. + She has ice-green hair and frost-white arms; you can see her lashing the + water, and if you listen, you can hear her sing and cry. Let’s go in, + dear; you’re tired and cold—I can feel you shivering. We’ll start a + big fire, and I’ll tell you how that nymph caught me once and nearly + strangled me with her cold, wet arms. I was trying to save—you’ll + laugh when I tell you about it—a baby bear.” + </p> + <p> + Pete and Bella made room for them silently about the hearth where Pete had + already built up a fire. Sylvie groped her way to the throne from which + the other woman slipped half furtively and so noiselessly that Sylvie + never guessed her usurpation. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh is going to tell us a story,” she said, and rested her head back so + that her small chin pointed out and her slim neck was drawn up—“a + wonderful story about the river and a bear. I hope it’s a baby bear, Hugh, + for you know how I feel about bears. I honestly think that being so afraid + of seeing them is what made me blind!” She gave her small, shy laugh. “I + thought I saw them everywhere I looked that day and night. It seems so + long ago now, and yet it is not so many weeks. I can still hear Hugh’s + voice calling out to me across the snow. And now,” she said, “the snow’s + all gone and none of you are strangers any more, and—Go on with your + story, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + Pete added a log to the fire so that the flames stretched up bravely and + made a great fan of light against which they all seemed painted like + ornamental figures, Hugh lounging along the rug to make a striking central + figure. Bella was drawn up rigidly on a stiff, hard chair; she hemmed a + long, coarse towel with her blunt, work-roughened fingers. + </p> + <p> + Pete sat opposite Sylvie on the floor, his back against the corner of the + fireplace, his knees drawn up in his hands, his head a little bent. He too—from + under his long level brows—looked for the most part at Hugh, not + devotedly, not wistfully, but with a somber wondering. It was only now and + then, and as though he couldn’t help it, that the blue, smouldering + Northern eyes were turned to Sylvie on her throne. Then they would + brighten painfully, and his lips would tighten so that the dimple, meant + for laughter, cut itself like a touch of pain into his cheek. The + firelight heightened his picturesqueness—the dull blue of his shirt, + open at the round, smooth throat, the dark gold-brown of his corduroy + trousers, against which the long, tanned hands, knit strongly together, + stood out in the rosy, leaping light—beautifully painted against the + background of old brown logs. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was Hugh, after all, who dominated the room by right of his power, + his magnetism, the very distortion of his spirit. Here in this lonely + square of light and warmth, surrounded by a world of savage, lawless winds + heightening the voices of vast loneliness, these three people were + imprisoned by him, a Merlin of the West. + </p> + <p> + He sat up to begin his story, pressing tobacco into his pipe. “Oh, it’s + not so much of a story, Sylvie. It was last spring when the river was high + and I’d been out with my traps. I was coming home along the river edge, + pretty tired, a big load on my back. I came around a bend of the river, + and not far below me a little black bear, round as a barrel, was trying to + scramble over the flood on a very shaky log. The mother was on the other + side, but I didn’t know that then. Well, there’s nothing in God’s world, + Sylvie, so beguiling as a baby bear. This little fellow was scared by what + he was doing, but he was bound he’d get across the river. He’d make a few + steps; then he’d back up and half rise on his hind legs. I watched him a + long time. Then he made up his mind he’d better make a dash for it. He + began scrambling like a frantic kitten, and it was just in the most + ticklish spot that he heard me and jumped and went rolling off into the + river. I tell you, my heart came right up into my mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>was</i> he drowned?” wailed Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + Hugh rose and stood with his back to the fire, dominating the room even + more convincingly, with his vivid ugliness. Sylvie’s face turned up to him + like a white flower to the sun it lives by, without seeing. It was strange + to watch the adoration, the worship on that small face, and at the same + time to behold the grotesqueness toward which it was directed. Bella was + listening with her lowered eyes and tightened lips. She was interested in + spite of herself; and Pete’s inscrutable face followed the story with + absorption. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in he rolled with a splash and went rattling down the current, + turning over and over. Like a fool, I threw away my hides, ran down the + bank and jumped in after him—that is, I meant to hold on to a branch + and stand out in the water and catch him as he went by. But the nymph I + told you about had her own plans. She wrapped her arms round me, and away + we went, bear all. Oh, yes, I’d caught the cub all right, and he was about + half drowned by that time—no fight left in him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, for a bit it was a question whether the world wouldn’t be quickly + and well rid of us both, but we tumbled up against a root and scrambled + out, and when I’d rested, I picked up limp and trembling Master Bear and + went back for my hides. And while I was collecting them, I heard a sort of + grumpy, grumbling sound, and I looked up—and, by Jove, Mother Bear + was coming across that log with the longest steps you ever saw. That’s + when I ran to collect my gun—it was a little farther up the bank + than my hides, worse luck!” + </p> + <p> + Even Bella had forgotten her bitterness in listening, and Pete’s parted + lips were those of an excited child. Sylvie leaned forward in her chair, + her cheeks tingling, her hands locked. Hugh had thrown himself into the + action of his story; his face was slightly contorted as though sighting + along a gun-barrel, his arm raised, the ungainliness of his deformity + strongly accentuated. He was not looking at Sylvie; true to his nature and + his habit, he had forgotten every one but that Hugh of adventure and of + romance, the one companion of his soul. None of them was watching Sylvie, + and when she gave a sharp, little cry, a queer start and then sat utterly + still, Hugh accepted it—they all accepted it—as a tribute to + his story-telling powers. + </p> + <p> + But Sylvie, leaning her elbows on her knees, raised trembling hands to her + eyes and hid them. She sat very still, very white, while the story went + on, vividly imagined, picturesquely told. When it was over, and the mother + bear, after a worthy struggle, defeated, Hugh looked about for his + applause. It came, grudgingly from Bella, eagerly from Pete—and from + Sylvie in a sudden extravagant clapping of hands, a ripple of high, + excited laughter, and a collapse in her chair. She had fainted in a limp + little heap. + </p> + <p> + She came to in an instant, but seemed bewildered and, unprotesting, + permitted herself to be carried to bed. She declared she felt quite well + again and wanted only to be alone. She repeated this moaningly. “Oh, to be + alone!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh seated himself on the end of the bed and kissed her forehead and her + hand, but it quivered under his lips and was drawn away. + </p> + <p> + He came back into the living-room with a pale, bewildered face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Next day there came out of that room a new Sylvie or rather a dozen new + Sylvies: a flighty witch of a Sylvie who tempted her blindness with rash + ventures about the rooms and even out of doors, who laughed at Hugh and + led him on, and drew him out to his maddest improvisations, who treated + Pete to snubs and tauntings that stung like so many little whips; and + again a Sylvie who was still and timid and a trifle furtive, who rarely + spoke, but sat with locked hands in an attitude of desperate concentration + and seemed to be planning something secret and dangerous; and then there + was a haughty, touch-me-not Sylvie; and a Sylvie who mysteriously wept. + But all of these Sylvies showed an impetuous, new tenderness toward Bella. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been all wrong about you, Bella,” she confessed. “I know you’re not + really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face.” Bella, + awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick of the + light, young fingers. “I’m learning the touch of the blind,” Sylvie + boasted. “Now, listen—isn’t this right? You have thick, straight + eyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella, or bright + gray?” + </p> + <p> + “They’re gray,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was watching from eyes sunk in a nervous, pallid face. He had come in + from his traps in the midst of Sylvie’s experiment. + </p> + <p> + “And she has a nice, straight, strong, short nose, and a mouth that she + holds too tight. Loosen your mouth, Bella; it might be very sweet if you + gave it a chance. And she has a sharp chin—not pretty, your chin, + but—look! If you’d soften your hair, pull it over your ears and + forehead—Why do you brush it back that way? It <i>must</i> be + unbecoming. And, Bella, it’s curly, or would be with a little freedom. + What color is your hair?” + </p> + <p> + “Gray—like my eyes,” said Bella, scarlet now, and trying to draw + herself away. + </p> + <p> + “Is it really gray, Pete? Tell me the truth, if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “Her hair is a very light brown,” said Pete, flushed as scarlet now as + Bella; “sort of a grayish brown; you wouldn’t notice any gray hairs, + hardly.” + </p> + <p> + “Bella, I’m sure you don’t look a day older than thirty-five. Your skin + feels smooth and young. Why do you let Hugh call you an old woman? Poor + Bella, I’m afraid you’ve spoiled those two boys?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie turned suddenly and imperiously upon the men, and Bella made her + escape, not from the room, for she was too stirred, too full of an excited + suspense, to bring herself to leave. From a far corner, near the window + through which came the soft May wind, she watched them. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Pete,” said Sylvie, “it’s your turn. If I’m to learn the touch of + the blind, I must have practice. What can I make of you! Come here. Why + don’t you come?” She stamped her foot. “My, but you are badly trained. + Really, Hugh, you ought to discipline him. Wait until I am your + sister-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh started angrily. “Don’t joke about that!” he threatened in a harsh, + sudden voice. + </p> + <p> + She turned toward him with quickness and bent her head sidelong as though + listening intently for what else he might have to say. Her lips were set + close and narrow. She had listened to him like this, almost breathlessly, + ever since her sudden faintness, listened as though she would draw his + very soul in through her ears. + </p> + <p> + He too flushed. “It’s life and death to me, Sylvie,” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “Life and death—life <i>or</i> death,” she repeated strangely. She + stood, as if turning the speech over in her mind, then gave her head a + quick little shake like a diver coming to the surface of deep water, and + moved a step toward Pete. “Are you coming, boy, or not? I want to feel + your face.” + </p> + <p> + “Do as she says,” Hugh commanded harshly, and Pete came slowly to her and + stood with his hands locked behind him, bending over the little figure. + She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a shake, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Such a big, strong boy! Where’s your face?” It winced and paled under her + touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh’s, who watched with + unsteady breathing and white lips. + </p> + <p> + “Your face is as smooth as a girl’s, Pete. What a wide, low forehead and + crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must be a pretty + boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and—oh, Pete, Pete! I + believe you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple like a slit in + your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so? They’re long eyes, with + thick, short lashes. What a strong, round neck! I think I like your face.” + </p> + <p> + She patted his cheek, the pat more like a smart slap. He pulled away. + “That’s for disobedience. Come back. I’m not through with you. Where’s + your mouth? A big, long mouth. Pete, why does your mouth tremble?” Her + hand fell from his lips, and she turned away. “Take me out for a walk, + Hugh, please,” she said. “This cabin is stuffy, now that the days are + warm. I want to sit under the pines and listen to the river. You can tell + me one of your wonderful stories about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean, Bella?” Pete asked breathlessly when Hugh had gone + out, not so much leading the girl as hurrying after her to save her from + the rashness of her impetuous progress. “What does it mean?” Pete was as + white as paper. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” Bella came over from the window and stood by the + fireplace, rolling her arms in her apron and shaking her head. “She’s a + crazy little witch. She’ll drive us mad. Hugh is half mad now—have + you noticed? She won’t let him touch her. And you, poor boy! Pete, why + don’t you go away?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought about it,” he said. “I—I can’t.” He flung himself down + in Hugh’s chair and rested his head in his hands. + </p> + <p> + Bella bent over him. “Poor Pete! It’s cruel for you—and,” she added + softly, uncertainly, “and for me.” + </p> + <p> + “For you too, Bella?” He looked up at her through tears. + </p> + <p> + She nodded her head, and her face worked. “Perhaps you could take her back + to her friends, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “And leave Hugh? Didn’t you hear what he said, Bella? Life and death! It + would kill him if she should go away with me. Or—he’d follow and + kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Bella assented somberly; “yes, he’d kill you. The devil is still + living in his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Sylvie will marry him. Hugh gets his will.” Pete shook his head. + “Wait a few days—you’ll see. She’s fighting against him now; I don’t + know why—some instinct. But though he tells her so many lies, he + doesn’t lie about one thing. He loves her. He does love her.” + </p> + <p> + “No! No!” Bella’s passion, tearing its way through her long habit of + repression, was almost terrifying. “He loves the image she has of him. If + he knew that she could see him as I do, his love would shrivel up like a + flower in a drought. Hugh can’t love the truth. He can’t love anything but + his delusions. Pete, tell her the truth. For God’s sake, tell her the + truth. Give her back her eyesight. Let her know his name, his story—his + <i>face</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t dare ask me, Bella!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” She seemed to be out of breath, like a person who has been + climbing in thin air. Her lips were dry. + </p> + <p> + “Because—well, would you do it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! He would hate me, if I did. But you, Pete, when Sylvie loved you—and + if she knew you, she would surely love you; any woman would—why, + then you could bear Hugh’s hatred. I have only him—only him.” + </p> + <p> + She locked her hands and lifted them to her forehead and was now making + blind steps toward the kitchen door. + </p> + <p> + Pete followed her, and turning her about, drew down the hands from her + face. + </p> + <p> + “Bella—<i>you</i>? Without saying a word? All these years?” + </p> + <p> + Under the first pressure of sympathy that her agony had ever known, she + could not speak. She bent her head for an instant against his arm, then + moved away from him, groping through the kitchen door, back to her + unutterable loneliness. + </p> + <p> + Pete stood staring after her. A new Bella, this, not the cousin, the + little cousin from the farm; not the nurse who had saved him from Hugh’s + hardness and told him limping fairy tales and doctored his hurts; not the + accepted necessity, but a woman—a woman young, yes, young. In the + instant when he had glimpsed her face, broken and quivering, the tight + lips parted and the hair disarranged about flushed, quivering cheeks, the + eyes deep with widened pupils, she had revealed beauty and passion—the + two halves of youth. How blind, how blind Hugh had been, blind and selfish + and greedy, drinking up the woman’s heart, feeding upon her youth! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + “When you sit so silent, Pete,” Sylvie said softly, “I sometimes wonder if + you’re not staring at me.” + </p> + <p> + “When I’m making a trap,” he answered, smiling a little to himself and + instinctively shifting his gaze, “I can’t very well be staring at you, can + I?” + </p> + <p> + He was kneeling on the ground before the cabin door, she sitting on the + low step under the shadow of the roof. Her chin rested on the backs of her + hands, the limber wrists bent up a little, the sleeves slipped away from + her slim, white wrists. Her face was brightly rosy, her lips very red—at + once a little stern, yet very sweet. + </p> + <p> + “Traps are cruel,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I think so myself. But we have to make a living, don’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself sometimes, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “For making traps, and catching live things in them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It’s a sort of deceitful cruelty, catching the little blind, + wandering wild things.” + </p> + <p> + “Blind?” he repeated blankly, then flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, blind. But it wasn’t only that I meant.” + </p> + <p> + “What else ought I to be ashamed of?” + </p> + <p> + “Of living on your brother.” He winced sharply, but she went on coolly: + “Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now. Many a boy of + your age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the world to make his + own way. There’s no reason for <i>you</i> to hide, is there? <i>You</i> + haven’t sacrificed your life for anyone.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered doubtfully, “n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one has to + take the skins. It isn’t safe for Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. So that’s what you’ll do all your life—carry loads + to and fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh goes + away himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he asked breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare. + </p> + <p> + “You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marry me, + to start life again.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and you will, Sylvie?” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your advice,” she said. She pressed her red lips together; her + face was bent upon him as though she watched. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he stammered, “you tell me all the time, a dozen times a day, that + I’m badly trained. What good’s my advice?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Are</i> you badly trained?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “You are absurdly unselfish, Pete!” She moved a chip along the ground with + her foot, but Pete failed to notice this curious seeing gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Why? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, his hands + had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregular heartbeats + from his lips. + </p> + <p> + At last she spoke deliberately. “You would lay down your life for your + friend?” she said. It was almost a whisper. + </p> + <p> + Pete’s face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of his + heart he searched for loyal words. + </p> + <p> + “I love Hugh—if that’s what you mean,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I love you?” she repeated softly, perversely. “Did you say ‘Hugh’ or + ‘you,’ Pete?” + </p> + <p> + His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. “I said ‘Hugh!’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—you love only him—nobody else in all the world?” + </p> + <p> + Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggled as + though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to remember Hugh. + He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he made a short + step toward the waiting girl. She <i>was</i> waiting, breathing fast. + Pete’s arms quivered at his sides. + </p> + <p> + A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had come + up behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray; his eyes + were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to become a + straight, hard line. The effort gave a twitch to the pale, lower lip. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie stood up, singing as though in absent-minded idleness, and vanished + into the house. It would have been difficult to tell whether or not she + had heard Hugh’s arrival. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” Pete stammered like a boy wakened from a dream to + behold a lifted cane. “Let go my arm, Hugh. Your fingers cut.” + </p> + <p> + “Come away from the house,” said Hugh coldly, tightening the iron grip as + though Pete’s wincing gave him satisfaction. “Come up here by the pines. I + want to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come,” said Pete. “Let go my arm.” + </p> + <p> + There was that in his voice that compelled obedience. Hugh’s hand fell and + knotted into a fist. Pete walked beside him up the abrupt slope of their + hollow to the little hill above the river. Its noise was loud in the + still, sunny air. There was no wind stirring. It was high noon. A sloping + tent of shadow drooped from the pines and made a dark circle about their + roots. In this transparent, purplish tent the brothers faced each other. + Pete’s lips were tremulous, and Hugh’s distorted. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Hugh, breathing irregularly and speaking very low, “I’ll tell + you what I think of you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Hugh, don’t,” Pete pleaded. “You’ll say things you don’t mean—unkind + things, terrible things. I don’t deserve it from you. You—you think + that I—that I—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on. Don’t stop. Tell me what I think—I think—that you—that + you—” + </p> + <p> + It was an unbearable moment, an impossible atmosphere, for the revelation + of a first love. Pete felt stripped and shamed. + </p> + <p> + “You think that I was telling Sylvie, that Sylvie—that I—” + </p> + <p> + Hugh lifted his hand and struck. The younger man sprang back, then + forward, and was at his elder’s throat. For an instant they struggled, + silently, terribly, slipping on the red pine-needles. Then Pete gave a + hard laugh. “Are we tigers?” he asked, and he pulled himself back and + leaned, shaking, against a tree-trunk, gripping it with his hands. His + blue eyes were cold and blazing in his white face, against which Hugh’s + blow had made a mark. “You won’t strike me again,” Pete said. All + boyishness was gone from his hard, level voice. “Go on. Say what you like. + I’ll listen.” + </p> + <p> + “You liar!” stormed Hugh. “You cheat!” + </p> + <p> + Pete laughed again. + </p> + <p> + A certain quality in his bitter self-control flicked Hugh. He tried to + emulate the young man’s coolness. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve trusted you,” he began again; “and behind my back you have been + trying to win the love of the woman who has promised to be my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not.” + </p> + <p> + “You were not making love to her there, then, when I came up behind you? + When you were so excited that you didn’t hear me? when you were moving + toward her—trembling all over? <i>I</i> felt your arm!” + </p> + <p> + Pete’s eyes dropped, then lifted as though under a great weight. + </p> + <p> + “And you say you’re not a liar!” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars. We + have caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her, all + three of us—Bella and I, and you, Hugh—you have lied most of + all.” + </p> + <p> + “She loves me,” Hugh panted. “She knows me. She understands me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Pete answered, trembling. “I’ve seen that. I’ve kept quiet. Bella + and I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by striking me and + calling me a liar and a cheat!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the + justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, put a + hand on each of his brother’s shoulders, searching the white, young face + with his wild eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I must have Sylvie,” he groaned. “Pete, I must. You don’t know; you can’t + know—” He dropped his grizzled head against Pete’s neck, and his + breath caught. “You don’t know what I felt when I saw you there, when I + thought—Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take my love, + my only joy, my one prize away from me?” + </p> + <p> + After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically + across the twisted, gasping back. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, Hugh. I—I couldn’t. But I’ve had to play a part, and + it’s not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it’s been, because you + seem to have guessed how I—how Sylvie—Perhaps if I went away?” + </p> + <p> + He was gripped again, shaken a little. “No, don’t leave me. Wait. It won’t + be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets over a girl’s + timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don’t stand dumb; tell me that + she does.” + </p> + <p> + “She does,” Pete repeated tonelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry I struck you. I have a devil’s temper. And I think of you as + still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have beaten + you.” He put this forward as though it were a reasonable excuse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Pete smiled grimly. “I can remember your beatings.” He drew himself + away. “Shall we go back?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh still held him, though at arm’s length. “First I must have a promise + from you.” He spoke sternly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the end.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t trust me, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your arm.” + </p> + <p> + Pete was silent. He studied the ground. There was a sullen look on his + face, and his tightened mouth deepened the odd, incongruous dimple. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you’re right. I promise.” He flashed up a blue desperation + of young eyes as he asked: “How long will it last, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Not long. Not long. Surely not long.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand.” + </p> + <p> + They came back down from the hill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + Pete looked forward with white-hot impatience to the day of his trip to + the trading-station; twelve hours of relief, it would mean, from the worst + pressure of his torment—twelve hours of merciful solitude in the + old, voiceful friendliness of his forest trail. He started early, at the + break of a sweet, singing dawn. The earth was elastic under his feet, the + air tingling and mellow with a taste of growth; the flooded river + chattered loudly like a creature half beside itself with joy. Pete came + out of the dark and silent cabin in which he had made his tiptoe + preparations, and lifted his face, letting the light, soft fingers of the + wind, cooler and softer even than Sylvie’s, smooth out the knots of + suffering from his tired brain. He shook his shoulders before settling + them under the load of pelts. He would, he swore, just for this day, be a + boy again. He sprang lightly up from the hollow and strode forward with + long, swift steps, swinging a companionable stick in his free hand. + </p> + <p> + Loneliness and the dawn and love had made a poet of the young man, so that + he had the release of poetry and forgot reality in its translation into a + tale that is told. He thought of Sylvie, but he thought of her as a man + thinks of a lovely memory. He went through the wood with his chin lifted, + half smiling, almost happy, an integral part of the wild, glad, wistful + spring. + </p> + <p> + It was not until the afternoon when he was nearing the station—just, + in fact, before he left the wood-trail for the rutted, frontier road—that + his mind was caught as sharply as a cloth by a needle, by the light sound + of following steps. In the solitude of that trail which his feet alone had + worn, the sound brought him to a stop with a sense of terror and suspense. + His mind leaped to Hugh, and for the first time in his loyal life Pete + remembered, and remembering, felt a creeping on his skin, that this + brother of his, who had grown harsh and jealous and suspicious, had been a + murderer. The cold, unkindly memory slid along his senses like a snake. On + the edge of the sloping road-bank, studded with little yellow flowers, + just where the trees stopped, Pete set down his load and waited, + instinctively bracing his body, drawing it back beneath the shelter of one + of the big pines. + </p> + <p> + The steps were light and swift and stealthy. In the purplish confusion of + the distance, a tangled and yet ordered regiment of trunks and boughs, + sun-splotches and shadow-blots, through which the uncertain trail seemed + to rise like a slender thread of smoke to the pale, flecked sky, Pete made + out a moving shape. It slipped in and out; it hesitated, hurried, paused, + moved on. With a shudder of relief and of surprise, Pete saw it; out from + behind the great, close trunks came Sylvie, her chin lifted, her hands + stretched out on either side, brushing the swinging branches along the + trail, her small head turning from this side to that, as though she + listened in suspense. + </p> + <p> + Pete called out her name and ran quickly to meet her. Forgetting his part + of a dull, sullen boy, he spoke eagerly, catching her hand, watching the + warm, happy blush flow in her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you?” she asked. She had stood to wait for him as soon as his + voice reached her. “I couldn’t see—I mean, I lost the sound of your + steps. I’ve been following you for hours and hours and hours. I was so + afraid of being lost again that I didn’t dare drop too far behind.” + </p> + <p> + “But why didn’t you call to me? Why have you come? Is anything wrong at + home?” + </p> + <p> + Her fingers moved uncertainly in his grasp, like the fingers of a shy + child. “Nothing is wrong. I wanted to come with you. I wanted to go to the + trading-station and the post-office. I didn’t dare ask you to take me with + you. I was afraid you’d send me home. I suppose I’ll be a nuisance, but—Oh, + Pete, please be nice to me and take care of me, won’t you?” She paused, + turned her face away from him and smiled. “After all, since you have + called me your wife before witnesses, you ought to introduce me to your + friends at the trading-station, oughtn’t you? They might think it was + queer that I should hide myself, now that the snow has gone.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped her hand. Suddenly he realized the consequences, the necessary + effect upon Hugh of this willful venture of hers. + </p> + <p> + “Does Hugh know where you are?” he asked painfully. + </p> + <p> + “No. I ran away. I heard you getting ready, and I just felt that I + couldn’t bear to be left behind. I slipped out of bed so quietly that + Bella didn’t even stir, and I dressed just as quietly, and when you had + gone half across the clearing, I ran out after you, listening to your + steps. You see, I have the hearing, as well as the touch, of the blind.” + This was said with a cunning sort of recklessness; but Pete, absorbed in + his anxiety, did not challenge the improbable statement. “Please don’t be + angry with me, Pete.” She touched his hand where it hung at his side. + “Can’t I have my adventure? Let’s call it <i>ours</i>.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself, the young man’s pulse quickened, but his face and + voice were stern. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that we’ll be very late?” he said. “It will be midnight + before we can possibly make it back to the cabin, if you can even do it at + all. You’ll have to spend the night somewhere at the station. What will + they think? They will be anxious, Bella and Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “But what can they think?” Her cheeks were unexplainably scarlet. “If I + choose to trust you to take care of me, why should they grumble? And I + won’t have to spend the night. You don’t know how strong I am. I’m very + strong. I don’t feel tired. We’ll go back by moonlight. There’s a + beautiful moon.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be almost morning.” He made a reckless gesture. “Well, it’s too + late to think of that now. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + He threw himself down the bank, held up his hands to catch hers, and swung + her down beside him. The sun slanted warmly along the road and just ahead + flickered the blue ripples of a lake. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie moved quickly and easily beside him, barely touching his arm with + her hand. She seemed definitely to decide to put away her childishness. + She treated him as though she had forgotten his supposed youth; she talked + straightforwardly, with a certain dignity, about her childhood, about her + amusing and pitiful experience as a third-rate little actress, and she + asked him a question now and then half diffidently, which he answered in + stumbling, careful speech, always weighed upon by his promise, by the + deception he must practice, by the dread of what must come. Nevertheless, + minute by minute, his pulse quickened. This, God be thanked, would mean + the end. The insufferable knot of circumstance, so fantastic, so + extravagantly unlivable and unreal, would break, Hugh would tear the + tangle of his making to tatters with angry hands when they got back. His + difficult trust in Pete’s promise would go down under the strain of these + long and unexplained hours of Sylvie’s absence in his company. It was the + last act in the extravaganza, queer and painful, that had twisted them all + out of their real shapes for the confusion of a blind waif. This adventure + that Sylvie’s impatience had planned would bring down the curtain. After + all, no matter what came of it, Pete was glad. The color warmed his face; + his blue eyes deepened; he smiled down at Sylvie beside him. For this hour + she seemed to belong to him rightfully, naturally, by her own will. He let + go of his inhibitions and resigned himself to Fate. + </p> + <p> + When, on the far shore of the lake, the low walls of the trading-station + came in sight, a double image, reflected faithfully with the strip of sand + at its door, the low, level wall of pines behind and the blue, still sky + above, Pete caught the girl’s hand in his. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are, Sylvie,” he said. “Keep quiet and follow my lead. Remember, + now, that I am supposed to be your husband and you my wife. Can you play + that part?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, bending down her face so that he saw only the tip of her + small, sunburnt chin. She was hatless; the sun struck blue, bright lines + in her black hair. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be careful, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed his hand, and he returned the pressure. + </p> + <p> + The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a serious + buck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret of their + observation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down one side of + which ran a long and littered counter, there was another, even more + interested spectator of the young couple’s entrance. He sat at a small + table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and from over a spread-out + time-table he gave them a large and heavy share of his attention. He was a + man of middle age and sturdy build, round, clean-shaven, dressed in + Eastern outing clothes of dignified correctness. He put on a pair of + glasses to peer closer at the two who came in hand in hand like + adventuring children, with the lithe, half-fearful grace of wild things. + </p> + <p> + A tall and sallow man behind the counter smiled under his long, ragged, + blond mustache and made a gesture of polite greeting. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ve sure kept us in the dark as to your movements, Peter Garth. + We had no notion there was a bride in these parts until the sheriff + brought us back word the other day. Ma’am, I’m glad to make your + acquaintance.” He glanced keenly and curiously at Sylvie’s averted face. + </p> + <p> + “I’d have been here before,” she said, “but I’ve been suffering from + snow-blindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s bad sometimes. Your eyes are better now?” + </p> + <p> + “Y-yes, I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you a first-class lotion, lady.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie and he discussed the lotion while Pete stood, drawn up, proud and + silent, his cheeks flushed, waiting to dispose of his pelts. The bartering + prolonged itself in spite of his best endeavors. Sylvie seemed to have no + sense of peril or anxiety. She insisted upon taking a bite of early + supper, forced coffee and bread and meat upon her companion, and chatted + affably. Pete saw that the Eastern stranger had riveted upon her his + attention, that he observed every gesture, listened to every word, and + while she ate, that he walked over and asked a few murmured questions of + the trader, nodding his head, then shaking it over the answers as though + they confirmed some suspicion or anxiety. + </p> + <p> + At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie come + with him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back over her + shoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards along the beach + trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across the porch and waved + his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without replying. Then came a + summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice: “Hi, there! One moment, + please.” + </p> + <p> + It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunset light. + Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, and formidable; + Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious summons gave her a + first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man’s square body and square, + serious face bore down upon them, freighted with incongruous judgments. He + came sturdily, defying the unspoken threat of loneliness. + </p> + <p> + He spoke when he came up to them—spoke with evident effort. + </p> + <p> + “My friends,” he said, “I am a minister of the gospel, and though my + mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in its + ministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will not + allow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual aid.” + </p> + <p> + He cleared his throat. “Your name I didn’t catch,” he said doubtfully, and + Pete did not supply the knowledge, “but I heard you introduce this young + woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched you, too, sir; I + took the liberty of making some inquiries about you. I have had much and + varied experience in the study of human nature.” Here he put out a broad, + clean hand with square finger-tips and lifted Sylvie’s brown, unwilling + left hand high from her side. “I am a minister of the gospel,” he + repeated. “In a land where such a symbol is thought much of, this woman + has no wedding-ring. There is no register of your marriage here in the one + spot where such a registration might have been most conveniently made—” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie jerked away her fingers; Pete laid down his load and slowly drew + his right hand into a terrible fist. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” The square-tipped fingers were lifted deprecatingly. “You must + not be angry with me, my children. I am not here to judge you. I have no + knowledge of your temptation, of your difficulties; you have met and loved + in a wild and difficult land. I was not even sure of my surmise. Now, + however; your silence and your anger confirm my opinion. I want only to + offer you my services. Will you continue in your life and love as I have + seen them to be, or will you, if only for the sake of other lives not yet + your responsibility—perhaps, will you take advantage of this + opportunity which God has now given you and let me make you indeed man and + wife?” + </p> + <p> + Pete’s fist was still terrible, and his lips were gathering their words, + when Sylvie unbelievably spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Pete,” she asked tremulously, and he felt her drawing even closer to his + side, “Pete, don’t you want—you <i>do</i> want—I know—I + mean, will you, would you—marry me?” + </p> + <p> + He was dumb as a rock, and gray. His hand opened; he stared from her to + the impossible intruder, the worker of the miracle, or rather for he felt + like a beast trapped, the strange layer of the snare. For an instant the + lake and the forest and the red sky turned in a great wheel before his + eyes. Then he caught Sylvie’s wrist almost brutally in his hand. “Be + quiet!” he said; it was the savage speaking to his woman. “You’ve gone + mad. Come with me. As for you, sir, my marrying or not marrying is none of + your business—” + </p> + <p> + The minister looked sadly up into the young man’s white and rigid face. + </p> + <p> + “God be with you!” + </p> + <p> + He bowed, turned and walked back along the beach, hands locked behind his + broad tweed back, his head bent. + </p> + <p> + Pete tightened his grip on Sylvie’s arm. “Come,” he said to her as harshly + as before. “We must hurry. It’s nearly night.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie set her small teeth tight, bent down her head, and followed him + without a word. Their silence seemed to grow into a pressure, a weight. It + bent Pete’s shoulders and Sylvie’s slender neck, and whitened their lips. + All that they did not dare to say aloud bulked itself, huge and + thunderous, before the combined consciousness which makes a strange third + companion in such dual silences. They dared not pause, or look at each + other, or move their strained lips for fear truth, the desperate, + treacherous truth, would leap out and link them like a lightning-flash. + The somber forest enveloped them. They moved through it as through a deep + wall that opened by enchantment. The moon came up, gibbous and white and + glittering, paler than silver; and the forest became streaked and mottled + with its light. A soft, sudden wind tore the light and shade into eerie, + dancing ribbons and tatters and shreds. There were such sounds as are not + heard in daylight—moon sounds and cloud sounds and sounds of dark + wind; branches talked and other small voices answered in anxious + undertones. A moose rubbed his antlers and coughed. They heard his big + body hulking through a swamp down there in a well of darkness. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t go so fast.” Sylvie’s shaken voice moved doubtfully. “I’m tired.” + </p> + <p> + She pulled at his arm and stopped. The whole forest seemed to sway and + stir and urge them to haste and secrecy. + </p> + <p> + “A storm’s coming,” Pete answered. “I can’t carry you, Sylvie, unless I + leave my load.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I’d let you carry me?” she answered through her set teeth. + “I’d rather die here than let you lift me up in your arms. I’ll go on till + I drop. I don’t care for the storm. But I can’t walk so fast. How can you + see? The moon isn’t—can’t be, I mean—very, very bright here in + the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “The moon? There’s a big storm-cloud just going to wipe it out. Listen! + Don’t you hear that thunder, that wind?” + </p> + <p> + The storm blew its distant trumpets, shouted louder, trampled the world + with great steps, crashed and came upon them with a wet, cold blast. They + were stunned with noise, dazzled with flashes, smothered and beaten with + long, wet whips. Under a big rocking pine which shouted with a hundred + confused tongues they found a dangerous shelter. Not far from them a tree + was struck, splitting their ears, half stunning them. When the worst was + over, Pete drew Sylvie out relentlessly and started in the heavily falling + rain. The storm was drawing away, but the night was still impenetrably + black. They walked for a few groping yards when Pete gave a sudden + desperate laugh and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the good of this! We’re off the trail. We’ll have to wait for the + light. My God! How cold and wet and trembling you are.” He threw down his + pack, took off his coat, wet only on the outside, and wrapped it closely + about her. She felt that he parted branches for her, and she knew that + they were in a dry, still, scented place whose walls stirred and breathed. + She sank down beside him on the smooth pine-needles and crept close. They + were giddy, beaten and confused; they felt each other’s trembling warmth; + for greater comfort she tucked her hands under his arm. Her head dropped + back against his shoulder so that her breath fell on his cheek. He felt + the silent tears of her humiliation, hot and bitter and human after the + cold, impersonal wetness of rain. It was as though a hand drew them + together in the darkness; they moved numbly at the same instant, by the + same impulse; then with a sort of convulsion they were in each other’s + arms. Cold, wet, tremulous, their lips met. The night became the beating + of a heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Hugh sat in his great carved chair, his hands laid out across the bulky + arms, his head bent forward a little so that his eyes encompassed all the + restless beauty of the fire. After nightfall, when the wind began to shake + the cabin, he had built up the fire, and its light now fought ruddily + against the whiteness of the moon. Hugh had not lighted his lamp, nor let + Bella light it, but he told her to make some strong coffee and keep it hot + on the stove. “When Sylvie comes in,” he had said, “she’ll be exhausted. + We’ll give her a hot drink and send her to bed, eh, Bella! The foolish + child!” This had been said softly, but with a wild, half-vacant look which + Bella could not meet. + </p> + <p> + It was her belief that Pete and Sylvie had gone, not to return that night + or any other night. In a desperate, still fashion she guarded this flaming + conviction, peering up from long contemplations of it to learn whether + there flickered any light of torment on Hugh’s face. But all day, after + the queer blankness of face and eyes with which he had first received her + news of Sylvie’s disappearance, he had been alternately gay and tranquil. + All morning he had mended his boat, and in the afternoon he had cleaned + his gun; and whenever he could cajole Bella into being his audience, he + had talked. His talk was all of Sylvie, of her pretty childishness, her + sweet, wayward ways, of her shyness, her timidity; and later, when supper + was cleared away and he had throned himself in the center of that familiar + circle of firelight, he had dropped his beautiful voice to a lower key and + had boasted of Sylvie’s love for him. + </p> + <p> + Bella sat on a big log sawed to the height of a low stool. She sat with + her face bent down between her hands as though she were saving her eyes + from the fire, but those bright, devoted eyes never left Hugh’s face, + though sometimes they made of it but a blurred image set in the broken + crystals of her tears. + </p> + <p> + Thus, together, they heard the first rumble of the storm and saw the white + squares of moonlight wiped from the floor as with a dark cloth. Next, the + windows seemed to jump at them and jump away. “Lightning!” said Hugh. + “She’ll be afraid! Will Pete be able to comfort her? Will he, Bella?” + Then, because she took courage to look into his face, she saw that his + heart had been burnt all day, but that his faith, stronger than his fear, + had kept the flame smothered, almost below his consciousness. + </p> + <p> + While the storm raged across their roof, beat a brutal tattoo close above + their deafened heads, pushed at the door, drove a pool of water under the + threshold, Hugh walked up and down, to and fro, from fire to window, from + door to wall, but not fast, rather with a sort of stateliness. Sometimes + he looked sidelong at Bella’s expressionless, listening face. At last he + forced himself back to the chair and sat there, mechanically polishing the + barrel of his gun, but his tongue still spoke the saga of illusion. It + stopped when the storm dropped into the bottomless silence of dawn. Then + there was only the dripping from their eaves. Hugh sat there, very white, + his gun laid across his lap. Bella, as white, lifted her face. + </p> + <p> + “They’re coming,” she whispered, and got stiffly to her feet. + </p> + <p> + Hugh moved back into his chair, turning sidewise and gathering himself as + though for a spring. His nervous hands clutched at his gun. Upon the + silence the door opened, and Pete and Sylvie came into the room. Wet and + storm-beaten and beautiful they were, with scarlet cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Pete came quickly over to Hugh’s chair; he let fall his pack and gazed + resolutely down at his brother’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvie had a fancy to come with me to the trading-station,” he said. “She + came out after me and didn’t overtake me until just where the trail comes + out into the road. We hurried back, but the storm caught us. It was + pitch-black in the woods; we couldn’t keep the trail. We had to wait for + daylight. I hope you weren’t too anxious about her, Hugh.—Bella”—he + glanced over his shoulder—“could you make us some hot coffee and + help Sylvie into some dry clothes? We are properly drenched, both of us.” + </p> + <p> + This speaker of terse, authoritative sentences was not the boy that had + gone out that morning. That boy was gone forever. + </p> + <p> + Hugh stood up and looked slowly from Sylvie, who had stayed near the door + and held her head up like a queen, to Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you,” he asked gently—“where were you while it stormed?” + </p> + <p> + Pete moved toward the fire, holding out his hands. “Ugh!” he shivered, + “I’m numb with cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Where were you,” Hugh repeated, “during the storm?” + </p> + <p> + Pete lifted his eyes slowly. They were bluer than the blue heart of a + sapphire. “Under a pine-tree,” he answered casually enough, and then, just + as Hugh would have smiled, the color creeping up into his lips, Pete’s + young and honest blood poured over his forehead, engulfing him, blazing + the truth across his face. Bella saw it and clenched her hands. Sylvie’s + cheeks, too, caught fire. Hugh turned from him, blinded by terror, saw + Sylvie’s trembling mouth in her dyed countenance, and turned back. He + lifted the hand that had held, all this while, to the chair, and balled it + into a fist. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t strike him,” said Sylvie quietly, not moving from her place by the + door. “Don’t ever strike him again—<i>Ham Rutherford</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s bones seemed to crumble; his knees bent; he leaned back against the + chair, holding to it behind him with both hands. The gun clattered to the + floor. In the silence Sylvie walked across the room and lifted her face. + As if for the first time they saw her eyes, black and brilliant and young, + sharpening the softness of her features. She looked at Hugh mercilessly, + pitilessly. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been able to see you for a long time now, Ham Rutherford,” she said. + “And the instant I first saw you, I knew your name. Ever since the night + you told me that story about the river, I’ve been watching you. You are a + great and infamous liar! Yes, I know that you once killed a man for + telling you that. Kill me if you like, for I am going to repeat it after + him—a liar, hideous and deformed outside and in. I have no pity for + a liar. Not even your physical misfortune shall shield you! You have made + too great a mockery of it. You brought me here, blind, as helpless as one + of the things you catch in your traps, and you played the hero with me. + And you fed me with lies and lies and lies. I’ve eaten and drunk them + until I’m sick. Now stand up and look at the truth. You are to eat that + until <i>you</i> are sick.—No, Bella; no, Pete; I’m going to speak; + no one can stop me. I know you love him. How you can look at him and see + him as he is and know what he has done and still love him, I can’t + understand. Now, Hugh Garth—the name you tried to make me love you + by—I’ll tell these people that love you, some of the beautiful + fables with which you tried to win <i>my</i> love. Maybe, then, they will + begin to see you as you are. Here is the first: ‘There was once a very + noble youth who had a friend—‘” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” Hugh groaned pitifully, his head bent before her. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I won’t; after all, it’s not interesting unless you’re fool + enough, or blind enough, to be tricked into fancying it’s the truth. But + let me tell them some of the other things. This noble youth, this man + sacrificed his life for his friend and bore the blame of that friend’s + guilt. He is as handsome as a Viking, the very ideal of a girl’s + imagination, strong and shapely and graceful. Has he a humped shoulder and + a lame leg and a scarred face revealing his scarred soul? Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh flinched as though under a lash. + </p> + <p> + Pete put out his hand uncertainly; his face was drawn with pain. “Sylvie—stop. + You <i>must</i> stop. You’re too cruel. He did lie to you, but remember, + that was because he—” + </p> + <p> + The brilliant black eyes flashed back at him. + </p> + <p> + “Because he loved me, you were going to say? When you love a woman, do you + try to ruin her life? Do you creep up in the dark under cover of her + blindness and touch her with some dreadful, poisonous wound? You don’t + know my horror of that man, Pete. Oh, he kissed—kissed me!” She + shivered. “A murderer! Yes, a murderer. Oh, Ham Rutherford, if I could + only <i>make</i> you see yourself! If I could give you my eyes when they + opened, and I saw Pete’s beauty and Bella’s sweetness and the horrible + ugliness of you! And then, day by day—you see, I was afraid to let + you know that I <i>had</i> seen you. I was in terror of you, of what you + might do to me. I was afraid of you all; you had all deceived me. Day by + day I learned the utter distortion of you, mind, body, and soul. How could + I help but—but—” She faltered and half turned to Pete, holding + out her hands. Her indignation at the treachery practiced upon her, an + anger that had grown in silence to unbearable heat, had spent itself in + words. She was all for consolation now—for sympathy. But Pete + stepped back from her. He was looking at Hugh, and his clear, young face + was an open wound. + </p> + <p> + Hugh pushed himself up and slowly lifted his face. It was then that he saw + Sylvie’s hands stretched out to Pete. He started—no one knew what + the convulsive movement meant; but as he started—the gun tripped + him. He caught it up carelessly, blindly. There was a flash—a crash. + Pete leaped and bent, holding his arm. Blood spurted between his fingers, + soaking his wet sleeve; and Sylvie, crying aloud, wrapped him in + trembling, protective arms. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not much hurt,” he said half dazedly. “It—it was an accident. + He didn’t mean it. I was looking at him. The gun went off. He didn’t shoot + at me.... <i>Hugh</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The man was staring straight ahead of him, and now he drew his hand across + his eyes, the fingers crooked as though they tore a veil. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, “I do see myself just as I am. Yes, I did shoot at you. + Yes, I think I meant to kill you. I must have meant to kill you. That’s + the truth. For the second time I’m a murderer. Yet now, as God lives, even + if I am down in the dust, I’ll lay hold of my stars. I’m going to walk out + of your lives so that they can shape themselves to their own good ends. + Sylvie can shape yours with you, Pete.” He hesitated a moment. “If a + coward, a murderer, can say ‘God bless you,’ take that blessing!” + </p> + <p> + He picked up his gun and shuffled across the floor, flinching aside from + Bella as though he could bear no further touch or word, and went out of + the door, letting in the brightness of the sunrise. + </p> + <p> + Pete had sunk into a chair, faint from the shock and weakness of his + wound; and Sylvie bent over him. For a minute, in great and bitter + loneliness Bella stood and watched them; then she followed Hugh. + </p> + <p> + He had put down his gun and gone slowly up from the hollow and was walking + along the river-bank. He had the look of a man who strolls in meditation. + When he came to his boat where it lay near the roots of the three big + pines, he turned it over—he had been mending its bottom the morning + of yesterday—and began to push it down toward the plunging stream. + The glitter of morning took all the swirlings and ripplings and plungings + of the swift water in its golden hands. Hugh steadied the boat. Above him + on the bank Bella spoke quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh,” she said, “look up at me. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his face, still holding to the boat. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want to know? You’ve heard the truth.” + </p> + <p> + She came down the bank and stood beside him so close that her hair, + loosened by the wind, was blown against his shoulder. She pressed it back + and gazed into his eyes. The inner glow had worn through at last. She was + all warmth, all flame now. She smiled with soft and parted lips. “Do you + think that was the truth of you, my dear,” she said, “<i>my</i> truth of + you? I have always seen you as you are. But”—she drew a big breath, + like a climber who has reached the height—“but—I came to you, + didn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s eyes widened, the pupils swallowing her light. “You—you came + to me? Not for Pete’s sake?” + </p> + <p> + “Never for his sake.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Bella—you laughed at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, once, for your poor folly in trying to be what you are not. When + have I ever laughed at what you are? It’s what you are I’ve loved, my + dear, just what you are—a tormented child. Only be honest with me, + Hugh. Tell me what do you want: the moon now or—or all the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “I want the truth—and the end,” he said. “I’m going down the river.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at the flood as though it were a brook. “I am going with you + then. You must take me. My life has always been yours.” + </p> + <p> + He laid one of his hands on either of her cheeks so that her face was + framed for him to read. It was flushed; the deep eyes were beautiful. + </p> + <p> + “You—all these empty years! <i>You</i>, Bella.” It was as though he + saw her now for the first time. The revelation dazzled him. “I’ve gone + thirsty, with wine at my elbow, until it’s too late.” He shook his + shoulders. “Come with me, then, if you must.” + </p> + <p> + She stepped into the boat and sat in the stern, her hands folded in her + lap, her eyes in their great and sudden beauty still fixed on his face. + The wind blew her hair wildly in a long, streaming veil across her + forehead, down her cheek, out over her shoulder. She was beautiful with + the joy that was hers at last. + </p> + <p> + Hugh stepped in and stood to push the boat out from the shore. His eyes + never left hers. It was a deep, long look of which her soul drank, + quenching its thirst. Very slowly the boat moved; then it turned. A hand + seemed to grip it’s prow. There was a mighty, confused roaring in their + ears; the bank seemed to be snatched back from them. The sunlight, shone + into Hugh’s face. Suddenly he caught at his oar. + </p> + <p> + “The river is not so high,” he shouted; “the flood’s going down.” He + looked away from her and back. “We have—just a chance. We’ll leave + it to the river. It may be the end of you and me—or, Bella, it may + be the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + He steadied the boat with all his skill. It was drawn with frightful + swiftness down the swollen stream. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Before noon Sylvie and Pete moved slowly across the open space and went + back along their forest trail. They walked like lovers, and Sylvie’s arm + helped to support him. Just before he stepped in among the trees he turned + for a long, desolate, backward look. + </p> + <p> + Now the hoop of green, once white as paper under the noon sun, and the + level, circular rim of the forest are empty and silent except for the + rattling of the river and the moving of the pines against the fixed, grave + stars. The human tragedy—or was it comedy?—has burnt itself + out like the embers of a camp-fire that will never again be kindled in + that lonely spot. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE END +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + +***** This file should be named 7520-h.htm or 7520-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/5/2/7520/ + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra, Wendy Crockett, and David Widger + + +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: Snow-Blind + +Author: Katharine Newlin Burt + + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7520] +Posting Date: July 24, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + + + + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett + + + + + +SNOW-BLIND + +By Katharine Newlin Burt + + +Author Of The Branding Iron, Etc. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Under a noon sun the vast, flat country, buried deep in snow, lay like a +paper hoop rimmed by the dark primeval forest; its surface shone with an +unbearable brightness as of sun-struck glass, every crystal gleaming +and quivering with intense cold light. To the north a single blunt, low +mountain-head broke the evenness of the horizon line. + +Hugh Garth seemed to leap through paper like a tiny active clown as he +dropped down into the small space shoveled clear in front of his hidden +cabin door. The roof was weighted with drift, so that a curling mass +like the edge of a wind-crowded wave about to break hung low over the +eaves. Long icicles as thick as a man's arm stretched from roof to +ground in a row of twisted columns. Under this overhanging cornice of +snow near the door there was a sudden icy purple darkness. + +As Hugh plunged down into it, his face lost a certain rapt brightness +and shadowed deeply. He let slip the load of fresh pelts from his back, +drew his feet from the skis which he stuck up on their ends in the snow, +and removed the fur cap from his head and the huge dark spectacles from +his eyes. Then, crouching, he went in at the low, ill-hung door. It +stuck to its sill, and he cursed it; all his movements expressed the +anger of frustration. He slammed the door behind him. + +Buried in drifts, the cabin was dim even at this bright hour of noon. +The stove glowed in a corner with a subdued redness, its bulging cheeks +and round mouth dully scarlet. The low room was pleasant to look at, +for it had the beauty of brown bark and the salmon tints of old rough +boards, and its furniture, wrought painstakingly by an unskillful hand, +had the charm of all handwork even when unskilled. Some of the chairs +were rudely carved, one great throne especially, awkward, pretentious, +and carefully ornate. + +There was, too, a solid table in the center of the floor; and on it a +woman was setting heavy earthenware plates nicked and discolored. She +was heavy and discolored herself, but like the stove, she too seemed +to have a dull glow. She was no longer young, but she might still have +encouraged her youthfulness to linger pleasantly; she was not in the +least degree beautiful, but she might have fostered a charm that lurked +somewhere about her small, compact body and in her square, dark face. +Her hair of a sandy brown was stretched back brutally so that her +bright, devoted eyes--gray and honest eyes, very deep-set beneath their +brows--lacked the usual softness and mystery of women's eyes. Her lips +were tight set; her chin held out with an air of dogged effort which +seemed to possess no relation to her mechanical occupation, yet to have +a strong habitual relation to her state of mind. She seemed, in fact, +under a shell of self-control, to conceal an inner light, like a dimly +burning dark-lantern. Her expression was dumb. She moved about like +a deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness and stony self-repression were +extraordinary. + +A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he entered. + +"Hullo," he said. "How many did you get?" + +It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs his +natural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The tone was +astonishingly young, a quiet, husky boy-voice. + +"Damn you, Pete!" was snarled at him for answer. "Haven't you got my +boot mended yet?" + +The boot, still lacking its heel, lay on the floor near the stove, and +Hugh now picked it up and hurled it half across the room. + +"I have to get out into this ice chest of a wilderness and this flaming +glare that cuts my eyeballs open, and work till the sweat freezes on my +face, and then come home to find you loafing by the fire as if you were +a house cat--purring and rubbing against my legs when I come in," he +snarled. "Thanking me for a quiet nap and a saucer of milk, eh? You +loafer! What do I keep you for? You gorge the bread and meat I earn +by sweating and freezing, and you keep your sluggish mountain of bones +covered. A year or two ago I'd have urged you along with a stick. I used +to get some work out of you then. But you think you're too big for that, +now, don't you? You fancy I'm afraid of your bigness, eh? Well, do you +want me to try it out? What about it?" + +During the first part of his brother's speech, Pete had faced him, but +in the middle he had turned his back and stood in front of one of the +clumsy windows. He looked out now at a white wall of snow, above which +shone the dazzle of the midday. He whistled very softly to himself and +sank his hands deep into the pockets of his corduroys. He did not answer +the snarling question, but his wide, quiet mouth, exquisitely shaped, +ran into a smile and a dimple, deep and narrow, cut into his thin and +ruddy cheek. + +Between the woman, who went on with her work as though no one had come +into the room, and the silent smiling youth, Hugh Garth prowled the +floor like a shadow thrown by a moving light. + +He was a man of forty-five, gray-haired, misshapen, heavy above the +waist and light to meanness below; a man lame in one leg and with an +ill-proportioned face, malicious, lined, lead-colored; a man who limped +and leaped about the room with a fierce energy, the while his tongue, +gifted with a rich and resonant voice, poured vitriol upon the silence. + +Suddenly the woman spoke. She turned back on the threshold of the +kitchen door through which her work had been taking her to and fro +during Garth's outbreak. Her voice was monotonous and smothered; it had +its share in her unnatural self-repression. + +"Why don't you tell him to be quiet, Pete? You've been chopping wood +since daybreak to make up for what he didn't do last week, and you only +came in about ten minutes before he did. Why don't you speak out? You're +getting to be pretty close to a man now, and it isn't suitable for you +to let yourself be talked to that way. You always stand like a fool and +take it from him." + +Pete turned. "Oh, well," he answered good-humoredly, "I guess maybe he's +tired. Let up, Hugh, will you? I'll finish your boot after dinner." + +"The hell you will! You'll do it now!" Venting on his brother his anger +at the woman's intervention, Garth swung his misshapen body around the +end of the table and thrust an elbow violently against Pete's chest. +The attack was so unexpected that Pete staggered, lost his balance, and +stepping down into the shallow depression of a pebbled hearth, fell, +twisting his ankle. The agony was sharp. After a dumb minute he lifted +a white face and pulled himself up, one hand clutching the board mantel. +"Now you've done it!" he said between his teeth. "How will you get your +pelts to the station now? I won't be able to take them." + +There ensued a dismayed silence. The woman had come back from the +kitchen and stood with a steaming dish in her hands. After the brief +pause of consternation she set down the dish and went over to Pete. +"Here," she said, "sit down and let me take off your moccasin and bathe +your ankle before it begins to swell." + +Hugh Garth had seated himself in the thronelike chair at the head of the +table. His expression was still defiant, indifferent, and lordly. +"Come and eat your dinner, both of you," he commanded. "You've had your +lesson, Pete. After this, I guess you'll do what I tell you to--not +choose the work that happens to suit your humor. Don't, for God's sake, +baby him, Bella. Don't start being a grandmother before you've ever been +a sweetheart. You're too young for the one even if you're getting a bit +too old for the other!" + +Bella flushed deep and hot. She went to her place, and Pete hobbled to +his, opposite his brother. Between them the woman sat, dyed deep in her +sudden unaccustomed wave of scarlet. Pete's whiteness too was stained in +sympathy. But Hugh only chuckled. "As for the pelts," he said royally, +"I'll take them down myself." + +Bella looked slowly up. + +"You think I don't mean it, I suppose?" Hugh demanded. + +They did not answer, but the eyes of the boy and the woman met. This +silence and this dumb exchange of understanding infuriated Garth. He +clinched his hands on the carved arms of his chair and leaned a little +forward. + +"I'll take the pelts myself," he repeated boisterously. "I'm not afraid +to be seen at the station. I'm sick of skulking. Buried here--with _my_ +talents--in this damn country, spending my days trapping and skinning +beasts to keep the breath in our three useless bodies. Wouldn't death be +better for a man like me? Easier to bear? Fifteen years of it! Fifteen +years! My best years!" He stared over Pete's head. "In all that time no +beauty to feed my starved senses, no work for my starved brain, no hope +for my starved heart." The woman and the youth watched him still in +silence. "That fox I killed this morning had a better life to lose than +I." + +"It wouldn't be safe for you to go, Hugh," said Pete gently. + +"Why not--watchdog?" + +The sneer deepened the flush on Pete's face, but he answered with the +same gentleness, fixing his blue eyes on his brother's. + +"Because not two months ago there was a picture of you tacked up in the +post-office." + +Bella's face whitened, and Hugh's cheeks grew a shade more leaden. +"T-two months ago!" he stammered painfully; "but that's not p-possible. +They--they've given me up. They've f-forgotten me. They th-think I'm +dead. After fifteen years? My God, Pete! Why didn't you tell me?" He +pleaded the last with a shaken sort of sharpness, in pitiful contrast to +the bombast of the preceding speech. + +"I didn't see the good of telling you. I was waiting until this trip to +see if the picture was still there, and maybe to ask some questions." + +"What does it mean?" whispered Bella. + +"It means they've some fresh reason to hunt me--some fresh impulse--God +knows what or why. How can we tell out here, buried in the snows of +fifteen winters. Well!" He struck his hands down on the table edge and +stood up. He drew his mouth into a crooked smile and looked at the other +two as a naughty child looks at its doting but disapproving elders. The +smile transfigured his ugliness. "I've a fancy to see that picture. Want +to be reminded of what I looked like fifteen years ago. I was a handsome +fellow then. I'm going to take the pelts." + +Pete looked dumbly up at him, his lips parted. Bella twisted her apron +about her hands. Both seemed to know the hopelessness of protest. In the +same anxious dumbness they watched Garth make ready for his trip. As he +pulled his cap down close about his ears, Pete at last found his voice. + +"Hugh," he began doubtfully, "I wish you wouldn't risk it. We can get on +without supplies until next trading-day, when I'll surely be all right." + +"Hold your tongue! I'm going," was the answer. "I tell you, the spirit +of adventure has me. Who knows what I may meet with out there?" He flung +back the door and, pointing with a long arm, stood silhouetted against +the dazzle. + +"Beauty? Opportunity? Danger? Hope? Death? I shan't shirk it this time. +I'll meet whatever comes. But--" He came back a step into the room. His +harsh face melted to a shamefaced gentleness; his voice softened. "If +they get me down there, if I _don't_ come back, you two try to think +kindly of me, will you? I know what you think of me now. I know you +won't see me as I am--no one but God will ever do me that kindness; but +you two--be easy with me in your memories." + +Bella, her arms now twisted to their red elbows in her apron, took a +few stiff steps across the floor. Her face was expressionless, her eyes +lowered. Garth smiled at them both and went out, shutting the door. They +heard him singing as he put on his skis: + + A hundred men were riding, + A-hunting for Pierre. + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + They rode around by moonlight; + They rode around by day; + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + +Then came the sharp scraping of his runners across the surface of the +snow on a level with the buried roof. It lessened from a hissing speech +to a hissing whisper. It sighed away. Bella sat down abruptly on a +chair, pulled in her chin like an unhappy child; her bosom lifted as +though a sob would force its way out. + +"If he doesn't come back!" she murmured. "If he doesn't come back!" She +was speaking to God. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Pete blinked, swallowed hard and began to talk fast and hopefully. + +"He'll come back. I don't believe he'll get halfway there, Bella," he +reassured the woman. "He'll come to his senses. You know how moody he +is. Come over here and doctor up my ankle, please. 'Make a fuss over me, +Bell.' Isn't that what I used to say?" + +He coaxed until at last she came and knelt before him and removed his +moccasin and heavy woolen sock. The strong white foot was like marble, +but the ankle was swollen and discolored. Bella clicked her tongue. "He +_is_ a brute, you know!" She laughed shortly. Since Garth's departure +she had become almost a human being. The deaf-mute look had melted from +her, and a sardonic humor emerged; her eyes cleared; she could even +smile. "Why do we care so much for him, Pete--the two of us?" + +Pete winced under her touch and puckered his brows. "Because he's such a +kid, I guess. He's always fretting after the moon." + +"Don't you ever get angry with him, Pete? He does treat you shameful +sometimes." + +"N-no. Not often. He's always sorry and ashamed afterward. He'd like to +be as kind as God. I believe if he could only fool us into thinking he +_was_ God, he could act like Him--ouch, Bella! Go easy." + +"You're an awful smart boy, Pete. It's a sin you've never had any +schooling." + +"Schooling! Gosh! I've had all the schooling I could digest. Hugh beat +it into me. He's taught me all he had in his head and a whole lot he +never ought to have had there, I guess. But _you've_ taught me most, +Bella--that's the truth of it." + +"_Me_! I never knew anything. They saw to that. They never did anything +for me at home but abuse me. Hugh Garth was the only relation I ever had +in the world that spoke kind to me. Remember how I used to run over from +my folks to tuck you into bed in your little room above the shop, Pete? +No, you were too little." + +"Of course, I remember," the boy replied. "The ankle's fine now, Bella. +Let up. I can't stand that rubbing. Let me stick the foot up on another +chair. There--that's great. It doesn't hurt near so bad now. I remember +Hugh's bookshop; yes, I do--honest! I remember sitting on the ladder and +listening to him talk to the students when they came in. He always was +a gorgeous talker, Bella. They used to stand around and listen to +his yarns like kids to a fairy story. Just the same as you and I do +now--when we can get him into a good humor. But, you know, he used to +like strangers best--to talk to, I mean." + +Bella assented, bitterly. She had begun to clear the table of its almost +untouched meal. "Because he could put it over better with a stranger. It +isn't the _truth_ Hugh likes--about himself, or others." + +Pete had begun to whittle a piece of wood. He was a charming figure, +slouching down in his chair, slim and graceful, his shapely golden +head ruffled, his chin pressed against his chest. His expression +was indescribably sweet and boyish, the shadow of anxiety and pain +accentuating a wistful if determined cheerfulness. He was deliberately +entertaining Bella, diverting her mind from its agony of apprehension. +She saw through him, but like a sick child she took the entertainment +languidly. + +"Now, _you're_ too dead bent on the truth, Bella. You know you are. +You're a regular bear for the truth." + +"I can't see anything else," she said gloomily. "Things are just so to +me--no blinking them." + +He put his head a little to one side and contemplated her. "What do you +see when you look into the water-bucket, Bella?" + +"The water-bucket?" She flushed. "Just because you caught me prinking +that once!" + +"Well, if you had a mirror, what would you see in it, then?" + +"An ugly old woman, Pete." + +"There! Your mind's just the wrong-side-out of Hugh's. He won't see +himself ugly, and you won't see yourself pretty. I'm the only sane +fellow in this house." + +"And you never in your life saw a pretty woman to remember her. Besides, +you're too young." She said it with a tart sweetness and vanished into +the kitchen. + +With her departure Pete's whittling ceased, his hands fell slack and he +began to stare out through the snow-walled window. His anxiety for Hugh +slipped imperceptibly into a vague pondering over his own youthfulness. +That's what those two were always telling him, sometimes savagely, +sometimes tenderly! "You're too young." What did it mean to him, anyhow, +that he was "too young"? A desolation from which at times he suffered in +secret overcame him. + +He was twenty-one or -two--or his memory lied. They had never celebrated +his birthdays, but he was five or six years old when Hugh had been +so suddenly, so unexplainably taken from the house, back there in the +little Eastern college town where they had lived. It was a few months +later that Bella--Cousin Bella, who worked at "the farm"--came for him, +a furtive, desperate Bella with a bruised face--a Bella tight-strung for +flight, for a breaking of the galling accustomed ties of her life, for a +terrible plunge into unknown adventure. She had muttered to him, as +she dressed him and bundled together a few of his belongings, that they +"were going to Hugh"--only it was another name she used, a name since +blotted from their lives. + +Hugh had sent for them. She was the only person in the world that Hugh +could trust. But no one must know where they were going. They must be +away by the time the man who took charge of the shop came back in the +morning. + +Pete remembered the journey. He remembered the small frontier station +where they left the train at last. He remembered that strange, far-flung +horizon, streaked with dawn, and his first taste of the tangy, heady +air. There had been a long, long drive and a parting with the friendly +driver where Bella turned on to the trail through the woods. It had been +dim and dark and terrible among the endless regiments of trees--mazy +and green and altogether bewildering. And after vague hop-o'-my-thumb +wanderings, he had a disconnected memory of Hugh--a wild, rugged, +ragged, bearded Hugh who caught him up fiercely as though he had an +ogrish hunger for the feel of little boys. It was night when they came +to Hugh's hiding-place. For miles Pete had been carried in his +brother's arms. Bella had limped behind them. There had been a ford, +he remembered; the splashing water had roused Pete, and he stayed awake +afterward until he found himself before a dancing fire of logs in a +queer, dark, resinous-smelling house, very low, with unglazed windows. +He remembered, too, that Bella had burst out crying. That was the +queerest memory of them all--that crying of Bella's.--Even now he could +not understand exactly why she had cried so then. + +The frightened, furtive life they had all led since--the life of scared +wild things--had left its mark on Pete. His fear for Hugh now threw him +back into the half-forgotten state of apprehension which had been the +atmosphere of all his little boyhood. He had not known then why strange +men were creatures to be feared and shunned. In fact, he had never +been told the reason for Hugh's flight. Only, bit by bit, he had pieced +together hints and vague allusions until he knew that this strange, +embittered, boasting poet of a brother had killed or had been accused of +killing. In his loyal boy mind Hugh Garth was promptly acquitted. It was +the world that was wrong--not Hugh. Yet to-day, after all the long years +of carefulness, he had gone back to the cruelty of the world. + +Like a beast the boy's anxiety for his brother began to prowl about the +walls of his mind. He imagined Hugh appearing at the trading-station. He +pictured the curious glances of the Indians and the white natives. +This limping, extravagant, energetic Hugh with his whitening hair and +eyebrows and flaring hazel eyes--with his crooked nose and mouth, +his magnificently desperate manner and his magnificently desperate +voice--attention would inevitably fasten upon him anywhere; how much +more in an empty land such as this! Pete fancied the inquiring looks +turned from the man to the man's posted picture. It was no longer a +faithful likeness, of course; still, it was a likeness. There was no +other man in all the world like Hugh! He was made of odd, fantastic +fragments, of ill-fitting parts--physically, mentally, spiritually. It +was as if a soul had seen itself in a crooked mirror and had fashioned a +form to match the distorted image. Hugh wouldn't, couldn't force himself +to be inconspicuous. He would swagger; he would talk loud; his big, +beautiful voice would challenge attention, create an audience. He would +have some impossible, splendid tale to tell. + +Pete sat up straighter in his chair, gingerly rearranging the ankle, and +lifted his blue and haunted eyes--the eyes of the North--to the window. + +The dazzle of noon had faded to a glow. The short winter day was nearly +done. There would be a long violet twilight, and then, the blaze of +stars. + +But for his aching ankle Pete would be sliding out on soundless skis, +now poised for breathless flight down some long slope, now leaping +fallen trees or buried ditches. He spent half of his wild young +restlessness in such long night runs when, in a sort of ecstasy, he +outraced the stifled longings of his exiled youth. But there would be +no ski-running for several nights now. He was a prisoner, and at a time +when imprisonment was hard to bear. + +If only there were some way of getting quick news of Hugh! Why had +Bella and he let this thing happen? Why had they stood helplessly by and +allowed the rash fool to go singing to his own destruction? They might +have held him by force, if not by argument, long enough to bring him +to his senses. They had been weak; they were always weak before Hugh's +magnetic strength--always the audience, the following; Bella, for +all her devastating tongue, no less than himself. And Hugh's liberty, +perhaps his life, might be the price of their acquiescence. + +Straining forward in his chair, listening, there came to Pete, across +the silence, the sound of skis. + +He rose and hopped to the door, flinging it wide. He could not see above +the top of the drift which rose just beyond the roof to a height of nine +or ten feet, but listening intently, he thought he recognized a familiar +slight unevenness in the sliding of the skis. + +"Bella!" he shouted, his boy-voice ringing with relief. "Bella! Here's +Hugh. He's come back." + +Bella was instantly at his side. They stood waiting in the doorway. +Against the violet sky darkening above the blue wall of snow, a bulky +figure rose, blotting out the light. It half slid, half tumbled down +upon them, clumsy and shapeless. + +"Let us in," panted Hugh. "Let us in." + +Slipping his feet from the straps of his skis, he staggered past them +and they saw that he was carrying a woman in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +"Shut the door," Hugh whispered, and laid his burden down on a big +black bear-hide near the stove. He knelt beside it. He had no eyes for +anything else. Pete, hobbling to him, gazed curiously down, and Bella +knelt opposite and drew away Hugh's mackinaw coat, with which he had +wrapped his trove. It was not a woman whom they looked down upon, but +a girl, and very young--perhaps not yet seventeen--a girl with cropped +dark curly hair and a face so wan and blue and at the same time so +scorched by the snow-glare that its exquisiteness of feature was all the +more marked. Hugh's handkerchief was tied loosely across her eyes. + +"I heard her crying in the snow," he said with ineffable tenderness; +"crying like a little bleating lamb with cold and pain and hunger +and fright--the most pitiful thing in God's cruel trap of life. She's +blind--snow-blind." + +Pete gave a sharp exclamation, and Bella gently removed the +handkerchief. The small figure moaned and moved its head. The lids of +her eyes were swollen and discolored. + +"Snow-blind," echoed Bella. + +"A bad case," said Hugh. "Get her some soup, Bella, and--perhaps, hot +water--I don't know." He looked up helplessly. + +Bella went to the kitchen. She had regained her old look of dumbness. +Beside the figure on the floor Pete touched one of the girl's small +clenched hands. It was like ice. At the touch she moaned, and Hugh +ordered sharply: "Let her alone." So the boy dragged himself up again +and stood by the mantel, watching Hugh with puzzled and wondering eyes. + +"Think what she's been through," Hugh murmured, "that little delicate +thing, wandering for two days, out in this cold--scared by the woods, +blinded by the pain, starving. When I found her, you'd have thought +she'd be afraid of a wild man like me, but she just lifted up her arms +like a baby and dropped her head on my shoulder. She--she patted my +cheek--" + +Bella brought the soup, and Hugh, raising the small black head on the +crook of his arm, forced a spoonful between the clenched teeth. The girl +swallowed and began again to whimper: "Oh, my eyes! My eyes! They hurt +me so!" She turned her face against Hugh's chest and clung to him. + +"They'll be better soon," he soothed her; then fiercely to Bella: "Can't +we do something? Don't you know what to do?" + +Again Bella went to the kitchen, moving like an automaton. Hugh coaxed +and murmured, feeding the girl in spite of her pain. He managed to force +a little of the soup down her throat, and a faint stain of color came +back to her lips and cheeks. Bella presently reappeared with salve and +lotion, and Hugh helped her hold the swollen lids apart, his big hands +very skillful, while she gently washed out the eyes. Then they put the +salve on her sun-scorched face. She sighed as though in some relief, and +again snuggled against Hugh. + +"Don't go away, please," she pleaded in a sweet trickle of voice. "I'm +scared to feel you gone. You're so warm. You're so strong. Will you talk +to me again, please? Your voice is so comforting, so beau-ti-ful." + +So Hugh talked. The others drew away and watched and listened. They did +not look at each other. For some reason Pete was ashamed to meet Bella's +eyes. As usual, they were the audience, those two. They sat, each in a +chair, the width of the room apart; below them, his grizzled head and +warped face transfigured by its new tenderness, Hugh bent over the child +in his arms. Pete held his tumult of curiosity, of interest, in leash. +He could hear his heart pounding. + +"You're safe now, and warm," Hugh was murmuring. "No need to be scared, +no need. I'll take care of you. Go to sleep. I'm strong enough to keep +off anything. You're safe and snug as a little bird in its nest. That's +right. Go to sleep." + +Pete's blue eyes dwelt on this amazing spectacle with curious wonder. +This was a Hugh he had never seen before. For the first time in fifteen +years, he realized, the man had forgotten himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +To Hugh Garth the girl told her story at last. She seemed to realize +only dimly that there were two other living beings in this house, to +her a house of darkness peopled only by voices--Pete's modest, rare boy +speeches, Bella's brief, smothered statements. The great music of Hugh's +utterance must indeed have filled her narrowed world. So it was to him +she turned--he was always near her, sitting on the pelt beside the chair +to which, after a day and night in Bella's bed, she was helped. + +She had a charming fashion of speech, rather slow motions of her lips, +which had some difficulty with "r" and "s," a difficulty which she +evidently struggled against conscientiously, and as she talked, she +gesticulated with her slim little hands. She was a touching thing +sitting there in Hugh's carved throne--he an abdicated monarch at her +feet, knee in hand, grizzled head tilted back, hazel eyes raised to her +and filled with adoration. + +"I am called Sylvie Doone," she said with that quaint struggle over +the "S." "I was always miserable at home." She gave the quick sigh of +a child. "You see, my father died when I was very little, and then my +mother married again. We lived in the grimmest little town, hardly +more than a dozen houses, beside a stream, up in Massachusetts--farming +country, but poor farming, hard farming, the kind that twists the men +with rheumatism, and makes the women all pinched and worn. Mother +was like that. She died when I was thirteen. You see--there I was, so +queerly fixed. I had to live with Mr. Pynche--there was no other home +for me anywhere. And he kind of resented it. He had enough money not +to need me for work--a sister of his did the housework better than I +could--and yet he was poor enough to hate having to feed me and pay for +my clothes. I was always feeling in the way, and a burden. There was +nothing I could do. + +"Then I saw something about the movies in a magazine, and pictures of +girls, not much better-looking than me, making lots of money. I borrowed +some money from a drug-store clerk who wanted to keep company with +me--I've paid it back--and I went to New York. I did get a job. But I'm +not a good actress." + +She faltered over the rest--a commonplace story of engagements, of +failures, until she found herself touring the West with a wretched +theatrical troupe. "We were booked for a little town off there beyond +your woods, and the train was stalled in a snowstorm. We got on a +stage-coach, but it got stuck in a drift on one of those dreadful roads. +I was freezing cold, and I thought I'd make a short cut through the +woods. The road was running along the edge of a big forest of pines. I +cut off while they were all working to dig out the horses. + +"Mr. Snaring said, 'Look out for the bears!' and I laughed and ran up +what looked like a snow-buried trail. There was a hard crust. The woods +were all glittering and so beautiful. I ran into them, laughing. I was +so glad to get away by myself from those people into the woods where it +was so silent and sort of solemn--like being in a church again. I can't +think how I got so lost. I meant to come round back to the road, but +before I knew it, I didn't know which way the road was. The pines were +so dense, so all alike, they looked almost as if they kept sort of +shifting about me. I tried to follow back on my footprints, but in +some places snow had shaken down from the branches. And there were so +many--so dreadfully many other tracks--of animals--" She put her hands +over her face and shrank down in her chair. + +"Forget about them, Sylvie," Hugh admonished gently. "Even if there had +been bears about, they wouldn't likely have bothered you any." + +"I can't bring myself to tell you about that time--I can't!" + +"Don't, then--only, how did you live through the night, my dear?" + +"I don't know--except that I never stayed still. I got out from the +trees because I was afraid of bears, and I lost my hat. The sun was like +fire shining up from underneath and down from up above. My eyes began +to hurt almost at once, and by the time night came, it was agony. The +darkness didn't seem to help me any either; the glare still seemed to +come in under my lids. I couldn't sleep for the pain. I knew I'd +freeze if I stood still, so I kept moving all night, trampling round in +circles, I suppose. Next morning the terrible glare began again. Then +everything went red. I was nearly crazy when you found me, Mr. Garth." + +"Please call me Hugh," he murmured, taking her hand in his. "I feel in a +way that you belong to me now--I saved you from dying alone there in the +cold and brought you back to my home. I've got jettison rights, Sylvie." +She let him hold her hand, and flushed. + +"You'll never know what it felt like to hear your voice call to me, to +feel you pulling me up. I'd only just dropped a few minutes before, but +I'd never have struggled up. It would have been the end." She trembled +in the memory, and he patted her hand. "I don't know why a man like +you lives off here in this wild place, but thank God, you do live here! +Though," she added with wistfulness, twisting her soft mouth, "though I +can't ever quite see why God should care much for a Sylvie Doone." She +touched the lids of her closed eyes. "I wonder why it doesn't worry me +more not to be able to see. Now that the pain's gone, I don't seem to +care much." + +"Thank God. Perhaps, though," he added half-grudgingly, "in a few days +you'll see again." + +She smiled. "I'd just love to see _you_. You must be wonderful!" + +"What makes you think that?" he asked, his warped face glowing. + +"You're so strong and young, such thick hair, such finely shaped hands +and such a voice." Sylvie's associates had been of a profession that +deals perpetually in personalities. "If I'd been blind a long time, I +suppose I could just run my hand over your face, and I'd know what you +look like. But I can't tell a thing." She felt for his face and brushed +it eagerly with her fingers, laughing at herself. "I just know that you +have thick eyelashes and are clean-shaven. Is Bella your wife? And that +big little boy your son?" + +He started. "No, she's a faithful thing, the boy's nurse. And the +kid's my young brother--a great gawk of a boy for his age, a regular +bean-pole." + +"It's so hard to tell anything about people if you can't see them. I +wouldn't have thought he was so big. Is he about fourteen or fifteen? He +speaks so low and gently; he might be any age." + +"And a man's height--pretty near too big to lick, though he needs it." + +"And Bella, what's she like?" + +"A dried-up mummy of a woman." + +The kitchen door creaked. Hugh started and shot a look over his +shoulder. Bella stood on the kitchen threshold with an expressionless +face and lowered eyelids. + +"Why did you jump?" asked Sylvie nervously. + +Hugh wet his lips with his tongue. "Nothing. The door creaked. Go on. +Tell me more, child," he urged. + +"No. I want to hear about you now. Tell me your story." + +Hugh clenched his hands and flushed darkly. He glanced over his shoulder +with a furtive look, but Bella had gone. + +"No one else rightly knows my story, Sylvie. Will you promise me never +to speak of it, to Bella, to Pete, to any one?" + +"Of course, I promise." Her face beamed with the pride of a child +entrusted with a secret. + +Then, lowering his voice and moving closer to her chair, he began a +fictitious history, a history of persecuted and heroic innocence, of +reckless adventure, of daring self-sacrifice. The girl listened with +parted lips. Her cheeks glowed. And behind the door, Bella too listened, +straining her ears. + +The murmur of Hugh's recital, rising now and then to some melodramatic +climax, then dropping cautiously, rippled on, broken now and again by +Sylvie's ejaculations. Behind the door Bella stood like a wooden block, +colorless and stolid as though she understood not a syllable of what +she heard. But after a rigid hour she faltered away, stumbled across the +kitchen and out into the snow. + +There, in the broad light of the setting sun, Pete rhythmically bent and +straightened over his saw. The tool sang with a hissing, ringing rhythm, +and the young man drove it with a lithe, long swing of body, forward and +back, forward and back, in alternate postures of untiring grace. The +air was not cold. There was the cloudy softness premonitory of a spring +storm; the sun glowed like a dying fire through a long, narrow rift in +the shrouded west. Pete had thrown aside his coat and drawn in his belt. +The collar of his flannel shirt was open and turned back; his head was +bare. The bright gold of his short hair, the scarlet of his cheeks, +the vivid blue of his brooding eyes, made shocks of color against the +prevailing whiteness. Even the indigo of his overalls and the dark gray +of his shirt stood out with a curious value of tint and texture. His +bare hands and forearms glowed. He was whistling with a boy's vigor and +a bird's sweetness. + +Bella caught Pete's arm as it bent for one of the strong forward sweeps. +He stopped, let go of his saw, and turned to her, smiling. + +Then--the smile gone: "What's wrong?" + +Her eyes flamed in her pale, tense face. "We've got to stop it, Pete," +she said. "It's horrible!" + +"What? Don't stand out here with those bare arms, Bella." He was pulling +his own shirt-sleeves down over his glistening bronze forearms as he +spoke. + +"We can't talk in the house," she said, "and I've got to talk. I--Do you +know what Hugh's doing--what he's telling that girl? What he's letting +her believe?" + +Pete shook his head, but at the same time turned his blue eyes away from +her toward the glowing west. + +"Lies," said Bella. She laughed a short, explosive laugh. "He's got his +ideal audience at last--a blind one. She thinks he's young and handsome +and heroic. Pete, she thinks he's a hero. She thinks he's buried himself +out here for the sake of somebody else. Oh, it's a regular romance, and +it's been going on for hours--it's still going on. By now he believes +it all himself. He's putting in the details. And Sylvie: 'Oh!' she's +saying, and 'Ah, Mr. Garth, how you must have suffered! How +wonderful you are!' And--look at me Pete--do you want to know what we +are--according to him--you and I?" + +He did not turn his eyes from the west, even when she shook his arm. + +"I'm a dried-up mummy of a woman--faithful?--yes, I'm faithful--an old +servant. And you're a child, an overgrown bean-pole of a boy, fourteen +or fifteen years old." + +The young man stood tall and still--a statue of golden youth in the +golden light--the woman clutching at his arm, her face twisted, her eyes +afire, all the colorlessness of her body and the suppressed flame of her +spirit pitilessly apparent. + +"Look at me, Pete." + +"Well," he sighed gently, "what of it?" He looked down at her and +smiled. "It's the first good time he's had for fifteen years. You know +we don't make him happy. I don't grudge him his joy, Bella, do you? +It can't last long, anyway. Fairy tales can't hurt her--Hugh +believes--almost--in his own inventions. She'll be going back--her +friends will be hunting for her. I'll let her think I'm a bean-pole of a +boy if it makes him any happier to have me one. And why do you care?" + +She drew in her breath. "Oh, I don't suppose I care--so much," she said +haltingly. "But--think of the girl." + +His eyes widened a little and fell. "The girl?" + +"She's falling in love with him!" + +Pete threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Oh, Bella, you know, +_that's_ funny!" + +"It's not. It's tragic. It's horrible. You'll see. Watch her face." + +"I have watched it." He spoke dreamily. "It's a very pretty and sweet +face." + +"Pete, Hugh's robbing _you_." + +"Me?" + +"Yes, you're young. You're ready for loving. This child--God sent her to +you, to get you out of this desolation, to lead you back to loving and +living, to give you what you ought to have--Life." + +It was as though she had struck him. He started and drew himself away. +"Shut up, Bella," he said with boyish roughness and limped past her into +the house. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In these days Hugh must have known that his magic-making, as he led the +little blind girl through the forest of his romancing, was at the mercy +of those two that knew him for what he really was; except for queer, +wild, threatening looks now and again, he gave no sign. He played his +part magnificently, even trusting them to come in with help when they +were given their cue. He had dominated them for so long that even they +and the picture of him that they held in their minds were not so real +as his dreams. It was a queer game, queer and breathless, played in this +narrow space shut in by the white wilderness. And as the slow days went +by, the low log house seemed to be filled more and more with smothered +and conflicting emotions. A dozen times the whole extravaganza came near +collapse; a dozen times Hugh saved it by a word, or Pete and Bella by a +silence. Their parts were not easy, and although Pete still smiled, +his young clear face grew whiter and more strained. Sylvie treated him +always as though he were a child. She would pat his head and rumple his +hair if he sat near her; once, suddenly, she kissed him lightly on the +cheek, after he had moved the chair for her. + +"You're a dear, quiet boy," she said. "I frightened you to death, then, +didn't I? Hasn't anyone ever kissed you before?" His cheek burned so +that, touching it with her fingers, she laughed. "I've made you blush, +poor kid! I know. Boys hate petting, don't they? You'll have to get used +to it, Pete, because I mean to pet you--oh, a lot! You need some one +to draw you out. These two people snub you too much. Boys of +fourteen aren't quite children, after all, are they? Besides, they're +interesting. I know. I was fourteen myself not such ages back. You're +not cross, are you, Pete?" + +His eyes were misty, and his hands were cold. He could not understand +his own emotion, his own pain. He muttered something and got himself +away. She called him "sullen" and was angry with him, complaining to +Hugh at supper that "Petey" had been "a bear" to her. Hugh simulated a +playful annoyance and began to scold; then a sort of nervous fury came +over him. He stamped and struck the table and snarled at Pete. The young +man rose at his place and stared at his brother silently. There were two +splotches of deep color on his cheeks. Sylvie protested: "Don't, please, +be so angry with him. I was only teasing, just in fun. Bella, tell +Hugh to stop. I had no business to kiss Pete. But I just wanted to pet +something." + +Hugh's threatening suddenly stopped, and Pete sat down. In the +strained silence Bella laughed. Her laughter had the sound of a snapped +bow-string. Sylvie had pushed her chair back a little from the table and +was turning her head quickly from one to the other of them. Her mouth +showed a tremble of uncertainty. It was easy to see that she sensed a +tension, a confusion. Hugh leaned forward and broke into a good-humored +rattle of speech, and as Pete and Bella sat silent, Sylvie gradually was +reassured. Near the end of the meal she put out her hand toward Pete. + +"Please don't be so cross with me, Pete! Give me a shake for +forgiveness." + +He touched her hand, his eyes lowered, and drew his fingers away. She +laughed. + +"How shy you are--a wild, forest thing! I'll have to civilize you." + +"Leave him alone," admonished Hugh softly, "leave him alone." + +As he said this, he did not look at Sylvie, but gazed somberly at Pete. +It was a strange look, at once appealing and threatening, pitiful and +dangerous. Pete fingered his fork nervously. Finally Bella stood up and +began to clear the table with an unaccustomed clatter of noisy energy. + +"How long are you going to keep it up, Pete?" she asked him afterward. +He was helping her wash the dishes, drying them deftly with a piece of +flour-sacking. + +"Since we've let it begin, we'll have to go on with it to a finish," he +answered coldly. "After all"--he paused, polished a platter and turned +away to put it on its shelf--"he's not doing anything so dreadful--just +twisting the facts a little. I _am_ an ignorant lout. I might as well be +fourteen, for all I know." + +"And I _am_ a mummy of a woman?" + +In pity for her he made to put his arm about her. "Don't be a goose, +Bella," he said, but she flung his hand from her. "Why does it make you +so sore and angry?" he asked wistfully. "Hugh is not pretty to look +at, but perhaps Sylvie sees him better than we do--in a way; and if she +learns to love him while she's blind, then, when she sees him, if she +ever sees him--" + +"Chances are she never will. If her eyes don't get better soon, they +likely never will." + +"Isn't it horrible?" + +"You don't seem to think so. So long's she has Hugh to paint pictures +for her, what does she need eyes for? What's to come of it, Pete? She's +falling in love with the fine figure of a hero he's made her believe he +is. But how can he marry her?" + +"Couldn't he go off somewhere else and marry her and start again? +Honest, I think if Hugh had some one who thought he was a god, he'd +likely enough be one. He--he lives by--illusion--isn't that the word? +It's kind of easy to be noble when some one you love believes you to be, +isn't it? That's Hugh; he--" + +Bella threw down her rag, turned fiercely upon him and gripped his +shoulders. + +"Are you a man or a child?" she said. "You love this girl yourself!" + +"No!" he cried and broke from her and went limping out into the frosty +night with its comfortless glitter of stars. + +As soon as his ankle was stronger, Pete spent all day and most of the +night on his skis, trying to outrun the growing shadow of his misery. +Hugh's work fell on his shoulders. He had not only his accustomed +chores, the Caliban duties of woodchopping and water-carrying, the +dressing of wild meat, the dish-drying and heavier housework, the +repairs about the cabin--but he had the trapping. In Hugh's profound +new absorption he seemed to have forgotten the necessity for making a +livelihood. During the first years of their exile they had lived on his +savings, ordering their supplies by the mail, which left them at the +foot of that distant trail leading into the forest. Thence Hugh, under +shelter of night, would carry them--lonely, terrible journeys that taxed +even his strength. When Pete grew big enough to load, he was sent to the +trading-station, and Hugh became an expert trapper. The savings were +not entirely spent, but they were no longer touched; the pelts brought a +livelihood. + +Pete had had his instructions concerning his behavior at the +trading-station; many years before, he had stammered a legend of a +sickly father who had died, who was buried back there by the lonely +cabin where he and his "mother" chose to live. Bella and Hugh had even +dug up a mound for which they had fashioned a rude cross. It could +be seen, in summer, from the living-room window--that mock grave more +terrible in its suggestions than a real grave ever could have been. +There was also a hiding-place under the boards of the floor. No one +had ever seen the grave or driven Hugh into hiding. It was not an +inquisitive country, and its desolation was forbidding. Pete had learned +to discourage the rare sociability of the other traders. + +Now, however, the young man had not only to trade his pelts but to trap +them, and for this business of trapping which was distasteful to him, he +had not a tithe of Hugh's skill. His bundle of pelts brought him a sorry +supply of necessities. He was ashamed, himself, and having dumped the +burden from his shoulders to the kitchen floor would hurry into the +other room, not to see Bella's expression when she opened her bundles. + +To-night Pete was tired; the load had not been heavy, but the snow was +beginning to soften under the mild glowing of an April sun, and his skis +had tugged at his feet and gathered a clogging mass. His body ached, +and there was a sullen and despairing weight upon his spirit. A mob +of rebels danced in his heart. He watched Hugh's face, saw the flaring +adoration of his eyes, thought that Sylvie must feel the scorch of them +on her cheek, so close. In his own eyes there showed a brooding fire. + +Bella broke into the room. + +"Look here," she said, "you'd better get to trapping again, Hugh Garth. +Pete's pelts don't bring a quarter of what we need--especially these +days." + +Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. "Oh, you mean me," +she said, "I know you mean me. I'm making trouble. I'm eating too much. +I'll go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the post-office, +trying to find me? They _must_ be hunting for me." She had stood up and +was clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete protested in one +breath: "Nonsense, Sylvie!" + +And Pete went on with: "There hasn't been anyone asking about you, +but--so much the better for us. You're safe here, and comfortable, +aren't you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have her +here." + +It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie's arrival, and it +was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old boy. +There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the youthful +quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him, to thank +him, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon him, a sudden +bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the edge of the +hearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her in his arms. +For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely, closer and more +fiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength of him and heard the +pounding of his heart. Then Hugh plucked her away with a smothered oath. +He put her into a chair, crushed her hand in one of his, and turned upon +Bella. + +"Go back into the kitchen," he ordered brutally; "trapping's not your +business. You mind your cooking." + +"Be careful, Hugh!" Bella's whisper whistled like a falling lash, "I'll +not stand that tone from you. Be careful!" + +"Oh," pleaded Sylvie, "why do you all quarrel so? Off here by yourselves +with nobody else to care, I'd think you would just love each other. I +love you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know you hate _me_. +Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so angry to have me +here? Does it make your work so much harder? I'll soon be better; I'm +learning to feel my way about. I'll be able to help you. I should think +you'd be glad to have a girl in the house--another woman. I'm sorry to +be a nuisance, really I am. I'd go if I could." + +The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut down +with suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal. For +minutes no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room. She +had not answered Sylvie's beseeching questions, but had only stood with +lowered head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress. She had +run out just as her face cramped as though for tears. + +When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie's hands in +his. "You don't mean that, do you?" he asked brokenly. "You don't mean +you'd go away if you could, Sylvie!" + +At Hugh's voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks. "If I +make you quarrel, if I'm a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate me so!" + +"But I"--he said--"I love you." He drew her head--she was sitting in her +chair again--against his side. "No, don't smile at me like that; I don't +mean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly. Can't you feel how +I love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don't be frightened. There, +now you know how I love you!" + +He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him. + +"How can a man like you love _me_?" she asked with wistful uncertainty. + +"A man like me?" Hugh groaned. "Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay with +me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!" + +"Now it frightens me," she whispered, "being blind. It does frighten +me now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you mustn't +marry a blind girl, a waif. You've been so noble, you've suffered so +terribly. You ought to have some wonderful woman who would understand +your greatness, would see all that you are." + +"Now," he sighed, "now I _am_ great--because you think I am; that's +water to me--after a lifetime of thirst." + +"Hugh, _am_ I good enough for you?" She was sobbing and laughing at the +same time. + +It was too much for him. He drew himself gently away. He whispered: "I +can't bear being loved--being happy. I'll go out by myself for a bit +alone. Sylvie, Sylvie! Every instant I--I worship _you_!" He threw +himself down before her and pressed his face against her knees. She +caressed the thick, grizzled hair. He stood up and then stumbled away +from her, more blind than she, out of the house into the gathering +night. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +In the big, rudely carved chair Sylvie leaned back her head and pressed +her hands to her unseeing eyes. She was not sorry that Hugh had left +her, for she was oppressed and unnerved by her own emotions. Until he +had kissed her hair, she had not known that she loved him--or rather +loved an invisible presence that had enveloped her in an atmosphere of +sympathy, of protection, that had painted itself, so to speak, in heroic +colors and proportions against her darkness, that had revealed both +strength and tenderness in touch and movement, and warm, deep voice. + +For until now Sylvie's life had been entirely lacking in protection and +tenderness; she had never known sympathy--her natural romanticism had +been starved. The lacks in her life Hugh had supplied the more lavishly +because he was aided, in her blindness, by the unrestricted powers of +her fancy. But now in all the fervor of this, Sylvie felt, also for +the first time, the full bitterness of her blindness. If she could see +him--if only once! If she could see him! + +And there came to Sylvie unreasonably, disconnectedly, a keen memory of +Pete's embrace when he had caught her up from falling on the hearth. +A boy of fourteen? Strange that he should be so strong, that his heart +should beat so loud, that his arms should draw themselves so closely, so +powerfully about her. What were they really like, these people who +moved unseen around her and who exerted such great power over her sudden +helplessness? + +She got up and began to walk to and fro restlessly, gropingly across the +room. She wished now that Hugh would come back. He had been with her so +constantly that she had grown utterly dependent upon him. The dense red +fog that lay so thick about her, frightened her when Hugh was not +there to keep her mind busy with his talk to paint pictures for her, to +command her with his magnetic presence. She stood still and strained her +eyes. She _must_ see again. If she tried hard, the red fog would surely +lift. Happiness, and her new love, they would be strong enough to dispel +the mist. There--already it was a shade lighter! She almost thought that +she could make out the brightness of the fire. She went toward it and +sat down on the bear-skin, holding out her tremulous, excited hands. And +with a sudden impulse toward confidence she called: "Pete, O Pete! Come +here a moment, please." + +He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguely +directed smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve of +his body holding itself at a distance. + +"Pete," she said wistfully, "what can I do to make you love me?" + +He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing. + +"Are you jealous?" + +"No, Sylvie," he muttered. + +"Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I'd understand +you better. Pete, try to be a little more--more human. Tell me +about yourself. Haven't you a bit of fondness for me? You see, I +want--Pete--some day perhaps I'll be your sister--" + +"Then he has asked you to marry him?" + +He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone. + +"Don't," she said. "Hush! We have only just found out. He went away +because he couldn't bear his own happiness. Pete--" She felt for him and +her hand touched his cheek. "Oh, Pete, your face is wet. You're crying." + +"No, I'm not," he denied evenly. "It was melting from the roof when I +came in." + +She sighed. "You are so strange, Pete. Will you let me kiss you +now--since you are going to be my big little brother?" + +"I can't," he whispered. "I can't." + +She laughed and crooked her arm about his neck, forcing his face down to +hers. His lips were hard and cool. + +The face that Sylvie imagined a boy's face, shy and blushing, half +frightened, half cross, perhaps a trifle pleased, was so white and +patient a face in its misery that her blind tenderness seemed almost +like an intentional cruelty. It was an intensity of feeling almost +palpable, but Sylvie's mouth remained unburnt, though it removed itself +with a pathetic little twist of disappointment. + +"You don't need to say anything," she said, "You've shown me how you +feel. You can't like me. You are sorry I came. And I want so dreadfully +for some one just now to talk to--to help me, to understand. It's all +dark and wonderful and frightening. I wish I had a brother--" + +She bent her face to her knees and began to cry simply and passionately. +At that Pete found it easy to forget himself. He put his arm very +carefully about her, laying one of his hands on her bent head and +stroking her hair. + +"You have a brother," he said. "Right here." + +The dark small silken head shook. "No. You don't like me." + +"I do--I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I'd like +awfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, you've +been so much with Hugh, I haven't had a chance to know you as he does. +And I guess--well--maybe I'm sort of shy." + +She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in both +of hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten for the +pleasure of its warmth. "You must get over being shy with me, Pete. We +both love Hugh; we both admire him so. I'd so love to talk to you about +him--" + +"Then do, Sylvie." + +"I've never seen him," she sighed, "and you can see him all day long, +Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me--every bit +of him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his face +and--everything. Tell me all you remember about him always." + +"I--I'm no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long--why, you +don't know what he looks like, 'specially if he's your own brother." + +"Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes." + +"He has hazel eyes--I think you'd call them--" + +"Yes?" she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in her +excitement. "Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you'd do this so much +better." + +"I--I--but I don't know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very strong." + +"Of course. I know that. Didn't he pick me up out of the snow and carry +me home? He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You are very +strong too, Pete--_very_ strong. Are _your_ eyes hazel?" + +"No; blue." + +"I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just the +Viking sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You think +I'm a silly goose, don't you?" + +"Yes, rather." + +"Don't keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can't guess how it +comforts me. I'm awfully alone here, and strange. I don't suppose you +know how queer and frightening it's been--this getting lost and being +brought here in the dark, and then--living on in the dark, just trusting +my instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell a lot about +people, don't they?--more than I ever dreamed they could. Pete, there is +nothing in that--that splendid, generous thing Hugh did, the thing I +am not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from going back to +the world--some place--that is, far away from where it happened--and +beginning again, is there?" + +"I hope not, Sylvie." + +She sighed. "Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn't told me of it, I +never should have known half of his greatness; yet I can't help wishing +he were free. It's sad to think there will always be the memory of that +dreadful suffering and danger in his life." + +"Very sad," said Pete. + +"How alone we both are--he and I! Bella, and you, Pete--don't be angry, +please--I don't think you quite understand Hugh, quite appreciate him." + +"Perhaps not." + +"He has always been lonely. You are so young, and Bella is so +stupid--stupid and cross." + +"No, she isn't, Sylvie. I know Bella a lot better than you do. She's not +stupid or cross--" + +"Well, I like you to stick up for your old nurse. She certainly must +have loved you a lot to bring you way out here and to stay here all +these years to take care of you. I wonder where she'll go and what +she'll do when Hugh and I get married. You're too old for a nurse +now, Pete. Do you mind if I lean back against you that way? It's so +comfortable. I'd be happier without Bella, Pete, you know." + +"Would you, Sylvie? Well, Bella and I will have to go away together +somewhere, I guess." + +"I didn't say you, dear. I love you a lot--next best to Hugh. There's +something awfully sweet about you--you great strong overgrown thing! +Your heart goes _thump-thump-thump-thump_, as though it was as big as +the sun.... I feel much better and happier now. Things have got steady +again. Only--I wish Hugh would come back." + +Pete gave a strangled sigh. + +"He'll be back." And he began to draw himself away from her. "I think I +hear him now, Sylvie." + +"Stay where you are," she laughed. "Don't be ashamed of being found with +a sister leaning against you and holding your hand. Are you afraid of +Hugh? I think sometimes he's rather hard with you--I'll have to speak +to him about that. Oh"--in a sudden ecstasy--"how happy I am! I feel as +light as the air. I want every one to be happy. Tell me when Hugh comes +in how happy he looks, Pete--promise me, quick! There he is at the door +now." + +"Yes," he whispered, "I promise. Let me go, please, Sylvie." + +He pulled himself away and stood up. At the instant, the door was opened +and shut quickly, stealthily. It was Hugh, breathing hard, gray with +fear. + +"They're coming," he said harshly. "Pete, they're after me. Men are +coming across the flat." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"Did they see you?" Pete demanded anxiously. + +"I don't think so." Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fled +across the snow at top speed. + +"Get in, then, quick--out of sight." Pete was already tearing up boards +above that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to step down +into it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing as the +unseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands clasped, +her head turning from side to side. "Look here," whispered Hugh, still +absorbed in his own danger, "don't let them know that Sylvie just +wandered in here. Don't let them start asking her any questions; it's +too dangerous. Let her be--one of the family." He smiled maliciously. +"Let her be your wife, Pete." Then, as though that picture had fired his +love through its hint of jeopardy, he held out both arms suddenly: "Come +here, Sylvie--lead her to me, Pete." + +The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh's +shoulders Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmur +of their voices: + +"Hugh, dearest--are you afraid?" And his: "Trust me, little darling. +Love me." A kiss. + +Then a sharp, whispered summons: "Quick, can't you, Pete? Get these +boards down." + +When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stood +flushed and with her hands over her face. + +Bella had meantime been collecting the most characteristic of Hugh's +belongings--those that could not be supposed to belong to Pete--and now +thrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were rearranged, the +rug laid evenly over them. Then the three stood staring at one another, +listening helplessly to the nearing sounds. + +"Oh, Pete," Sylvie gasped, "tell me what I must do--or what I ought to +say." + +"Tell them," said Bella, "what Hugh told you--that you are Pete's wife. +They'll be looking for a different household from that, and it will help +to put them off." + +"But--but Pete won't look old enough." + +"Yes, he will. He looks older than you," Bella declared harshly. "You +sit down and keep quiet; that's the best you can do; and for God's sake +don't look so scared. There's a grave outside to show them, and nobody +digs up a six-year-old grave. They won't find Hugh. Nobody's ever +seen him. Don't shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; this +country has sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. I'll +be in the kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor clothes. They'll +have seen Hugh's tracks even if they haven't seen him, so somebody's +got to have just come in. Be whistling and talking, natural and calm. +Remember we're all at home, just quiet and happy--no reason to be +afraid. That's it." + +Through her darkness Sylvie heard the knocking and Pete's opening of +the door, the scraping of snow, the questions, the simplicity of Pete's +replies. + +Then she was made known. "My wife, gentlemen!" And a moment later: "My +mother!" And she heard Bella's greeting, loud and cheerful like that +of a woman who is glad to see a visitor. Chairs were drawn up and +cigarettes rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of the +smoke. There was brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that while +they talked, the two strangers searched the place and the faces of its +inmates with cold, keen, suspicious eyes. She was grateful now for her +blindness. There came a sharp statement: + +"We're looking for Ham Rutherford, the murderer." Sylvie's heart +contracted in her breast. + +"Well, sir," laughed Pete, in his most boyish, light-hearted fashion, +"that sounds interesting. But it's a new name to me." + +"It's an old case, however," said the man, the man who spoke more like +an Easterner than the sheriff. "Fifteen years old! They've dug it up +again back East. The daughter of the man that was killed came into some +money and thinks she can't spend it any better than in hunting down her +father's murderer. Now, we've traced Rutherford to this country, and +pretty close to this spot. He made a getaway before trial, and he came +out here fifteen years ago. About two years later he sent back East for +his kid brother--he'd be about your age now, Mr.--what you say your name +was?--Garth, Peter Garth. You'll have to excuse the sheriff; he's bound +to search your place." Sylvie had heard the footsteps going through +the three rooms. "A woman named Bertha Scrane, a distant cousin of +Rutherford's to whom he'd been kind, brought the child out. Now, +Missis--what's your name?" + +"Bella Garth," she said tranquilly. "I came out here with my husband, +who died six years ago. He's buried out there under the snow. I've lived +here with my son and my son's wife." + +"Yes. It's not the household we'd been expecting to find. It's a lonely +place, Missis." He looked at Sylvie. "I should think you'd prefer going +to some town." + +"We're used to it here now," Bella answered. + +"How'd your husband happen here, ma'am?" + +"His health was poor; he'd heard of this climate, and he wanted to try +trapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad on him, and +Pete's done well ever since. We haven't suffered any." + +"No, I guess not. You don't look like you'd suffered." + +The talk went on, an awkward, half-disguised cross-questioning as +to Bella's birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband's +antecedents. She was extraordinarily calm, ready and reasonable with her +replies. + +"Well, sir"--the sheriff strolled back into the room--"I reckon these +aren't the parties we're after. But look a-here, this is a description +of Ham Rutherford. Likely you might have had a glimpse of him since you +came into the country. When he made his getaway he was about thirty-two, +height five feet eight, ugly, black-haired, noticeable eyes, manner +violent. He was deformed, one leg shorter, one shoulder higher than the +other, mouth twisted, and a scar across the nose. He'd been hurt in a +fire when he was a child--" + +Sylvie broke into a spontaneous ripple of mirth, the full measure of her +relief. "Goodness," she said with utter spontaneity. "There's certainly +never been a monster like that in this house, has there, Pete?" + +It did more than all that had gone before to convince the inquisitors. +From that minute there was a distinct relaxation; the evening, indeed, +turned to one of sociability. + +"We hate to inconvenience you, ma'am, but it seems like at this distance +from town we've got to ask you for supper and a place to sleep." + +If it had not been for the thought of Hugh in hiding, that supper and +the evening about the hearth would have been to Sylvie a pleasant one. +The men, apparently laying aside all suspicion, were entertaining; +their adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, moving, humorous +experience. It was Sylvie herself, prompted by curiosity, believing +as she did that the monster the sheriff had described bore no possible +resemblance to the man she loved, who asked suddenly: + +"Do tell us about the man you're hunting for now--this Rutherford? Tell +us about what he did." + +The Easterner gave her a look, and Bella, seeing it, chimed in: "Yes, +sure. Tell us about his crime." + +Pete stood up and rolled another cigarette. Try as he might to steady +his fingers, they trembled. He had never heard Hugh's story. He did +not want to hear it. The very name of Rutherford that had, in what now +seemed to him another age, belonged to Hugh and to him was terrible +in his ears. A sickness of dread seized him. Fortunately the eyes of +neither of the men were upon him. Sylvie had their whole attention. + +The detective spoke. "He was a storekeeper back in a university town, +way East, where I came from. He kept a bookshop and had a heap of +book-learning. I remember him myself, though I was a youngster. He was a +wonderful, astonishing sort of chap, though as ugly as the devil; had a +great gift of narration, never told the truth in his life, I guess, but +that only made him all the more entertaining. And he had a temper--phew! +Redhot! He'd fly out and storm and strike in all directions. That's +what did for him. Some fool quarrel about a book it was, and the man, +a frequenter of the shop, a scholar, a scientist, professor at the +university, accused Rutherford of lying. Rutherford had a heavy brass +paper-cutter in his hand. The professor had a nasty tongue in his head. +Well, a tongue's no match for a paper-cutter. The professor said too +much, called Rutherford a hump-backed liar and got a clip on the head +that did for him." + +"It's an ugly story," said Sylvie. Bella and Pete retained their +silence. + +"Murder ain't pretty telling, as a general thing," remarked the sheriff. + +"No, though I've heard of cases where a man was justified in killing +another man--I mean to save some one he loved from dreadful suffering," +Sylvie replied. + +"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. I've read stories that make it +look that way, but in all my experience, it's the cowards and the fools +that kill, and they do it because they're lower down, closer to the +beast, or perhaps to an uncontrolled child, than most of us." + +"But there was a time," Bella said, with a smothered passion, "when an +insult to a gentleman's honor had to be avenged." + +"Yes, ma'am," drawled the sheriff, "in them history days things was +fixed up to excuse animal doin's, kind of neater and easier and more +becomin' than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we have our beds? We've +kept these ladies up talkin' long enough. Your mother looks plum wore +out." + +They slept in the bed usually shared by Pete and Hugh. Pete lay on the +floor in the living-room not far from his brother's hiding-place--lay +there rigid and feverish, staring at the night. Sylvie, at Bella's side, +slept no better. Her imagination went over and over the story of Ham +Rutherford's crime. She saw the little dark bookshop, the professor's +thin, sneering face, the hideous anger of the cripple, the blow, the +dead body, Rutherford's arrest. And when her brain was sick, it would +turn for relief to the noble story of Hugh's self-sacrifice, only to be +balked by a sense of unreality. What the detective had told, briefly +and dryly, lived in her mind convincingly; but Hugh's romance, that had +glowed on his tongue, now lay lifeless on her fancy. Back her mind would +go to the bookshop, the gibing professor, the heavy paper-cutter. + +In the dawn she heard Bella get up with a deep-shaken sigh and go about +her preparations for breakfast. But it was noon before the two men left. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Hugh came up from his hiding-place like a man risen from the dead. They +helped him to his chair before the fire; they poured coffee down him, +rubbed his blue, stiff hands. He sat looking up pitifully, his eyes +turning from one to the other of them like those of a beaten hound. All +the masterfulness, all the bombast, had been crushed out of him; even +the splendor of his flaring hazel eyes was dimmed--they were hollow, +hopeless, old. For a long time he did not speak, only drank the coffee +and submitted himself meekly to their ministrations; then at last he +touched Sylvie with a trembling hand. + +"Sylvie," he whispered brokenly. + +"Hugh, dear, you're safe now; please speak; please laugh; you frighten +me more than anything--why is he so silent, Pete? Bella, tell me what's +wrong?" + +"He's been crouching there on the damp, cold ground for hours," said +Bella, "not knowing what might happen." Her voice trembled; she passed a +hand as shaking as her voice across Hugh's bent head. "You're safe now. +You're safe now," she murmured. + +Hugh's teeth chattered, and he bent closer to the fire. + +"Ugh--it was cold down there," he said, "like a grave! Sylvie, come +here." Just an echo of his old imperious fashion it was--though the +look was that of a beggar for alms. "Give me those warm little hands of +yours." She knelt close to him, rubbed his hands in hers, looking up at +Pete with a tremulous mouth that asked for advice. + +"He'll be all right in a minute," said Pete. "You talk to him, Sylvie." + +"Yes, you talk--you talk. Do you remember how I talked to you when you +were afraid of the bears--ah!" He drew her head savagely against his +breast, folded his arms about it, stroked the hair. "Sylvie! Is it all +right? Can it be--the same?" + +"Yes, yes, why not?" + +"Were you frightened?" + +"Not after the first. After they had described you, I knew that they +were looking for the wrong man, and then I felt all right. I didn't +know--poor Hugh!--how cold and cramped you were. What a shame that you +took a false alarm and hid yourself! I don't believe there would have +been a bit of danger if you'd stayed out. They'd never even heard of +you, I suppose." + +Her talk, so gay, so strangely at cross-purposes with reality, was like +a vivifying wine to him. The color came back into his face; a wild sort +of relief lighted his eyes. + +"Then it didn't occur to you, Sylvie, that that brute might have been +me--that the men might, after all, have been describing me--eh?" he +asked, risking all his hope on one throw. + +She laughed, and, lifting herself a little in his arms, touched her soft +mouth to his. "But, Hugh, you told me your story, don't you remember? +And it is gloriously, mercifully different from Rutherford's." + +He put his chin on his fist and stared over her head into the fire. +She felt the slackening of his embrace and searched his arms with +questioning fingers. "Why are you cross, Hugh? Did I say anything to +hurt you? Let's forget Ham Rutherford. I wonder where he is, poor, +horrible wretch!" + +"Dead--dead--dead," Hugh muttered. "Dead and buried--or he ought to be. +O God!" he groaned, and crushed her close against him; "I can't ask you +to love me, Sylvie--to marry me. Now you know what it is like to love a +man who must be afraid of other men. What right have I to ask any woman +to share my life?" + +"But, Hugh--if I love you?" + +"And you do love me?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +He laughed out at that, stood up, drawing her to stand beside him. +"Bella--Pete," he called, "do you hear--you two?" He beckoned them +close, laid a hand on them, drew first one, then the other toward +Sylvie. "She loves me. She sees me as I am!" Suddenly he put his +grizzled head on Sylvie's shoulder and wept. She felt her way back to +the chair, sat down, and drew him to kneel with his arms about her, her +head bent over him, her small hands caressing him. She looked at Pete +for help, for explanations, but she could not see his pale, tormented +face. + +After a while Hugh was calm and sat at her feet, smoking. But he was +unnaturally silent, and his eyes brooded upon her haggardly. + +It was several days before Hugh regained his old vigor and buoyancy; +then it came to life like an Antaeus flung down to mother earth. His +hour of doubt, of self-distrust, of compunction, was whirled away like +an uprooted tree on the flood of his happiness. He flung reason and +caution to the four winds; he dared Bella or Pete to betray him, he +played his heroic part with boisterous energy; his tongue wagged like a +tipsy troubadour's. What an empty canvas, a palette piled with rainbow +tints, a fistful of clean brushes would be to an artist long starved for +his tools, such was Sylvie's mind to Hugh. She was darkness for him to +scrawl upon with light; she was the romantic ear to his romantic tongue; +she was the poet reader for his gorgeous imagery. He had not only the +happiness of the successful lover, but even more, the happiness of the +successful creator. What he was creating was the Hugh that might have +been. + +With Sylvie clinging to his hand, he now went out singing--the three of +them together, great Hugh and happy artist Hugh all but welded into +one man for her and for her love. Those were splendid days, days of +fantastic happiness. Hugh's joy, his sense of freedom, gave him a +tenfold gift of fascination. + +Yet one day--one of those dim, moist spring days more colorful to Hugh's +heart than any of his days--there cut into his consciousness like a +hard, thin edge, a sense of a little growing change in Sylvie. It had +been there--the change,--slightly, dimly there, ever since the sheriff's +visit. It was not that she doubted Hugh--such a suspicion would have +struck him instantly aware and awake--but that she had become in some +way uncertain of herself, restless, depressed, afraid. And it was always +his love-making that brought the reaction, a curious, delicate, inner +recoil, so delicate and slight, so deep beneath the threshold of her +consciousness, that in the blind glory of his self-intoxication he +missed it altogether--might, indeed, have gone on missing it, as she +would have gone on ignoring or repressing it, if it had not been for +their kiss on the mountain-top. + +This was one of Hugh's madnesses; he would take Sylvie up a mountain and +show her his kingdom, show her himself as lord of the wilderness. He had +been there before many times, to the top of their one mountain, always +under protest from Bella and Pete. It was a bare rock exposed to half +the world and all the eyes of Heaven; and for a man in hiding, a man who +lived, yet whose name was carved above a grave, it was a very target for +untoward accident. Some trader or trapper down in the forest might look +up and behold the misshapen figure black and bold, against the sky. +Yet there was never so mighty a Hugh as when he stood there defiant and +alone. Now he wanted Sylvie to sense that tragic magnificence. + +So they went out, Hugh's arm about her, as strange a pair of lovers as +ever tempted the spring--the great, scarred, uncouth, gray cripple and +the slim, unseeing girl, groping and clinging, absolutely shut off from +any contact with reality as long as this man should interpret creation +for her. Sylvie turned back to wave at Pete, whom they had left standing +in the doorway. + +"I'll be hunting for you if you stay out late," he called--to which Hugh +shouted back: "You hunting for us! Don't fancy I can't take care of this +child, myself." + +"Both of them blind!" Pete muttered to himself in answer. + +They were moving rather slowly across the rough, sagebrush-covered flat, +and presently Hugh led Sylvie into the fragrant silence of the forest +trail. To her it was all scent and sound. Hugh whispered to her what +this drumming meant and that chattering and that sudden rattle almost +under their feet. + +They had to go slowly, Sylvie touching the trees here and there, along +her side of the trail. He lifted her over logs and fallen trees, and +sometimes, before he set her down, he kissed her. Then Sylvie would turn +her head shyly, and he would laugh. Thus they made slow, sweet progress. + +"I see more in the woods with your eyes than I ever could with my own," +she told him. + +"I have eyes for us both," he answered. "That's why God gave me the eyes +I have, because He knew the use I'd be making of them." + +"Is this the trail Pete follows to the trading-station?" she asked. "I +wish you could take me there, Hugh, or--would you let him take me?" + +He tightened his arm. "I can't bear to have you out of my sight," he +answered. + +She sighed. "It seems so queer that they haven't tried to find me. Do +you suppose they think that I'm dead? Did Pete mail my letter to Miss +Foby, I wonder?" + +"What does Miss Foby matter?" he asked jealously. "What does anything +matter to you but--me? Here we leave Pete's trail and I take you +straight up the mountain, dear one. We'll rest now and then; when we get +to the rocky place just below the top, I'll carry you. Are you happy? +I always feel as if my heart melted with the snow when spring comes--a +wild, free, tumbling feeling of softness and escape." + +She sighed. "Yes--if only I could see. I miss my eyes out of doors more +than in the house. Does snow-blindness really last so long? Perhaps it +was the nervous shock and the exhaustion as much as the glare. I am sure +it all will just go suddenly some day. I stare and stare sometimes, and +I feel as if I might see--almost." + +He frowned. "You mustn't miss anything when you have me, Sylvie. Do you +suppose I miss anything, now that I have you? My career, my old friends, +my old life, my liberty, the world? That for everything!" He snapped his +fingers. "If only I have you." + +"You love me so much," she answered, as though she were oppressed, "it +frightens me sometimes." + +"When you are wholly mine--" he began. "Well, wait till we get to the +top of the mountain; there I'll tell you all my plans. They're as big +and beautiful as the world. I feel, with your love, that I can move +mountains. I can fashion the world close to my heart's desire. We'll +leave this blank spot and go to some lovely, warm, smiling land where +the water is turquoise and the sky aquamarine--" + +"And perhaps my sight will come back." It was almost a prayer. + +He did not answer. They had come to a sharp sudden ascent. He took her +in his arms, scrambled across the tumbled rocks, and set her down beside +him on the great granite crest that rose like the edge of a gray wave. +The clean, wild wind smote her and shook her and pressed back her hair +and dress. She clung to him. + +"Is it steep? Are we on the edge of a cliff, Hugh? I'm not afraid!" + +"We're on the very top of the world," he told her breathlessly, his +voice filled with a sense of awe, "our world, Sylvie, I'm master here. +There's no greater mind than my own in all that dark green circle. It's +pines, pines, pines to the edge of the earth, Sylvie, an ocean of purple +and green--silver where the wind moves, treading down, like Christ +walking on the water. And the sky is all gray, like stone." + +"Can you see the flat, the cabin?" + +"The flat, yes--a round green spot, way down there behind us. The cabin? +No. That's in a hollow, you may be sure, well out of sight. I'm an +outlaw, dearest, remember. There's a curve of the river, like a silver +elbow. And Sylvie, up above us, an eagle is turning and turning in a +huge circle. He thinks he's king. But, Sylvie, it's our world--yours and +mine. This is our marriage." + +She drew back. "What do you mean?" + +"Haven't you a feeling for such images? We'll go before a parson--don't +be afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you too much for that. +Why, Sylvie, what's wrong?" + +When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her face +to his arm and began to cry. + +"Oh, I don't know. I don't know.... But please don't kiss me like that, +not like that!" + +He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for him, +found him and clung. + +"Hugh, don't be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps +it's because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait. +Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don't understand? You're angry? +But I can't explain it any better." + +"You can lay your hand on me," he said hoarsely. "God knows I'm real +enough." And he thought so! "My love for you is here like a granite +block, Sylvie." + +"I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know +you--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little, Hugh. +Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog will lift. +Then we'll really be on top of the mountain." She laughed, but rather +sadly. + +"I will always hate this mountain-top," he said. "I used to love it. I +was so close to happiness, and now you've snatched it out of my reach." +He drew in sobbing breaths. + +"No--it's myself I'm keeping from happiness, not you," she answered. +"I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh, be +patient." She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her lips. +"Please be patient. Let's go down out of this wind. I can't see your +world, and I'm cold." + +So, in silence--a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +They came down the hill rapidly and carelessly. Hugh, stung by pain and +anger, threw himself over the rocks, and Sylvie was too proud to show +her timidity or to ask for help. She crept and climbed up and down, +saving herself with groping hand, letting one foot test the distances +before she put the other down. At last the rattle of his progress +sounded so far below that she quavered: "Aren't you going to wait for +me, Hugh?" + +He stopped short, and for a moment watched her silently; then, smitten +by the pathos of her progress--a little child, she seemed, against the +mountain toppling so close behind her--he came swinging up to her and +gave her his hand. + +"You _need_ me, anyway, don't you?" he asked with a tender sort of +roughness. + +She couldn't answer because she didn't want him to know that he had +made her cry. She kept her face turned from him and hurried along at his +side. + +"Why do you go so fearfully fast?" she was forced at last to protest. + +"Because I want to get down from this accursed mountain. I want to get +down into the woods again where I was happy." + +"Hugh"--she pulled at his arm--"you are only a child after all." + +"Perhaps." + +"Well--" She stopped. "Go home alone, then. I'll be no worse off than +when you found me the first time. Pete will come out and hunt for me. +He has a far sweeter temper than you, Hugh, and doesn't think only of +himself." + +He swung away at that, resting his hand against a big rock to clear +a hole; then, seeing her about to step down into it, he pivoted back, +caught her up bodily in his arms, and, laughing, ran with her down the +hill, bounding over the rocks, leaping over the crevices, while she +clung to him in fright. + +"You silly child!" he cried. "This is the way I'll take you home. Now +I've got you, and I'll punish you well, too." She clung to him and +begged him to stop. She was frightened by their rash, plunging progress, +by his speech. She struggled. "Let me down. I won't be carried like this +against my will. Hugh, let me down!" + +"All right!" He fairly flung her from him on a grassy spot. He was about +to leave her when a rushing rattle sounded above them. The boulder +he had twice used to turn his own weight upon was charging down the +hillside! Just in time he caught Sylvie, threw her to one side and fell +prone, helpless, in the path of the slide. He cried out, flinging up his +arm, and, as though his cry had been of magic, the boulder faltered and +stopped. A root half buried just above his body had made a hollow and a +ledge; it had rocked the rolling fragment back up on its haunches, so to +speak, and balanced it to a stop. + +"Hugh! Hugh!" sobbed Sylvie. "What was it? Are you hurt?" + +She crept up to him. + +"No," Hugh told her, breathing heavily. "It was a rolling rock." + +"How did you stop it? You must be hurt, crushed, bruised." + +"My arm's wrenched--not badly." He had in fact wrenched it slightly. + +"Your poor arm! You were so quick, so strong. You didn't think of your +own life. And I've been so cruel. Hugh, Hugh, kiss me." + +Hugh took his reward, none the less sweet to his strange nature, in that +it was only potentially earned. And joy, like a warm flood, crept up +again to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small love +close. One of his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. She +rubbed it for him. + +"You'd better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badly +hurt. You're sure it isn't broken?" she asked. + +"Quite sure." + +"Lean on me! I'll help you down. You can tell me where to step." + +"Nonsense," he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. "A +strained arm won't hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover's quarrel, +didn't we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the boulder!" + +"Don't joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Are +you always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you had +been--" She shivered. + +"Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours, Sylvie?" +He bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned his lesson, +and there was restraint and timidity in that kiss. + +"The sun's come out," cried Sylvie. + +"Yes, it's splendidly bright. There's a clean slit in the sky; there at +the western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch, the way +a boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he's caught. All's gold behind +it, Sylvie, burning gold. The rocks are like bright copper. And the +pines, they're incandescent, phosphorescent green--" + +"If I could only see it!" + +Down near the pines a tall, still figure stood watching them. It was +Pete, and his smile, usually so frank and sweet, had now a sardonic +twist. As they came down out of their sun into his shadow, he spoke with +a drag to his syllables. + +"Hullo," he said. "That was a narrow escape you had, you two!" + +The voice might have been a pistol-shot for the start it gave to Hugh. + +"Why, it's Pete. We must be late, Pete," Sylvie called joyously. "Did +you see how Hugh saved my life? He threw himself down before the rock +and stopped it. He's hurt his poor arm. The great stone was right on top +of us, and he threw me out of the way and set his own strength against +it. I couldn't see the rock, Pete, but it felt like a mountain." + +"It was big enough to smash you both," said Pete. + +He looked at Hugh, whose eyes glared in a strained, shamed face. The +older man's fingers worked nervously; he opened his lips and closed them +again. It was easy to understand the travail of his mind, unwilling +to forego the imaginary bit of heroism, and yet abashed by the boy's +awareness of the lie. + +Pete gave one short laugh; then, springing suddenly across a fallen tree +that separated them, he caught Sylvie up into his arms. + +"You can't carry her with a wrenched arm," he said, half gayly, half +tauntingly, "and at the best rate she can go, it will be night before we +get her home. I'm strong. I'll carry her myself." + +Sylvie laughed protesting that she was being treated like a doll, and +resigned herself to Pete's swift, smooth stride. It was as though she +were skimming through space, so quietly did his moccasined feet press +the pine-needled earth, so exquisitely did his young strength save her +from any jar. He whistled softly through his teeth as he ran in long, +swift strides. And as he did not speak to her, she lay silent, yet +strangely peaceful and happy. Hugh was left far behind. The forest +fragrance moved cool and resinous against her face. + +"I feel as if we could go on and on forever," she said with a sigh, +"forever and ever and ever." + +"We will," he answered through his teeth, hardly pausing in his +whistling for the odd reply. "We will." + +But for all that, he set her gently and suddenly down, and she knew that +she stood again at the cabin door. + +"Pete, where are you?" she asked. + +But he had disappeared, still in utter silence, like a genie whose task +is done. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"What did he say to you? What did he say to you?" asked Hugh again and +again. + +Sylvie laughed at him. + +"He didn't say anything--hardly a word, except that he pretended he was +going on forever. He said: 'We will, we will.' That's absolutely all, +Hugh. Don't be so silly. What _could_ he say?" + +"I don't know," Hugh answered. "He might have made fun of me." + +"Fun of you! After saving my life! I'd have boxed his ears! No, no, +Peter wouldn't do that. He's afraid of me." + +She was so proud of this that Hugh, perforce, laughed. It was after +supper, and they had walked a little way from the cabin. They were +standing just above the river on a little hillock topped with three big +pines. The dusk was thick about them; stars pricked the soft sky. Sylvie +was wrapped in Hugh's coat, and they were linked by their hands hanging +at their sides. Every one but Sylvie had been very silent at supper, but +she had told her story of Hugh's heroism again and again until finally +even Hugh had grumbled at "the fuss." + +"What makes you think anyone could be afraid of you?" He smiled down at +the small dark head which did not reach his shoulder. + +"He's afraid I'll kiss him. Don't grip my hand that way; it hurts. You +couldn't be jealous of a boy! Besides, I _don't_ kiss him any more. I +never have kissed him but that once--no, twice, when I told him that I +was going to be his sister." + +"You told him that?" Hugh's voice had an odd anxiety. "How did he take +it?" + +"I don't think he was very enthusiastic. He loves you so much, Hugh; you +are the very heart of his universe, and I suppose he is jealous of your +love for me. Since then he's avoided me and is as dumb as a fish when I +talk to him. I think his body has outgrown his mind, Hugh." + +"Perhaps. I don't know," he answered. + +"And Bella is so silent, too. Hugh, it must have been a lonely life for +you before I came. Those two people, though they love you so much, are +not companionable. I think, Hugh, that they aren't able to understand +you. You are so brilliant, and they are so dull; you are so articulate, +and they are so dumb; you are so warm, so quick to see, to feel, to +sympathize, while they are so slow and so cold. Dear Hugh, I'm glad I +came. I am stupid myself, but I have enough intelligence to understand +you--a little, haven't I, dear?" + +"So much more than enough!" The low speech with its tremor of humility +was almost lost. + +"What a noise the river makes!" he said presently. + +"Yes. And the pines. The whole air is full of rushing and sighing and +clapping and rattling. Sounds tell me so much now. They fill my whole +life. It is very queer. Why, a voice means more to me now, I think, than +a face ever did.... Is it a deep river, Hugh?" + +"Now it is--deep and dangerous. But it goes down very quickly when the +snow at its source has melted. In summer it is a friendly little brook, +and in the fall a mere trickle that hardly wets your shoe. I have a boat +here tied to the root of one of these trees, a boat I made myself, to +pole across when the stream is too deep for wading. I'll take you out in +it when the flood's down; it wouldn't last fifteen minutes now. In +the spring, Sylvie, a nymph comes down from the mountain, a wild white +nymph. She has ice-green hair and frost-white arms; you can see her +lashing the water, and if you listen, you can hear her sing and cry. +Let's go in, dear; you're tired and cold--I can feel you shivering. +We'll start a big fire, and I'll tell you how that nymph caught me +once and nearly strangled me with her cold, wet arms. I was trying to +save--you'll laugh when I tell you about it--a baby bear." + +Pete and Bella made room for them silently about the hearth where Pete +had already built up a fire. Sylvie groped her way to the throne from +which the other woman slipped half furtively and so noiselessly that +Sylvie never guessed her usurpation. + +"Hugh is going to tell us a story," she said, and rested her head back +so that her small chin pointed out and her slim neck was drawn up--"a +wonderful story about the river and a bear. I hope it's a baby bear, +Hugh, for you know how I feel about bears. I honestly think that being +so afraid of seeing them is what made me blind!" She gave her small, shy +laugh. "I thought I saw them everywhere I looked that day and night. It +seems so long ago now, and yet it is not so many weeks. I can still hear +Hugh's voice calling out to me across the snow. And now," she said, "the +snow's all gone and none of you are strangers any more, and--Go on with +your story, Hugh." + +Pete added a log to the fire so that the flames stretched up bravely +and made a great fan of light against which they all seemed painted +like ornamental figures, Hugh lounging along the rug to make a striking +central figure. Bella was drawn up rigidly on a stiff, hard chair; she +hemmed a long, coarse towel with her blunt, work-roughened fingers. + +Pete sat opposite Sylvie on the floor, his back against the corner of +the fireplace, his knees drawn up in his hands, his head a little bent. +He too--from under his long level brows--looked for the most part at +Hugh, not devotedly, not wistfully, but with a somber wondering. It was +only now and then, and as though he couldn't help it, that the blue, +smouldering Northern eyes were turned to Sylvie on her throne. Then they +would brighten painfully, and his lips would tighten so that the dimple, +meant for laughter, cut itself like a touch of pain into his cheek. The +firelight heightened his picturesqueness--the dull blue of his shirt, +open at the round, smooth throat, the dark gold-brown of his corduroy +trousers, against which the long, tanned hands, knit strongly together, +stood out in the rosy, leaping light--beautifully painted against the +background of old brown logs. + +Yet it was Hugh, after all, who dominated the room by right of his +power, his magnetism, the very distortion of his spirit. Here in this +lonely square of light and warmth, surrounded by a world of savage, +lawless winds heightening the voices of vast loneliness, these three +people were imprisoned by him, a Merlin of the West. + +He sat up to begin his story, pressing tobacco into his pipe. "Oh, it's +not so much of a story, Sylvie. It was last spring when the river was +high and I'd been out with my traps. I was coming home along the river +edge, pretty tired, a big load on my back. I came around a bend of the +river, and not far below me a little black bear, round as a barrel, was +trying to scramble over the flood on a very shaky log. The mother was +on the other side, but I didn't know that then. Well, there's nothing in +God's world, Sylvie, so beguiling as a baby bear. This little fellow was +scared by what he was doing, but he was bound he'd get across the river. +He'd make a few steps; then he'd back up and half rise on his hind legs. +I watched him a long time. Then he made up his mind he'd better make a +dash for it. He began scrambling like a frantic kitten, and it was just +in the most ticklish spot that he heard me and jumped and went rolling +off into the river. I tell you, my heart came right up into my mouth." + +"Oh, _was_ he drowned?" wailed Sylvie. + +Hugh rose and stood with his back to the fire, dominating the room even +more convincingly, with his vivid ugliness. Sylvie's face turned up to +him like a white flower to the sun it lives by, without seeing. It was +strange to watch the adoration, the worship on that small face, and at +the same time to behold the grotesqueness toward which it was directed. +Bella was listening with her lowered eyes and tightened lips. She was +interested in spite of herself; and Pete's inscrutable face followed the +story with absorption. + +"Well, in he rolled with a splash and went rattling down the current, +turning over and over. Like a fool, I threw away my hides, ran down the +bank and jumped in after him--that is, I meant to hold on to a branch +and stand out in the water and catch him as he went by. But the nymph +I told you about had her own plans. She wrapped her arms round me, and +away we went, bear all. Oh, yes, I'd caught the cub all right, and he +was about half drowned by that time--no fight left in him. + +"Well, for a bit it was a question whether the world wouldn't be quickly +and well rid of us both, but we tumbled up against a root and scrambled +out, and when I'd rested, I picked up limp and trembling Master Bear and +went back for my hides. And while I was collecting them, I heard a sort +of grumpy, grumbling sound, and I looked up--and, by Jove, Mother Bear +was coming across that log with the longest steps you ever saw. That's +when I ran to collect my gun--it was a little farther up the bank than +my hides, worse luck!" + +Even Bella had forgotten her bitterness in listening, and Pete's parted +lips were those of an excited child. Sylvie leaned forward in her chair, +her cheeks tingling, her hands locked. Hugh had thrown himself into the +action of his story; his face was slightly contorted as though sighting +along a gun-barrel, his arm raised, the ungainliness of his deformity +strongly accentuated. He was not looking at Sylvie; true to his nature +and his habit, he had forgotten every one but that Hugh of adventure +and of romance, the one companion of his soul. None of them was watching +Sylvie, and when she gave a sharp, little cry, a queer start and then +sat utterly still, Hugh accepted it--they all accepted it--as a tribute +to his story-telling powers. + +But Sylvie, leaning her elbows on her knees, raised trembling hands to +her eyes and hid them. She sat very still, very white, while the story +went on, vividly imagined, picturesquely told. When it was over, and the +mother bear, after a worthy struggle, defeated, Hugh looked about for +his applause. It came, grudgingly from Bella, eagerly from Pete--and +from Sylvie in a sudden extravagant clapping of hands, a ripple of high, +excited laughter, and a collapse in her chair. She had fainted in a limp +little heap. + +She came to in an instant, but seemed bewildered and, unprotesting, +permitted herself to be carried to bed. She declared she felt quite well +again and wanted only to be alone. She repeated this moaningly. "Oh, to +be alone!" + +Hugh seated himself on the end of the bed and kissed her forehead and +her hand, but it quivered under his lips and was drawn away. + +He came back into the living-room with a pale, bewildered face. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Next day there came out of that room a new Sylvie or rather a dozen new +Sylvies: a flighty witch of a Sylvie who tempted her blindness with rash +ventures about the rooms and even out of doors, who laughed at Hugh and +led him on, and drew him out to his maddest improvisations, who treated +Pete to snubs and tauntings that stung like so many little whips; and +again a Sylvie who was still and timid and a trifle furtive, who +rarely spoke, but sat with locked hands in an attitude of desperate +concentration and seemed to be planning something secret and dangerous; +and then there was a haughty, touch-me-not Sylvie; and a Sylvie who +mysteriously wept. But all of these Sylvies showed an impetuous, new +tenderness toward Bella. + +"I've been all wrong about you, Bella," she confessed. "I know you're +not really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face." +Bella, awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick of +the light, young fingers. "I'm learning the touch of the blind," Sylvie +boasted. "Now, listen--isn't this right? You have thick, straight +eyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella, or bright +gray?" + +"They're gray," said Pete. + +Hugh was watching from eyes sunk in a nervous, pallid face. He had come +in from his traps in the midst of Sylvie's experiment. + +"And she has a nice, straight, strong, short nose, and a mouth that she +holds too tight. Loosen your mouth, Bella; it might be very sweet if +you gave it a chance. And she has a sharp chin--not pretty, your +chin, but--look! If you'd soften your hair, pull it over your ears and +forehead--Why do you brush it back that way? It _must_ be unbecoming. +And, Bella, it's curly, or would be with a little freedom. What color is +your hair?" + +"Gray--like my eyes," said Bella, scarlet now, and trying to draw +herself away. + +"Is it really gray, Pete? Tell me the truth, if you can." + +"Her hair is a very light brown," said Pete, flushed as scarlet now as +Bella; "sort of a grayish brown; you wouldn't notice any gray hairs, +hardly." + +"Bella, I'm sure you don't look a day older than thirty-five. Your skin +feels smooth and young. Why do you let Hugh call you an old woman? Poor +Bella, I'm afraid you've spoiled those two boys?" + +Sylvie turned suddenly and imperiously upon the men, and Bella made +her escape, not from the room, for she was too stirred, too full of an +excited suspense, to bring herself to leave. From a far corner, near the +window through which came the soft May wind, she watched them. + +"Now, Pete," said Sylvie, "it's your turn. If I'm to learn the touch of +the blind, I must have practice. What can I make of you! Come here. Why +don't you come?" She stamped her foot. "My, but you are badly trained. +Really, Hugh, you ought to discipline him. Wait until I am your +sister-in-law." + +Hugh started angrily. "Don't joke about that!" he threatened in a harsh, +sudden voice. + +She turned toward him with quickness and bent her head sidelong as +though listening intently for what else he might have to say. Her lips +were set close and narrow. She had listened to him like this, almost +breathlessly, ever since her sudden faintness, listened as though she +would draw his very soul in through her ears. + +He too flushed. "It's life and death to me, Sylvie," he pleaded. + +"Life and death--life _or_ death," she repeated strangely. She stood, +as if turning the speech over in her mind, then gave her head a quick +little shake like a diver coming to the surface of deep water, and moved +a step toward Pete. "Are you coming, boy, or not? I want to feel your +face." + +"Do as she says," Hugh commanded harshly, and Pete came slowly to her +and stood with his hands locked behind him, bending over the little +figure. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a shake, and +smiled. + +"Such a big, strong boy! Where's your face?" It winced and paled under +her touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh's, who watched +with unsteady breathing and white lips. + +"Your face is as smooth as a girl's, Pete. What a wide, low forehead +and crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must be +a pretty boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and--oh, Pete, Pete! I +believe you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple like a slit +in your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so? They're long eyes, +with thick, short lashes. What a strong, round neck! I think I like your +face." + +She patted his cheek, the pat more like a smart slap. He pulled away. +"That's for disobedience. Come back. I'm not through with you. Where's +your mouth? A big, long mouth. Pete, why does your mouth tremble?" Her +hand fell from his lips, and she turned away. "Take me out for a walk, +Hugh, please," she said. "This cabin is stuffy, now that the days are +warm. I want to sit under the pines and listen to the river. You can +tell me one of your wonderful stories about yourself." + +"What does it mean, Bella?" Pete asked breathlessly when Hugh had gone +out, not so much leading the girl as hurrying after her to save her from +the rashness of her impetuous progress. "What does it mean?" Pete was as +white as paper. + +"I don't know." Bella came over from the window and stood by the +fireplace, rolling her arms in her apron and shaking her head. "She's a +crazy little witch. She'll drive us mad. Hugh is half mad now--have you +noticed? She won't let him touch her. And you, poor boy! Pete, why don't +you go away?" + +"I've thought about it," he said. "I--I can't." He flung himself down in +Hugh's chair and rested his head in his hands. + +Bella bent over him. "Poor Pete! It's cruel for you--and," she added +softly, uncertainly, "and for me." + +"For you too, Bella?" He looked up at her through tears. + +She nodded her head, and her face worked. "Perhaps you could take her +back to her friends, Pete?" + +"And leave Hugh? Didn't you hear what he said, Bella? Life and death! It +would kill him if she should go away with me. Or--he'd follow and kill +me." + +"Yes," Bella assented somberly; "yes, he'd kill you. The devil is still +living in his heart." + +"No. Sylvie will marry him. Hugh gets his will." Pete shook his head. +"Wait a few days--you'll see. She's fighting against him now; I don't +know why--some instinct. But though he tells her so many lies, he +doesn't lie about one thing. He loves her. He does love her." + +"No! No!" Bella's passion, tearing its way through her long habit of +repression, was almost terrifying. "He loves the image she has of him. +If he knew that she could see him as I do, his love would shrivel up +like a flower in a drought. Hugh can't love the truth. He can't love +anything but his delusions. Pete, tell her the truth. For God's sake, +tell her the truth. Give her back her eyesight. Let her know his name, +his story--his _face_!" + +"Don't dare ask me, Bella!" + +"Why not?" She seemed to be out of breath, like a person who has been +climbing in thin air. Her lips were dry. + +"Because--well, would you do it yourself?" + +"Ah! He would hate me, if I did. But you, Pete, when Sylvie loved +you--and if she knew you, she would surely love you; any woman +would--why, then you could bear Hugh's hatred. I have only him--only +him." + +She locked her hands and lifted them to her forehead and was now making +blind steps toward the kitchen door. + +Pete followed her, and turning her about, drew down the hands from her +face. + +"Bella--_you_? Without saying a word? All these years?" + +Under the first pressure of sympathy that her agony had ever known, she +could not speak. She bent her head for an instant against his arm, +then moved away from him, groping through the kitchen door, back to her +unutterable loneliness. + +Pete stood staring after her. A new Bella, this, not the cousin, the +little cousin from the farm; not the nurse who had saved him from Hugh's +hardness and told him limping fairy tales and doctored his hurts; not +the accepted necessity, but a woman--a woman young, yes, young. In the +instant when he had glimpsed her face, broken and quivering, the tight +lips parted and the hair disarranged about flushed, quivering cheeks, +the eyes deep with widened pupils, she had revealed beauty and +passion--the two halves of youth. How blind, how blind Hugh had been, +blind and selfish and greedy, drinking up the woman's heart, feeding +upon her youth! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"When you sit so silent, Pete," Sylvie said softly, "I sometimes wonder +if you're not staring at me." + +"When I'm making a trap," he answered, smiling a little to himself and +instinctively shifting his gaze, "I can't very well be staring at you, +can I?" + +He was kneeling on the ground before the cabin door, she sitting on the +low step under the shadow of the roof. Her chin rested on the backs of +her hands, the limber wrists bent up a little, the sleeves slipped away +from her slim, white wrists. Her face was brightly rosy, her lips very +red--at once a little stern, yet very sweet. + +"Traps are cruel," she said. + +"I think so myself. But we have to make a living, don't we?" + +"Aren't you ashamed of yourself sometimes, Pete?" + +"For making traps, and catching live things in them?" + +"Yes. It's a sort of deceitful cruelty, catching the little blind, +wandering wild things." + +"Blind?" he repeated blankly, then flushed. + +"Yes, blind. But it wasn't only that I meant." + +"What else ought I to be ashamed of?" + +"Of living on your brother." He winced sharply, but she went on coolly: +"Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now. Many a boy of +your age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the world to make his +own way. There's no reason for _you_ to hide, is there? _You_ haven't +sacrificed your life for anyone." + +"No," he answered doubtfully, "n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one has +to take the skins. It isn't safe for Hugh." + +"Yes, of course. So that's what you'll do all your life--carry loads to +and fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh goes +away himself?" + +"Yes?" he asked breathlessly. + +His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare. + +"You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marry +me, to start life again." + +"And--and you will, Sylvie?" + +"Give me your advice," she said. She pressed her red lips together; her +face was bent upon him as though she watched. + +"But," he stammered, "you tell me all the time, a dozen times a day, +that I'm badly trained. What good's my advice?" + +"_Are_ you badly trained?" + +"I suppose so." + +"You are absurdly unselfish, Pete!" She moved a chip along the ground +with her foot, but Pete failed to notice this curious seeing gesture. + +"Why? What do you mean?" + +She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, his +hands had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregular +heartbeats from his lips. + +At last she spoke deliberately. "You would lay down your life for your +friend?" she said. It was almost a whisper. + +Pete's face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of his +heart he searched for loyal words. + +"I love Hugh--if that's what you mean," he said. + +"I love you?" she repeated softly, perversely. "Did you say 'Hugh' or +'you,' Pete?" + +His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. "I said 'Hugh!'" + +"Ah--you love only him--nobody else in all the world?" + +Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggled +as though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to remember +Hugh. He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he made +a short step toward the waiting girl. She _was_ waiting, breathing fast. +Pete's arms quivered at his sides. + +A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had come +up behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray; his +eyes were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to become a +straight, hard line. The effort gave a twitch to the pale, lower lip. + +Sylvie stood up, singing as though in absent-minded idleness, and +vanished into the house. It would have been difficult to tell whether or +not she had heard Hugh's arrival. + +"What's the matter?" Pete stammered like a boy wakened from a dream to +behold a lifted cane. "Let go my arm, Hugh. Your fingers cut." + +"Come away from the house," said Hugh coldly, tightening the iron grip +as though Pete's wincing gave him satisfaction. "Come up here by the +pines. I want to talk to you." + +"I'll come," said Pete. "Let go my arm." + +There was that in his voice that compelled obedience. Hugh's hand fell +and knotted into a fist. Pete walked beside him up the abrupt slope of +their hollow to the little hill above the river. Its noise was loud in +the still, sunny air. There was no wind stirring. It was high noon. A +sloping tent of shadow drooped from the pines and made a dark circle +about their roots. In this transparent, purplish tent the brothers faced +each other. Pete's lips were tremulous, and Hugh's distorted. + +"Now," said Hugh, breathing irregularly and speaking very low, "I'll +tell you what I think of you." + +"No, Hugh, don't," Pete pleaded. "You'll say things you don't +mean--unkind things, terrible things. I don't deserve it from you. +You--you think that I--that I--" + +"Go on. Don't stop. Tell me what I think--I think--that you--that you--" + +It was an unbearable moment, an impossible atmosphere, for the +revelation of a first love. Pete felt stripped and shamed. + +"You think that I was telling Sylvie, that Sylvie--that I--" + +Hugh lifted his hand and struck. The younger man sprang back, then +forward, and was at his elder's throat. For an instant they struggled, +silently, terribly, slipping on the red pine-needles. Then Pete gave a +hard laugh. "Are we tigers?" he asked, and he pulled himself back and +leaned, shaking, against a tree-trunk, gripping it with his hands. His +blue eyes were cold and blazing in his white face, against which Hugh's +blow had made a mark. "You won't strike me again," Pete said. All +boyishness was gone from his hard, level voice. "Go on. Say what you +like. I'll listen." + +"You liar!" stormed Hugh. "You cheat!" + +Pete laughed again. + +A certain quality in his bitter self-control flicked Hugh. He tried to +emulate the young man's coolness. + +"I've trusted you," he began again; "and behind my back you have been +trying to win the love of the woman who has promised to be my wife." + +"I have not." + +"You were not making love to her there, then, when I came up behind you? +When you were so excited that you didn't hear me? when you were moving +toward her--trembling all over? _I_ felt your arm!" + +Pete's eyes dropped, then lifted as though under a great weight. + +"And you say you're not a liar!" + +"I _am_ a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars. We +have caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her, all +three of us--Bella and I, and you, Hugh--you have lied most of all." + +"She loves me," Hugh panted. "She knows me. She understands me." + +"Yes," Pete answered, trembling. "I've seen that. I've kept quiet. Bella +and I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by striking me and +calling me a liar and a cheat!" + +Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the +justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, put a +hand on each of his brother's shoulders, searching the white, young face +with his wild eyes. + +"I must have Sylvie," he groaned. "Pete, I must. You don't know; you +can't know--" He dropped his grizzled head against Pete's neck, and his +breath caught. "You don't know what I felt when I saw you there, when I +thought--Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take my love, my +only joy, my one prize away from me?" + +After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically +across the twisted, gasping back. + +"Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn't. But I've had to play a part, and +it's not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it's been, because +you seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I went away?" + +He was gripped again, shaken a little. "No, don't leave me. Wait. It +won't be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets over +a girl's timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don't stand dumb; +tell me that she does." + +"She does," Pete repeated tonelessly. + +"I'm sorry I struck you. I have a devil's temper. And I think of you as +still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have beaten +you." He put this forward as though it were a reasonable excuse. + +"Yes." Pete smiled grimly. "I can remember your beatings." He drew +himself away. "Shall we go back?" + +Hugh still held him, though at arm's length. "First I must have a +promise from you." He spoke sternly. + +"What do you want?" + +"I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the end." + +"You won't trust me, then?" + +"Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your arm." + +Pete was silent. He studied the ground. There was a sullen look on his +face, and his tightened mouth deepened the odd, incongruous dimple. + +"Well, perhaps you're right. I promise." He flashed up a blue +desperation of young eyes as he asked: "How long will it last, Hugh?" + +"Not long. Not long. Surely not long." + +"I promise." + +"Give me your hand." + +They came back down from the hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Pete looked forward with white-hot impatience to the day of his trip +to the trading-station; twelve hours of relief, it would mean, from the +worst pressure of his torment--twelve hours of merciful solitude in the +old, voiceful friendliness of his forest trail. He started early, at the +break of a sweet, singing dawn. The earth was elastic under his feet, +the air tingling and mellow with a taste of growth; the flooded river +chattered loudly like a creature half beside itself with joy. Pete +came out of the dark and silent cabin in which he had made his tiptoe +preparations, and lifted his face, letting the light, soft fingers of +the wind, cooler and softer even than Sylvie's, smooth out the knots of +suffering from his tired brain. He shook his shoulders before settling +them under the load of pelts. He would, he swore, just for this day, +be a boy again. He sprang lightly up from the hollow and strode forward +with long, swift steps, swinging a companionable stick in his free hand. + +Loneliness and the dawn and love had made a poet of the young man, so +that he had the release of poetry and forgot reality in its translation +into a tale that is told. He thought of Sylvie, but he thought of her as +a man thinks of a lovely memory. He went through the wood with his chin +lifted, half smiling, almost happy, an integral part of the wild, glad, +wistful spring. + +It was not until the afternoon when he was nearing the station--just, in +fact, before he left the wood-trail for the rutted, frontier road--that +his mind was caught as sharply as a cloth by a needle, by the light +sound of following steps. In the solitude of that trail which his feet +alone had worn, the sound brought him to a stop with a sense of terror +and suspense. His mind leaped to Hugh, and for the first time in his +loyal life Pete remembered, and remembering, felt a creeping on his +skin, that this brother of his, who had grown harsh and jealous and +suspicious, had been a murderer. The cold, unkindly memory slid along +his senses like a snake. On the edge of the sloping road-bank, studded +with little yellow flowers, just where the trees stopped, Pete set down +his load and waited, instinctively bracing his body, drawing it back +beneath the shelter of one of the big pines. + +The steps were light and swift and stealthy. In the purplish confusion +of the distance, a tangled and yet ordered regiment of trunks and +boughs, sun-splotches and shadow-blots, through which the uncertain +trail seemed to rise like a slender thread of smoke to the pale, flecked +sky, Pete made out a moving shape. It slipped in and out; it hesitated, +hurried, paused, moved on. With a shudder of relief and of surprise, +Pete saw it; out from behind the great, close trunks came Sylvie, +her chin lifted, her hands stretched out on either side, brushing the +swinging branches along the trail, her small head turning from this side +to that, as though she listened in suspense. + +Pete called out her name and ran quickly to meet her. Forgetting +his part of a dull, sullen boy, he spoke eagerly, catching her hand, +watching the warm, happy blush flow in her cheeks. + +"Where were you?" she asked. She had stood to wait for him as soon as +his voice reached her. "I couldn't see--I mean, I lost the sound of your +steps. I've been following you for hours and hours and hours. I was so +afraid of being lost again that I didn't dare drop too far behind." + +"But why didn't you call to me? Why have you come? Is anything wrong at +home?" + +Her fingers moved uncertainly in his grasp, like the fingers of a shy +child. "Nothing is wrong. I wanted to come with you. I wanted to go to +the trading-station and the post-office. I didn't dare ask you to +take me with you. I was afraid you'd send me home. I suppose I'll be a +nuisance, but--Oh, Pete, please be nice to me and take care of me, won't +you?" She paused, turned her face away from him and smiled. "After +all, since you have called me your wife before witnesses, you ought to +introduce me to your friends at the trading-station, oughtn't you? They +might think it was queer that I should hide myself, now that the snow +has gone." + +He dropped her hand. Suddenly he realized the consequences, the +necessary effect upon Hugh of this willful venture of hers. + +"Does Hugh know where you are?" he asked painfully. + +"No. I ran away. I heard you getting ready, and I just felt that I +couldn't bear to be left behind. I slipped out of bed so quietly that +Bella didn't even stir, and I dressed just as quietly, and when you had +gone half across the clearing, I ran out after you, listening to your +steps. You see, I have the hearing, as well as the touch, of the blind." +This was said with a cunning sort of recklessness; but Pete, absorbed in +his anxiety, did not challenge the improbable statement. "Please don't +be angry with me, Pete." She touched his hand where it hung at his side. +"Can't I have my adventure? Let's call it _ours_." + +In spite of himself, the young man's pulse quickened, but his face and +voice were stern. + +"Do you know that we'll be very late?" he said. "It will be midnight +before we can possibly make it back to the cabin, if you can even do it +at all. You'll have to spend the night somewhere at the station. What +will they think? They will be anxious, Bella and Hugh." + +"But what can they think?" Her cheeks were unexplainably scarlet. "If I +choose to trust you to take care of me, why should they grumble? And I +won't have to spend the night. You don't know how strong I am. I'm +very strong. I don't feel tired. We'll go back by moonlight. There's a +beautiful moon." + +"It will be almost morning." He made a reckless gesture. "Well, it's too +late to think of that now. Come on." + +He threw himself down the bank, held up his hands to catch hers, and +swung her down beside him. The sun slanted warmly along the road and +just ahead flickered the blue ripples of a lake. + +Sylvie moved quickly and easily beside him, barely touching his arm with +her hand. She seemed definitely to decide to put away her childishness. +She treated him as though she had forgotten his supposed youth; she +talked straightforwardly, with a certain dignity, about her childhood, +about her amusing and pitiful experience as a third-rate little actress, +and she asked him a question now and then half diffidently, which +he answered in stumbling, careful speech, always weighed upon by his +promise, by the deception he must practice, by the dread of what must +come. Nevertheless, minute by minute, his pulse quickened. This, God be +thanked, would mean the end. The insufferable knot of circumstance, +so fantastic, so extravagantly unlivable and unreal, would break, Hugh +would tear the tangle of his making to tatters with angry hands when +they got back. His difficult trust in Pete's promise would go down under +the strain of these long and unexplained hours of Sylvie's absence in +his company. It was the last act in the extravaganza, queer and painful, +that had twisted them all out of their real shapes for the confusion of +a blind waif. This adventure that Sylvie's impatience had planned would +bring down the curtain. After all, no matter what came of it, Pete was +glad. The color warmed his face; his blue eyes deepened; he smiled +down at Sylvie beside him. For this hour she seemed to belong to him +rightfully, naturally, by her own will. He let go of his inhibitions and +resigned himself to Fate. + +When, on the far shore of the lake, the low walls of the trading-station +came in sight, a double image, reflected faithfully with the strip of +sand at its door, the low, level wall of pines behind and the blue, +still sky above, Pete caught the girl's hand in his. + +"Here we are, Sylvie," he said. "Keep quiet and follow my lead. +Remember, now, that I am supposed to be your husband and you my wife. +Can you play that part?" + +She nodded, bending down her face so that he saw only the tip of her +small, sunburnt chin. She was hatless; the sun struck blue, bright lines +in her black hair. + +"I'll be careful, Pete." + +She pressed his hand, and he returned the pressure. + +The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a serious +buck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret of their +observation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down one side +of which ran a long and littered counter, there was another, even more +interested spectator of the young couple's entrance. He sat at a +small table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and from over +a spread-out time-table he gave them a large and heavy share of +his attention. He was a man of middle age and sturdy build, round, +clean-shaven, dressed in Eastern outing clothes of dignified +correctness. He put on a pair of glasses to peer closer at the two +who came in hand in hand like adventuring children, with the lithe, +half-fearful grace of wild things. + +A tall and sallow man behind the counter smiled under his long, ragged, +blond mustache and made a gesture of polite greeting. + +"Well, you've sure kept us in the dark as to your movements, Peter +Garth. We had no notion there was a bride in these parts until the +sheriff brought us back word the other day. Ma'am, I'm glad to make your +acquaintance." He glanced keenly and curiously at Sylvie's averted face. + +"I'd have been here before," she said, "but I've been suffering from +snow-blindness." + +"Ah, that's bad sometimes. Your eyes are better now?" + +"Y-yes, I think so." + +"I can give you a first-class lotion, lady." + +Sylvie and he discussed the lotion while Pete stood, drawn up, proud +and silent, his cheeks flushed, waiting to dispose of his pelts. The +bartering prolonged itself in spite of his best endeavors. Sylvie seemed +to have no sense of peril or anxiety. She insisted upon taking a bite of +early supper, forced coffee and bread and meat upon her companion, and +chatted affably. Pete saw that the Eastern stranger had riveted upon her +his attention, that he observed every gesture, listened to every +word, and while she ate, that he walked over and asked a few murmured +questions of the trader, nodding his head, then shaking it over the +answers as though they confirmed some suspicion or anxiety. + +At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie come +with him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back over her +shoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards along the +beach trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across the porch +and waved his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without replying. +Then came a summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice: "Hi, there! +One moment, please." + +It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunset +light. Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, and +formidable; Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious summons +gave her a first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man's square +body and square, serious face bore down upon them, freighted with +incongruous judgments. He came sturdily, defying the unspoken threat of +loneliness. + +He spoke when he came up to them--spoke with evident effort. + +"My friends," he said, "I am a minister of the gospel, and though +my mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in its +ministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will not +allow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual aid." + +He cleared his throat. "Your name I didn't catch," he said doubtfully, +and Pete did not supply the knowledge, "but I heard you introduce this +young woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched you, +too, sir; I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you. I have +had much and varied experience in the study of human nature." Here he +put out a broad, clean hand with square finger-tips and lifted Sylvie's +brown, unwilling left hand high from her side. "I am a minister of the +gospel," he repeated. "In a land where such a symbol is thought much of, +this woman has no wedding-ring. There is no register of your marriage +here in the one spot where such a registration might have been most +conveniently made--" + +Sylvie jerked away her fingers; Pete laid down his load and slowly drew +his right hand into a terrible fist. + +"No, no!" The square-tipped fingers were lifted deprecatingly. "You must +not be angry with me, my children. I am not here to judge you. I have +no knowledge of your temptation, of your difficulties; you have met and +loved in a wild and difficult land. I was not even sure of my surmise. +Now, however; your silence and your anger confirm my opinion. I want +only to offer you my services. Will you continue in your life and love +as I have seen them to be, or will you, if only for the sake of other +lives not yet your responsibility--perhaps, will you take advantage of +this opportunity which God has now given you and let me make you indeed +man and wife?" + +Pete's fist was still terrible, and his lips were gathering their words, +when Sylvie unbelievably spoke. + +"Pete," she asked tremulously, and he felt her drawing even closer to +his side, "Pete, don't you want--you _do_ want--I know--I mean, will +you, would you--marry me?" + +He was dumb as a rock, and gray. His hand opened; he stared from her +to the impossible intruder, the worker of the miracle, or rather for +he felt like a beast trapped, the strange layer of the snare. For an +instant the lake and the forest and the red sky turned in a great wheel +before his eyes. Then he caught Sylvie's wrist almost brutally in his +hand. "Be quiet!" he said; it was the savage speaking to his woman. +"You've gone mad. Come with me. As for you, sir, my marrying or not +marrying is none of your business--" + +The minister looked sadly up into the young man's white and rigid face. + +"God be with you!" + +He bowed, turned and walked back along the beach, hands locked behind +his broad tweed back, his head bent. + +Pete tightened his grip on Sylvie's arm. "Come," he said to her as +harshly as before. "We must hurry. It's nearly night." + +Sylvie set her small teeth tight, bent down her head, and followed him +without a word. Their silence seemed to grow into a pressure, a weight. +It bent Pete's shoulders and Sylvie's slender neck, and whitened their +lips. All that they did not dare to say aloud bulked itself, huge and +thunderous, before the combined consciousness which makes a strange +third companion in such dual silences. They dared not pause, or look at +each other, or move their strained lips for fear truth, the desperate, +treacherous truth, would leap out and link them like a lightning-flash. +The somber forest enveloped them. They moved through it as through a +deep wall that opened by enchantment. The moon came up, gibbous and +white and glittering, paler than silver; and the forest became streaked +and mottled with its light. A soft, sudden wind tore the light and shade +into eerie, dancing ribbons and tatters and shreds. There were such +sounds as are not heard in daylight--moon sounds and cloud sounds and +sounds of dark wind; branches talked and other small voices answered in +anxious undertones. A moose rubbed his antlers and coughed. They heard +his big body hulking through a swamp down there in a well of darkness. + +"I can't go so fast." Sylvie's shaken voice moved doubtfully. "I'm +tired." + +She pulled at his arm and stopped. The whole forest seemed to sway and +stir and urge them to haste and secrecy. + +"A storm's coming," Pete answered. "I can't carry you, Sylvie, unless I +leave my load." + +"Do you think I'd let you carry me?" she answered through her set teeth. +"I'd rather die here than let you lift me up in your arms. I'll go on +till I drop. I don't care for the storm. But I can't walk so fast. How +can you see? The moon isn't--can't be, I mean--very, very bright here in +the woods." + +"The moon? There's a big storm-cloud just going to wipe it out. Listen! +Don't you hear that thunder, that wind?" + +The storm blew its distant trumpets, shouted louder, trampled the world +with great steps, crashed and came upon them with a wet, cold blast. +They were stunned with noise, dazzled with flashes, smothered and beaten +with long, wet whips. Under a big rocking pine which shouted with a +hundred confused tongues they found a dangerous shelter. Not far from +them a tree was struck, splitting their ears, half stunning them. When +the worst was over, Pete drew Sylvie out relentlessly and started in +the heavily falling rain. The storm was drawing away, but the night was +still impenetrably black. They walked for a few groping yards when Pete +gave a sudden desperate laugh and stopped. + +"What's the good of this! We're off the trail. We'll have to wait for +the light. My God! How cold and wet and trembling you are." He threw +down his pack, took off his coat, wet only on the outside, and wrapped +it closely about her. She felt that he parted branches for her, and she +knew that they were in a dry, still, scented place whose walls stirred +and breathed. She sank down beside him on the smooth pine-needles +and crept close. They were giddy, beaten and confused; they felt each +other's trembling warmth; for greater comfort she tucked her hands under +his arm. Her head dropped back against his shoulder so that her breath +fell on his cheek. He felt the silent tears of her humiliation, hot and +bitter and human after the cold, impersonal wetness of rain. It was as +though a hand drew them together in the darkness; they moved numbly at +the same instant, by the same impulse; then with a sort of convulsion +they were in each other's arms. Cold, wet, tremulous, their lips met. +The night became the beating of a heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Hugh sat in his great carved chair, his hands laid out across the bulky +arms, his head bent forward a little so that his eyes encompassed all +the restless beauty of the fire. After nightfall, when the wind began +to shake the cabin, he had built up the fire, and its light now fought +ruddily against the whiteness of the moon. Hugh had not lighted his +lamp, nor let Bella light it, but he told her to make some strong coffee +and keep it hot on the stove. "When Sylvie comes in," he had said, +"she'll be exhausted. We'll give her a hot drink and send her to bed, +eh, Bella! The foolish child!" This had been said softly, but with a +wild, half-vacant look which Bella could not meet. + +It was her belief that Pete and Sylvie had gone, not to return that +night or any other night. In a desperate, still fashion she guarded this +flaming conviction, peering up from long contemplations of it to learn +whether there flickered any light of torment on Hugh's face. But all +day, after the queer blankness of face and eyes with which he had first +received her news of Sylvie's disappearance, he had been alternately gay +and tranquil. All morning he had mended his boat, and in the afternoon +he had cleaned his gun; and whenever he could cajole Bella into being +his audience, he had talked. His talk was all of Sylvie, of her pretty +childishness, her sweet, wayward ways, of her shyness, her timidity; and +later, when supper was cleared away and he had throned himself in +the center of that familiar circle of firelight, he had dropped his +beautiful voice to a lower key and had boasted of Sylvie's love for him. + +Bella sat on a big log sawed to the height of a low stool. She sat with +her face bent down between her hands as though she were saving her eyes +from the fire, but those bright, devoted eyes never left Hugh's face, +though sometimes they made of it but a blurred image set in the broken +crystals of her tears. + +Thus, together, they heard the first rumble of the storm and saw the +white squares of moonlight wiped from the floor as with a dark cloth. +Next, the windows seemed to jump at them and jump away. "Lightning!" +said Hugh. "She'll be afraid! Will Pete be able to comfort her? Will he, +Bella?" Then, because she took courage to look into his face, she saw +that his heart had been burnt all day, but that his faith, stronger than +his fear, had kept the flame smothered, almost below his consciousness. + +While the storm raged across their roof, beat a brutal tattoo close +above their deafened heads, pushed at the door, drove a pool of water +under the threshold, Hugh walked up and down, to and fro, from fire +to window, from door to wall, but not fast, rather with a sort of +stateliness. Sometimes he looked sidelong at Bella's expressionless, +listening face. At last he forced himself back to the chair and sat +there, mechanically polishing the barrel of his gun, but his tongue +still spoke the saga of illusion. It stopped when the storm dropped into +the bottomless silence of dawn. Then there was only the dripping from +their eaves. Hugh sat there, very white, his gun laid across his lap. +Bella, as white, lifted her face. + +"They're coming," she whispered, and got stiffly to her feet. + +Hugh moved back into his chair, turning sidewise and gathering himself +as though for a spring. His nervous hands clutched at his gun. Upon the +silence the door opened, and Pete and Sylvie came into the room. Wet and +storm-beaten and beautiful they were, with scarlet cheeks. + +Pete came quickly over to Hugh's chair; he let fall his pack and gazed +resolutely down at his brother's face. + +"Sylvie had a fancy to come with me to the trading-station," he said. +"She came out after me and didn't overtake me until just where the trail +comes out into the road. We hurried back, but the storm caught us. It +was pitch-black in the woods; we couldn't keep the trail. We had to +wait for daylight. I hope you weren't too anxious about her, +Hugh.--Bella"--he glanced over his shoulder--"could you make us some hot +coffee and help Sylvie into some dry clothes? We are properly drenched, +both of us." + +This speaker of terse, authoritative sentences was not the boy that had +gone out that morning. That boy was gone forever. + +Hugh stood up and looked slowly from Sylvie, who had stayed near the +door and held her head up like a queen, to Pete. + +"Where were you," he asked gently--"where were you while it stormed?" + +Pete moved toward the fire, holding out his hands. "Ugh!" he shivered, +"I'm numb with cold." + +"Where were you," Hugh repeated, "during the storm?" + +Pete lifted his eyes slowly. They were bluer than the blue heart of a +sapphire. "Under a pine-tree," he answered casually enough, and then, +just as Hugh would have smiled, the color creeping up into his lips, +Pete's young and honest blood poured over his forehead, engulfing him, +blazing the truth across his face. Bella saw it and clenched her hands. +Sylvie's cheeks, too, caught fire. Hugh turned from him, blinded by +terror, saw Sylvie's trembling mouth in her dyed countenance, and turned +back. He lifted the hand that had held, all this while, to the chair, +and balled it into a fist. + +"Don't strike him," said Sylvie quietly, not moving from her place by +the door. "Don't ever strike him again--_Ham Rutherford_!" + +Hugh's bones seemed to crumble; his knees bent; he leaned back against +the chair, holding to it behind him with both hands. The gun clattered +to the floor. In the silence Sylvie walked across the room and lifted +her face. As if for the first time they saw her eyes, black and +brilliant and young, sharpening the softness of her features. She looked +at Hugh mercilessly, pitilessly. + +"I've been able to see you for a long time now, Ham Rutherford," she +said. "And the instant I first saw you, I knew your name. Ever since the +night you told me that story about the river, I've been watching you. +You are a great and infamous liar! Yes, I know that you once killed a +man for telling you that. Kill me if you like, for I am going to repeat +it after him--a liar, hideous and deformed outside and in. I have no +pity for a liar. Not even your physical misfortune shall shield you! +You have made too great a mockery of it. You brought me here, blind, as +helpless as one of the things you catch in your traps, and you played +the hero with me. And you fed me with lies and lies and lies. I've eaten +and drunk them until I'm sick. Now stand up and look at the truth. You +are to eat that until _you_ are sick.--No, Bella; no, Pete; I'm going to +speak; no one can stop me. I know you love him. How you can look at him +and see him as he is and know what he has done and still love him, I +can't understand. Now, Hugh Garth--the name you tried to make me love +you by--I'll tell these people that love you, some of the beautiful +fables with which you tried to win _my_ love. Maybe, then, they will +begin to see you as you are. Here is the first: 'There was once a very +noble youth who had a friend--'" + +"Don't!" Hugh groaned pitifully, his head bent before her. + +"Perhaps I won't; after all, it's not interesting unless you're fool +enough, or blind enough, to be tricked into fancying it's the truth. But +let me tell them some of the other things. This noble youth, this man +sacrificed his life for his friend and bore the blame of that friend's +guilt. He is as handsome as a Viking, the very ideal of a girl's +imagination, strong and shapely and graceful. Has he a humped shoulder +and a lame leg and a scarred face revealing his scarred soul? Answer +me." + +Hugh flinched as though under a lash. + +Pete put out his hand uncertainly; his face was drawn with pain. +"Sylvie--stop. You _must_ stop. You're too cruel. He did lie to you, but +remember, that was because he--" + +The brilliant black eyes flashed back at him. + +"Because he loved me, you were going to say? When you love a woman, do +you try to ruin her life? Do you creep up in the dark under cover of her +blindness and touch her with some dreadful, poisonous wound? You +don't know my horror of that man, Pete. Oh, he kissed--kissed me!" She +shivered. "A murderer! Yes, a murderer. Oh, Ham Rutherford, if I could +only _make_ you see yourself! If I could give you my eyes when they +opened, and I saw Pete's beauty and Bella's sweetness and the horrible +ugliness of you! And then, day by day--you see, I was afraid to let you +know that I _had_ seen you. I was in terror of you, of what you might +do to me. I was afraid of you all; you had all deceived me. Day by day +I learned the utter distortion of you, mind, body, and soul. How could +I help but--but--" She faltered and half turned to Pete, holding out +her hands. Her indignation at the treachery practiced upon her, an anger +that had grown in silence to unbearable heat, had spent itself in words. +She was all for consolation now--for sympathy. But Pete stepped back +from her. He was looking at Hugh, and his clear, young face was an open +wound. + +Hugh pushed himself up and slowly lifted his face. It was then that he +saw Sylvie's hands stretched out to Pete. He started--no one knew what +the convulsive movement meant; but as he started--the gun tripped him. +He caught it up carelessly, blindly. There was a flash--a crash. Pete +leaped and bent, holding his arm. Blood spurted between his fingers, +soaking his wet sleeve; and Sylvie, crying aloud, wrapped him in +trembling, protective arms. + +"I'm not much hurt," he said half dazedly. "It--it was an accident. He +didn't mean it. I was looking at him. The gun went off. He didn't shoot +at me.... _Hugh_!" + +The man was staring straight ahead of him, and now he drew his hand +across his eyes, the fingers crooked as though they tore a veil. + +"Now," he said, "I do see myself just as I am. Yes, I did shoot at you. +Yes, I think I meant to kill you. I must have meant to kill you. That's +the truth. For the second time I'm a murderer. Yet now, as God lives, +even if I am down in the dust, I'll lay hold of my stars. I'm going to +walk out of your lives so that they can shape themselves to their +own good ends. Sylvie can shape yours with you, Pete." He hesitated a +moment. "If a coward, a murderer, can say 'God bless you,' take that +blessing!" + +He picked up his gun and shuffled across the floor, flinching aside from +Bella as though he could bear no further touch or word, and went out of +the door, letting in the brightness of the sunrise. + +Pete had sunk into a chair, faint from the shock and weakness of his +wound; and Sylvie bent over him. For a minute, in great and bitter +loneliness Bella stood and watched them; then she followed Hugh. + +He had put down his gun and gone slowly up from the hollow and was +walking along the river-bank. He had the look of a man who strolls in +meditation. When he came to his boat where it lay near the roots of the +three big pines, he turned it over--he had been mending its bottom the +morning of yesterday--and began to push it down toward the plunging +stream. The glitter of morning took all the swirlings and ripplings +and plungings of the swift water in its golden hands. Hugh steadied the +boat. Above him on the bank Bella spoke quietly. + +"Hugh," she said, "look up at me. What are you going to do?" + +He lifted his face, still holding to the boat. + +"What are you going to do?" she repeated. + +"Why do you want to know? You've heard the truth." + +She came down the bank and stood beside him so close that her hair, +loosened by the wind, was blown against his shoulder. She pressed it +back and gazed into his eyes. The inner glow had worn through at last. +She was all warmth, all flame now. She smiled with soft and parted lips. +"Do you think that was the truth of you, my dear," she said, "_my_ truth +of you? I have always seen you as you are. But"--she drew a big breath, +like a climber who has reached the height--"but--I came to you, didn't +I?" + +Hugh's eyes widened, the pupils swallowing her light. "You--you came to +me? Not for Pete's sake?" + +"Never for his sake." + +"But, Bella--you laughed at me." + +"Yes, once, for your poor folly in trying to be what you are not. When +have I ever laughed at what you are? It's what you are I've loved, my +dear, just what you are--a tormented child. Only be honest with me, +Hugh. Tell me what do you want: the moon now or--or all the truth?" + +"I want the truth--and the end," he said. "I'm going down the river." + +She glanced at the flood as though it were a brook. "I am going with you +then. You must take me. My life has always been yours." + +He laid one of his hands on either of her cheeks so that her face was +framed for him to read. It was flushed; the deep eyes were beautiful. + +"You--all these empty years! _You_, Bella." It was as though he saw her +now for the first time. The revelation dazzled him. "I've gone thirsty, +with wine at my elbow, until it's too late." He shook his shoulders. +"Come with me, then, if you must." + +She stepped into the boat and sat in the stern, her hands folded in her +lap, her eyes in their great and sudden beauty still fixed on his face. +The wind blew her hair wildly in a long, streaming veil across her +forehead, down her cheek, out over her shoulder. She was beautiful with +the joy that was hers at last. + +Hugh stepped in and stood to push the boat out from the shore. His +eyes never left hers. It was a deep, long look of which her soul drank, +quenching its thirst. Very slowly the boat moved; then it turned. A hand +seemed to grip it's prow. There was a mighty, confused roaring in their +ears; the bank seemed to be snatched back from them. The sunlight, shone +into Hugh's face. Suddenly he caught at his oar. + +"The river is not so high," he shouted; "the flood's going down." He +looked away from her and back. "We have--just a chance. We'll leave it +to the river. It may be the end of you and me--or, Bella, it may be the +beginning." + +He steadied the boat with all his skill. It was drawn with frightful +swiftness down the swollen stream. + + * * * * * + +Before noon Sylvie and Pete moved slowly across the open space and went +back along their forest trail. They walked like lovers, and Sylvie's +arm helped to support him. Just before he stepped in among the trees he +turned for a long, desolate, backward look. + +Now the hoop of green, once white as paper under the noon sun, and the +level, circular rim of the forest are empty and silent except for the +rattling of the river and the moving of the pines against the fixed, +grave stars. The human tragedy--or was it comedy?--has burnt itself out +like the embers of a camp-fire that will never again be kindled in that +lonely spot. + + THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + +***** This file should be named 7520.txt or 7520.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/5/2/7520/ + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett + +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 can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Snow-Blind + +Author: Katharine Newlin Burt + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7520] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on May 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + + + + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett from the book. + + + + +SNOW-BLIND + +BY + +KATHARINE NEWLIN BURT + +AUTHOR OF THE BRANDING IRON, Etc. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Under a noon sun the vast, flat country, buried deep in snow, lay +like a paper hoop rimmed by the dark primeval forest; its surface +shone with an unbearable brightness as of sun-struck glass, every +crystal gleaming and quivering with intense cold light. To the north +a single blunt, low mountain-head broke the evenness of the horizon +line. + +Hugh Garth seemed to leap through paper like a tiny active clown as +he dropped down into the small space shoveled clear in front of his +hidden cabin door. The roof was weighted with drift, so that a curling +mass like the edge of a wind-crowded wave about to break hung low +over the eaves. Long icicles as thick as a man's arm stretched from +roof to ground in a row of twisted columns. Under this overhanging +cornice of snow near the door there was a sudden icy purple darkness. + +As Hugh plunged down into it, his face lost a certain rapt brightness +and shadowed deeply. He let slip the load of fresh pelts from his +back, drew his feet from the skis which he stuck up on their ends +in the snow, and removed the fur cap from his head and the huge dark +spectacles from his eyes. Then, crouching, he went in at the low, +ill-hung door. It stuck to its sill, and he cursed it; all his +movements expressed the anger of frustration. He slammed the door +behind him. + +Buried in drifts, the cabin was dim even at this bright hour of noon. +The stove glowed in a corner with a subdued redness, its bulging +cheeks and round mouth dully scarlet. The low room was pleasant to +look at, for it had the beauty of brown bark and the salmon tints +of old rough boards, and its furniture, wrought painstakingly by an +unskillful hand, had the charm of all handwork even when unskilled. +Some of the chairs were rudely carved, one great throne especially, +awkward, pretentious, and carefully ornate. + +There was, too, a solid table in the center of the floor; and on it +a woman was setting heavy earthenware plates nicked and discolored. +She was heavy and discolored herself, but like the stove, she too +seemed to have a dull glow. She was no longer young, but she might +still have encouraged her youthfulness to linger pleasantly; she was +not in the least degree beautiful, but she might have fostered a charm +that lurked somewhere about her small, compact body and in her square, +dark face. Her hair of a sandy brown was stretched back brutally so +that her bright, devoted eyes--gray and honest eyes, very deep-set +beneath their brows--lacked the usual softness and mystery of women's +eyes. Her lips were tight set; her chin held out with an air of dogged +effort which seemed to possess no relation to her mechanical +occupation, yet to have a strong habitual relation to her state of +mind. She seemed, in fact, under a shell of self-control, to conceal +an inner light, like a dimly burning dark-lantern. Her expression +was dumb. She moved about like a deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness +and stony self-repression were extraordinary. + +A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he +entered. + +"Hullo," he said. "How many did you get?" + +It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs +his natural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The +tone was astonishingly young, a quiet, husky boy-voice. + +"Damn you, Pete!" was snarled at him for answer. "Haven't you got +my boot mended yet?" + +The boot, still lacking its heel, lay on the floor near the stove, +and Hugh now picked it up and hurled it half across the room. + +"I have to get out into this ice chest of a wilderness and this +flaming glare that cuts my eyeballs open, and work till the sweat +freezes on my face, and then come home to find you loafing by the +fire as if you were a house cat--purring and rubbing against my legs +when I come in," he snarled. "Thanking me for a quiet nap and a saucer +of milk, eh? You loafer! What do I keep you for? You gorge the bread +and meat I earn by sweating and freezing, and you keep your sluggish +mountain of bones covered. A year or two ago I'd have urged you along +with a stick. I used to get some work out of you then. But you think +you're too big for that, now, don't you? You fancy I'm afraid of your +bigness, eh? Well, do you want me to try it out? What about it?" + +During the first part of his brother's speech, Pete had faced him, +but in the middle he had turned his back and stood in front of one +of the clumsy windows. He looked out now at a white wall of snow, +above which shone the dazzle of the midday. He whistled very softly +to himself and sank his hands deep into the pockets of his corduroys. +He did not answer the snarling question, but his wide, quiet mouth, +exquisitely shaped, ran into a smile and a dimple, deep and narrow, +cut into his thin and ruddy cheek. + +Between the woman, who went on with her work as though no one had +come into the room, and the silent smiling youth, Hugh Garth prowled +the floor like a shadow thrown by a moving light. + +He was a man of forty-five, gray-haired, misshapen, heavy above the +waist and light to meanness below; a man lame in one leg and with +an ill-proportioned face, malicious, lined, lead-colored; a man who +limped and leaped about the room with a fierce energy, the while his +tongue, gifted with a rich and resonant voice, poured vitriol upon +the silence. + +Suddenly the woman spoke. She turned back on the threshold of the +kitchen door through which her work had been taking her to and fro +during Garth's outbreak. Her voice was monotonous and smothered; it +had its share in her unnatural self-repression. + +"Why don't you tell him to be quiet, Pete? You've been chopping wood +since daybreak to make up for what he didn't do last week, and you +only came in about ten minutes before he did. Why don't you speak +out? You're getting to be pretty close to a man now, and it isn't +suitable for you to let yourself be talked to that way. You always +stand like a fool and take it from him." + +Pete turned. "Oh, well," he answered good-humoredly, "I guess maybe +he's tired. Let up, Hugh, will you? I'll finish your boot after +dinner." + +"The hell you will! You'll do it now!" Venting on his brother his +anger at the woman's intervention, Garth swung his misshapen body +around the end of the table and thrust an elbow violently against +Pete's chest. The attack was so unexpected that Pete staggered, lost +his balance, and stepping down into the shallow depression of a +pebbled hearth, fell, twisting his ankle. The agony was sharp. After +a dumb minute he lifted a white face and pulled himself up, one hand +clutching the board mantel. "Now you've done it!" he said between +his teeth. "How will you get your pelts to the station now? I won't +be able to take them." + +There ensued a dismayed silence. The woman had come back from the +kitchen and stood with a steaming dish in her hands. After the brief +pause of consternation she set down the dish and went over to Pete. +"Here," she said, "sit down and let me take off your moccasin and +bathe your ankle before it begins to swell." + +Hugh Garth had seated himself in the thronelike chair at the head +of the table. His expression was still defiant, indifferent, and +lordly. "Come and eat your dinner, both of you," he commanded. "You've +had your lesson, Pete. After this, I guess you'll do what I tell you +to--not choose the work that happens to suit your humor. Don't, for +God's sake, baby him, Bella. Don't start being a grandmother before +you've ever been a sweetheart. You're too young for the one even if +you're getting a bit too old for the other!" + +Bella flushed deep and hot. She went to her place, and Pete hobbled +to his, opposite his brother. Between them the woman sat, dyed deep +in her sudden unaccustomed wave of scarlet. Pete's whiteness too was +stained in sympathy. But Hugh only chuckled. "As for the pelts," he +said royally, "I'll take them down myself." + +Bella looked slowly up. + +"You think I don't mean it, I suppose?" Hugh demanded. + +They did not answer, but the eyes of the boy and the woman met. This +silence and this dumb exchange of understanding infuriated Garth. +He clinched his hands on the carved arms of his chair and leaned a +little forward. + +"I'll take the pelts myself," he repeated boisterously. "I'm not +afraid to be seen at the station. I'm sick of skulking. Buried +here--with _my_ talents--in this damn country, spending my days +trapping and skinning beasts to keep the breath in our three useless +bodies. Wouldn't death be better for a man like me? Easier to bear? +Fifteen years of it! Fifteen years! My best years!" He stared over +Pete's head. "In all that time no beauty to feed my starved senses, +no work for my starved brain, no hope for my starved heart." The woman +and the youth watched him still in silence. "That fox I killed this +morning had a better life to lose than I." + +"It wouldn't be safe for you to go, Hugh," said Pete gently. + +"Why not--watchdog?" + +The sneer deepened the flush on Pete's face, but he answered with +the same gentleness, fixing his blue eyes on his brother's. + +"Because not two months ago there was a picture of you tacked up in +the post-office." + +Bella's face whitened, and Hugh's cheeks grew a shade more leaden. +"T-two months ago!" he stammered painfully; "but that's not p-possible. +They--they've given me up. They've f-forgotten me. They th-think I'm +dead. After fifteen years? My God, Pete! Why didn't you tell me?" +He pleaded the last with a shaken sort of sharpness, in pitiful +contrast to the bombast of the preceding speech. + +"I didn't see the good of telling you. I was waiting until this trip +to see if the picture was still there, and maybe to ask some +questions." + +"What does it mean?" whispered Bella. + +"It means they've some fresh reason to hunt me--some fresh impulse--God +knows what or why. How can we tell out here, buried in the snows of +fifteen winters. Well!" He struck his hands down on the table edge +and stood up. He drew his mouth into a crooked smile and looked at +the other two as a naughty child looks at its doting but disapproving +elders. The smile transfigured his ugliness. "I've a fancy to see that +picture. Want to be reminded of what I looked like fifteen years ago. +I was a handsome fellow then. I'm going to take the pelts." + +Pete looked dumbly up at him, his lips parted. Bella twisted her +apron about her hands. Both seemed to know the hopelessness of +protest. In the same anxious dumbness they watched Garth make ready +for his trip. As he pulled his cap down close about his ears, Pete +at last found his voice. + +"Hugh," he began doubtfully, "I wish you wouldn't risk it. We can +get on without supplies until next trading-day, when I'll surely be +all right." + +"Hold your tongue! I'm going," was the answer. "I tell you, the spirit +of adventure has me. Who knows what I may meet with out there?" He +flung back the door and, pointing with a long arm, stood silhouetted +against the dazzle. + +"Beauty? Opportunity? Danger? Hope? Death? I shan't shirk it this +time. I'll meet whatever comes. But--" He came back a step into the +room. His harsh face melted to a shamefaced gentleness; his voice +softened. "If they get me down there, if I _don't_ come back, you +two try to think kindly of me, will you? I know what you think of +me now. I know you won't see me as I am--no one but God will ever +do me that kindness; but you two--be easy with me in your memories." + +Bella, her arms now twisted to their red elbows in her apron, took +a few stiff steps across the floor. Her face was expressionless, her +eyes lowered. Garth smiled at them both and went out, shutting the +door. They heard him singing as he put on his skis: + + A hundred men were riding, + A-hunting for Pierre. + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + They rode around by moonlight; + They rode around by day; + They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. + +Then came the sharp scraping of his runners across the surface of +the snow on a level with the buried roof. It lessened from a hissing +speech to a hissing whisper. It sighed away. Bella sat down abruptly +on a chair, pulled in her chin like an unhappy child; her bosom lifted +as though a sob would force its way out. + +"If he doesn't come back!" she murmured. "If he doesn't come back!" +She was speaking to God. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Pete blinked, swallowed hard and began to talk fast and hopefully. + +"He'll come back. I don't believe he'll get halfway there, Bella," +he reassured the woman. "He'll come to his senses. You know how moody +he is. Come over here and doctor up my ankle, please. 'Make a fuss +over me, Bell.' Isn't that what I used to say?" + +He coaxed until at last she came and knelt before him and removed +his moccasin and heavy woolen sock. The strong white foot was like +marble, but the ankle was swollen and discolored. Bella clicked her +tongue. "He _is_ a brute, you know!" She laughed shortly. Since +Garth's departure she had become almost a human being. The deaf-mute +look had melted from her, and a sardonic humor emerged; her eyes +cleared; she could even smile. "Why do we care so much for him, +Pete--the two of us?" + +Pete winced under her touch and puckered his brows. "Because he's +such a kid, I guess. He's always fretting after the moon." + +"Don't you ever get angry with him, Pete? He does treat you shameful +sometimes." + +"N-no. Not often. He's always sorry and ashamed afterward. He'd like +to be as kind as God. I believe if he could only fool us into thinking +he _was_ God, he could act like Him--ouch, Bella! Go easy." + +"You're an awful smart boy, Pete. It's a sin you've never had any +schooling." + +"Schooling! Gosh! I've had all the schooling I could digest. Hugh +beat it into me. He's taught me all he had in his head and a whole +lot he never ought to have had there, I guess. But _you've_ taught +me most, Bella--that's the truth of it." + +"_Me_! I never knew anything. They saw to that. They never did +anything for me at home but abuse me. Hugh Garth was the only relation +I ever had in the world that spoke kind to me. Remember how I used +to run over from my folks to tuck you into bed in your little room +above the shop, Pete? No, you were too little." + +"Of course, I remember," the boy replied. "The ankle's fine now, +Bella. Let up. I can't stand that rubbing. Let me stick the foot up +on another chair. There--that's great. It doesn't hurt near so bad +now. I remember Hugh's bookshop; yes, I do--honest! I remember sitting +on the ladder and listening to him talk to the students when they +came in. He always was a gorgeous talker, Bella. They used to stand +around and listen to his yarns like kids to a fairy story. Just the +same as you and I do now--when we can get him into a good humor. But, +you know, he used to like strangers best--to talk to, I mean." + +Bella assented, bitterly. She had begun to clear the table of its +almost untouched meal. "Because he could put it over better with a +stranger. It isn't the _truth_ Hugh likes--about himself, or others." + +Pete had begun to whittle a piece of wood. He was a charming figure, +slouching down in his chair, slim and graceful, his shapely golden +head ruffled, his chin pressed against his chest. His expression was +indescribably sweet and boyish, the shadow of anxiety and pain +accentuating a wistful if determined cheerfulness. He was deliberately +entertaining Bella, diverting her mind from its agony of apprehension. +She saw through him, but like a sick child she took the entertainment +languidly. + +"Now, _you're_ too dead bent on the truth, Bella. You know you are. +You're a regular bear for the truth." + +"I can't see anything else," she said gloomily. "Things are just so +to me--no blinking them." + +He put his head a little to one side and contemplated her. "What do +you see when you look into the water-bucket, Bella?" + +"The water-bucket?" She flushed. "Just because you caught me prinking +that once!" + +"Well, if you had a mirror, what would you see in it, then?" + +"An ugly old woman, Pete." + +"There! Your mind's just the wrong-side-out of Hugh's. He won't see +himself ugly, and you won't see yourself pretty. I'm the only sane +fellow in this house." + +"And you never in your life saw a pretty woman to remember her. +Besides, you're too young." She said it with a tart sweetness and +vanished into the kitchen. + +With her departure Pete's whittling ceased, his hands fell slack and +he began to stare out through the snow-walled window. His anxiety +for Hugh slipped imperceptibly into a vague pondering over his own +youthfulness. That's what those two were always telling him, sometimes +savagely, sometimes tenderly! "You're too young." What did it mean +to him, anyhow, that he was "too young"? A desolation from which at +times he suffered in secret overcame him. + +He was twenty-one or -two--or his memory lied. They had never +celebrated his birthdays, but he was five or six years old when Hugh +had been so suddenly, so unexplainably taken from the house, back +there in the little Eastern college town where they had lived. It +was a few months later that Bella--Cousin Bella, who worked at "the +farm"--came for him, a furtive, desperate Bella with a bruised +face--a Bella tight-strung for flight, for a breaking of the galling +accustomed ties of her life, for a terrible plunge into unknown +adventure. She had muttered to him, as she dressed him and bundled +together a few of his belongings, that they "were going to Hugh"--only +it was another name she used, a name since blotted from their lives. + +Hugh had sent for them. She was the only person in the world that +Hugh could trust. But no one must know where they were going. They +must be away by the time the man who took charge of the shop came +back in the morning. + +Pete remembered the journey. He remembered the small frontier station +where they left the train at last. He remembered that strange, +far-flung horizon, streaked with dawn, and his first taste of the +tangy, heady air. There had been a long, long drive and a parting +with the friendly driver where Bella turned on to the trail through +the woods. It had been dim and dark and terrible among the endless +regiments of trees--mazy and green and altogether bewildering. And +after vague hop-o'-my-thumb wanderings, he had a disconnected memory +of Hugh--a wild, rugged, ragged, bearded Hugh who caught him up +fiercely as though he had an ogrish hunger for the feel of little +boys. It was night when they came to Hugh's hiding-place. For miles +Pete had been carried in his brother's arms. Bella had limped behind +them. There had been a ford, he remembered; the splashing water had +roused Pete, and he stayed awake afterward until he found himself +before a dancing fire of logs in a queer, dark, resinous-smelling +house, very low, with unglazed windows. He remembered, too, that Bella +had burst out crying. That was the queerest memory of them all--that +crying of Bella's.--Even now he could not understand exactly why she +had cried so then. + +The frightened, furtive life they had all led since--the life of +scared wild things--had left its mark on Pete. His fear for Hugh now +threw him back into the half-forgotten state of apprehension which +had been the atmosphere of all his little boyhood. He had not known +then why strange men were creatures to be feared and shunned. In fact, +he had never been told the reason for Hugh's flight. Only, bit by +bit, he had pieced together hints and vague allusions until he knew +that this strange, embittered, boasting poet of a brother had killed +or had been accused of killing. In his loyal boy mind Hugh Garth was +promptly acquitted. It was the world that was wrong--not Hugh. Yet +to-day, after all the long years of carefulness, he had gone back +to the cruelty of the world. + +Like a beast the boy's anxiety for his brother began to prowl +about the walls of his mind. He imagined Hugh appearing at the +trading-station. He pictured the curious glances of the Indians +and the white natives. This limping, extravagant, energetic Hugh +with his whitening hair and eyebrows and flaring hazel eyes--with +his crooked nose and mouth, his magnificently desperate manner and +his magnificently desperate voice--attention would inevitably fasten +upon him anywhere; how much more in an empty land such as this! Pete +fancied the inquiring looks turned from the man to the man's posted +picture. It was no longer a faithful likeness, of course; still, it +was a likeness. There was no other man in all the world like Hugh! He +was made of odd, fantastic fragments, of ill-fitting parts--physically, +mentally, spiritually. It was as if a soul had seen itself in a +crooked mirror and had fashioned a form to match the distorted image. +Hugh wouldn't, couldn't force himself to be inconspicuous. He would +swagger; he would talk loud; his big, beautiful voice would challenge +attention, create an audience. He would have some impossible, splendid +tale to tell. + +Pete sat up straighter in his chair, gingerly rearranging the ankle, +and lifted his blue and haunted eyes--the eyes of the North--to the +window. + +The dazzle of noon had faded to a glow. The short winter day was +nearly done. There would be a long violet twilight, and then, the +blaze of stars. + +But for his aching ankle Pete would be sliding out on soundless skis, +now poised for breathless flight down some long slope, now leaping +fallen trees or buried ditches. He spent half of his wild young +restlessness in such long night runs when, in a sort of ecstasy, he +outraced the stifled longings of his exiled youth. But there would +be no ski-running for several nights now. He was a prisoner, and at +a time when imprisonment was hard to bear. + +If only there were some way of getting quick news of Hugh! Why had +Bella and he let this thing happen? Why had they stood helplessly +by and allowed the rash fool to go singing to his own destruction? +They might have held him by force, if not by argument, long enough +to bring him to his senses. They had been weak; they were always weak +before Hugh's magnetic strength--always the audience, the following; +Bella, for all her devastating tongue, no less than himself. And +Hugh's liberty, perhaps his life, might be the price of their +acquiescence. + +Straining forward in his chair, listening, there came to Pete, across +the silence, the sound of skis. + +He rose and hopped to the door, flinging it wide. He could not see +above the top of the drift which rose just beyond the roof to a height +of nine or ten feet, but listening intently, he thought he recognized +a familiar slight unevenness in the sliding of the skis. + +"Bella!" he shouted, his boy-voice ringing with relief. "Bella! Here's +Hugh. He's come back." + +Bella was instantly at his side. They stood waiting in the doorway. +Against the violet sky darkening above the blue wall of snow, a bulky +figure rose, blotting out the light. It half slid, half tumbled down +upon them, clumsy and shapeless. + +"Let us in," panted Hugh. "Let us in." + +Slipping his feet from the straps of his skis, he staggered past them +and they saw that he was carrying a woman in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +"Shut the door," Hugh whispered, and laid his burden down on a big +black bear-hide near the stove. He knelt beside it. He had no eyes +for anything else. Pete, hobbling to him, gazed curiously down, and +Bella knelt opposite and drew away Hugh's mackinaw coat, with which +he had wrapped his trove. It was not a woman whom they looked down +upon, but a girl, and very young--perhaps not yet seventeen--a girl +with cropped dark curly hair and a face so wan and blue and at the +same time so scorched by the snow-glare that its exquisiteness of +feature was all the more marked. Hugh's handkerchief was tied loosely +across her eyes. + +"I heard her crying in the snow," he said with ineffable tenderness; +"crying like a little bleating lamb with cold and pain and hunger +and fright--the most pitiful thing in God's cruel trap of life. She's +blind--snow-blind." + +Pete gave a sharp exclamation, and Bella gently removed the +handkerchief. The small figure moaned and moved its head. The lids +of her eyes were swollen and discolored. + +"Snow-blind," echoed Bella. + +"A bad case," said Hugh. "Get her some soup, Bella, and--perhaps, +hot water--I don't know." He looked up helplessly. + +Bella went to the kitchen. She had regained her old look of dumbness. +Beside the figure on the floor Pete touched one of the girl's small +clenched hands. It was like ice. At the touch she moaned, and Hugh +ordered sharply: "Let her alone." So the boy dragged himself up again +and stood by the mantel, watching Hugh with puzzled and wondering +eyes. + +"Think what she's been through," Hugh murmured, "that little delicate +thing, wandering for two days, out in this cold--scared by the woods, +blinded by the pain, starving. When I found her, you'd have thought +she'd be afraid of a wild man like me, but she just lifted up her +arms like a baby and dropped her head on my shoulder. She--she patted +my cheek--" + +Bella brought the soup, and Hugh, raising the small black head on +the crook of his arm, forced a spoonful between the clenched teeth. +The girl swallowed and began again to whimper: "Oh, my eyes! My eyes! +They hurt me so!" She turned her face against Hugh's chest and clung +to him. + +"They'll be better soon," he soothed her; then fiercely to Bella: +"Can't we do something? Don't you know what to do?" + +Again Bella went to the kitchen, moving like an automaton. Hugh coaxed +and murmured, feeding the girl in spite of her pain. He managed to +force a little of the soup down her throat, and a faint stain of color +came back to her lips and cheeks. Bella presently reappeared with +salve and lotion, and Hugh helped her hold the swollen lids apart, +his big hands very skillful, while she gently washed out the eyes. +Then they put the salve on her sun-scorched face. She sighed as though +in some relief, and again snuggled against Hugh. + +"Don't go away, please," she pleaded in a sweet trickle of voice. +"I'm scared to feel you gone. You're so warm. You're so strong. Will +you talk to me again, please? Your voice is so comforting, so +beau-ti-ful." + +So Hugh talked. The others drew away and watched and listened. They +did not look at each other. For some reason Pete was ashamed to meet +Bella's eyes. As usual, they were the audience, those two. They sat, +each in a chair, the width of the room apart; below them, his grizzled +head and warped face transfigured by its new tenderness, Hugh bent +over the child in his arms. Pete held his tumult of curiosity, of +interest, in leash. He could hear his heart pounding. + +"You're safe now, and warm," Hugh was murmuring. "No need to be +scared, no need. I'll take care of you. Go to sleep. I'm strong enough +to keep off anything. You're safe and snug as a little bird in its +nest. That's right. Go to sleep." + +Pete's blue eyes dwelt on this amazing spectacle with curious wonder. +This was a Hugh he had never seen before. For the first time in +fifteen years, he realized, the man had forgotten himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +To Hugh Garth the girl told her story at last. She seemed to realize +only dimly that there were two other living beings in this house, +to her a house of darkness peopled only by voices--Pete's modest, +rare boy speeches, Bella's brief, smothered statements. The great +music of Hugh's utterance must indeed have filled her narrowed world. +So it was to him she turned--he was always near her, sitting on the +pelt beside the chair to which, after a day and night in Bella's bed, +she was helped. + +She had a charming fashion of speech, rather slow motions of her lips, +which had some difficulty with "r" and "s," a difficulty which she +evidently struggled against conscientiously, and as she talked, she +gesticulated with her slim little hands. She was a touching thing +sitting there in Hugh's carved throne--he an abdicated monarch at +her feet, knee in hand, grizzled head tilted back, hazel eyes raised +to her and filled with adoration. + +"I am called Sylvie Doone," she said with that quaint struggle over +the "S." "I was always miserable at home." She gave the quick sigh +of a child. "You see, my father died when I was very little, and then +my mother married again. We lived in the grimmest little town, hardly +more than a dozen houses, beside a stream, up in Massachusetts--farming +country, but poor farming, hard farming, the kind that twists the +men with rheumatism, and makes the women all pinched and worn. Mother +was like that. She died when I was thirteen. You see--there I was, +so queerly fixed. I had to live with Mr. Pynche--there was no other +home for me anywhere. And he kind of resented it. He had enough money +not to need me for work--a sister of his did the housework better +than I could--and yet he was poor enough to hate having to feed me +and pay for my clothes. I was always feeling in the way, and a burden. +There was nothing I could do. + +"Then I saw something about the movies in a magazine, and pictures +of girls, not much better-looking than me, making lots of money. I +borrowed some money from a drug-store clerk who wanted to keep company +with me--I've paid it back--and I went to New York. I did get a job. +But I'm not a good actress." + +She faltered over the rest--a commonplace story of engagements, of +failures, until she found herself touring the West with a wretched +theatrical troupe. "We were booked for a little town off there beyond +your woods, and the train was stalled in a snowstorm. We got on a +stage-coach, but it got stuck in a drift on one of those dreadful +roads. I was freezing cold, and I thought I'd make a short cut through +the woods. The road was running along the edge of a big forest of +pines. I cut off while they were all working to dig out the horses. + +"Mr. Snaring said, 'Look out for the bears!' and I laughed and ran +up what looked like a snow-buried trail. There was a hard crust. The +woods were all glittering and so beautiful. I ran into them, laughing. +I was so glad to get away by myself from those people into the woods +where it was so silent and sort of solemn--like being in a church +again. I can't think how I got so lost. I meant to come round back +to the road, but before I knew it, I didn't know which way the road +was. The pines were so dense, so all alike, they looked almost as +if they kept sort of shifting about me. I tried to follow back on +my footprints, but in some places snow had shaken down from the +branches. And there were so many--so dreadfully many other tracks--of +animals--" She put her hands over her face and shrank down in her +chair. + +"Forget about them, Sylvie," Hugh admonished gently. "Even if there +had been bears about, they wouldn't likely have bothered you any." + +"I can't bring myself to tell you about that time--I can't!" + +"Don't, then--only, how did you live through the night, my dear?" + +"I don't know--except that I never stayed still. I got out from the +trees because I was afraid of bears, and I lost my hat. The sun was +like fire shining up from underneath and down from up above. My eyes +began to hurt almost at once, and by the time night came, it was +agony. The darkness didn't seem to help me any either; the glare still +seemed to come in under my lids. I couldn't sleep for the pain. I +knew I'd freeze if I stood still, so I kept moving all night, +trampling round in circles, I suppose. Next morning the terrible glare +began again. Then everything went red. I was nearly crazy when you +found me, Mr. Garth." + +"Please call me Hugh," he murmured, taking her hand in his. "I feel +in a way that you belong to me now--I saved you from dying alone there +in the cold and brought you back to my home. I've got jettison rights, +Sylvie." She let him hold her hand, and flushed. + +"You'll never know what it felt like to hear your voice call to me, +to feel you pulling me up. I'd only just dropped a few minutes before, +but I'd never have struggled up. It would have been the end." She +trembled in the memory, and he patted her hand. "I don't know why +a man like you lives off here in this wild place, but thank God, you +do live here! Though," she added with wistfulness, twisting her soft +mouth, "though I can't ever quite see why God should care much for +a Sylvie Doone." She touched the lids of her closed eyes. "I wonder +why it doesn't worry me more not to be able to see. Now that the +pain's gone, I don't seem to care much." + +"Thank God. Perhaps, though," he added half-grudgingly, "in a few +days you'll see again." + +She smiled. "I'd just love to see _you_. You must be wonderful!" + +"What makes you think that?" he asked, his warped face glowing. + +"You're so strong and young, such thick hair, such finely shaped hands +and such a voice." Sylvie's associates had been of a profession that +deals perpetually in personalities. "If I'd been blind a long time, +I suppose I could just run my hand over your face, and I'd know what +you look like. But I can't tell a thing." She felt for his face and +brushed it eagerly with her fingers, laughing at herself. "I just +know that you have thick eyelashes and are clean-shaven. Is Bella +your wife? And that big little boy your son?" + +He started. "No, she's a faithful thing, the boy's nurse. And the +kid's my young brother--a great gawk of a boy for his age, a regular +bean-pole." + +"It's so hard to tell anything about people if you can't see them. +I wouldn't have thought he was so big. Is he about fourteen or +fifteen? He speaks so low and gently; he might be any age." + +"And a man's height--pretty near too big to lick, though he needs +it." + +"And Bella, what's she like?" + +"A dried-up mummy of a woman." + +The kitchen door creaked. Hugh started and shot a look over his +shoulder. Bella stood on the kitchen threshold with an expressionless +face and lowered eyelids. + +"Why did you jump?" asked Sylvie nervously. + +Hugh wet his lips with his tongue. "Nothing. The door creaked. Go +on. Tell me more, child," he urged. + +"No. I want to hear about you now. Tell me your story." + +Hugh clenched his hands and flushed darkly. He glanced over his +shoulder with a furtive look, but Bella had gone. + +"No one else rightly knows my story, Sylvie. Will you promise me never +to speak of it, to Bella, to Pete, to any one?" + +"Of course, I promise." Her face beamed with the pride of a child +entrusted with a secret. + +Then, lowering his voice and moving closer to her chair, he began +a fictitious history, a history of persecuted and heroic innocence, +of reckless adventure, of daring self-sacrifice. The girl listened +with parted lips. Her cheeks glowed. And behind the door, Bella too +listened, straining her ears. + +The murmur of Hugh's recital, rising now and then to some melodramatic +climax, then dropping cautiously, rippled on, broken now and again +by Sylvie's ejaculations. Behind the door Bella stood like a wooden +block, colorless and stolid as though she understood not a syllable +of what she heard. But after a rigid hour she faltered away, stumbled +across the kitchen and out into the snow. + +There, in the broad light of the setting sun, Pete rhythmically bent +and straightened over his saw. The tool sang with a hissing, ringing +rhythm, and the young man drove it with a lithe, long swing of body, +forward and back, forward and back, in alternate postures of untiring +grace. The air was not cold. There was the cloudy softness premonitory +of a spring storm; the sun glowed like a dying fire through a long, +narrow rift in the shrouded west. Pete had thrown aside his coat and +drawn in his belt. The collar of his flannel shirt was open and turned +back; his head was bare. The bright gold of his short hair, the +scarlet of his cheeks, the vivid blue of his brooding eyes, made +shocks of color against the prevailing whiteness. Even the indigo +of his overalls and the dark gray of his shirt stood out with a +curious value of tint and texture. His bare hands and forearms +glowed. He was whistling with a boy's vigor and a bird's sweetness. + +Bella caught Pete's arm as it bent for one of the strong forward +sweeps. He stopped, let go of his saw, and turned to her, smiling. + +Then--the smile gone: "What's wrong?" + +Her eyes flamed in her pale, tense face. "We've got to stop it, Pete," +she said. "It's horrible!" + +"What? Don't stand out here with those bare arms, Bella." He was +pulling his own shirt-sleeves down over his glistening bronze forearms +as he spoke. + +"We can't talk in the house," she said, "and I've got to talk. I--Do +you know what Hugh's doing--what he's telling that girl? What he's +letting her believe?" + +Pete shook his head, but at the same time turned his blue eyes away +from her toward the glowing west. + +"Lies," said Bella. She laughed a short, explosive laugh. "He's got +his ideal audience at last--a blind one. She thinks he's young and +handsome and heroic. Pete, she thinks he's a hero. She thinks he's +buried himself out here for the sake of somebody else. Oh, it's a +regular romance, and it's been going on for hours--it's still going +on. By now he believes it all himself. He's putting in the details. +And Sylvie: 'Oh!' she's saying, and 'Ah, Mr. Garth, how you must have +suffered! How wonderful you are!' And--look at me Pete--do you want +to know what we are--according to him--you and I?" + +He did not turn his eyes from the west, even when she shook his arm. + +"I'm a dried-up mummy of a woman--faithful?--yes, I'm faithful--an +old servant. And you're a child, an overgrown bean-pole of a boy, +fourteen or fifteen years old." + +The young man stood tall and still--a statue of golden youth in the +golden light--the woman clutching at his arm, her face twisted, her +eyes afire, all the colorlessness of her body and the suppressed flame +of her spirit pitilessly apparent. + +"Look at me, Pete." + +"Well," he sighed gently, "what of it?" He looked down at her and +smiled. "It's the first good time he's had for fifteen years. You +know we don't make him happy. I don't grudge him his joy, Bella, do +you? It can't last long, anyway. Fairy tales can't hurt her--Hugh +believes--almost--in his own inventions. She'll be going back--her +friends will be hunting for her. I'll let her think I'm a bean-pole +of a boy if it makes him any happier to have me one. And why do you +care?" + +She drew in her breath. "Oh, I don't suppose I care--so much," she +said haltingly. "But--think of the girl." + +His eyes widened a little and fell. "The girl?" + +"She's falling in love with him!" + +Pete threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Oh, Bella, you know, +_that's_ funny!" + +"It's not. It's tragic. It's horrible. You'll see. Watch her face." + +"I have watched it." He spoke dreamily. "It's a very pretty and sweet +face." + +"Pete, Hugh's robbing _you_." + +"Me?" + +"Yes, you're young. You're ready for loving. This child--God sent +her to you, to get you out of this desolation, to lead you back to +loving and living, to give you what you ought to have--Life." + +It was as though she had struck him. He started and drew himself away. +"Shut up, Bella," he said with boyish roughness and limped past her +into the house. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In these days Hugh must have known that his magic-making, as he led +the little blind girl through the forest of his romancing, was at +the mercy of those two that knew him for what he really was; except +for queer, wild, threatening looks now and again, he gave no sign. +He played his part magnificently, even trusting them to come in with +help when they were given their cue. He had dominated them for so +long that even they and the picture of him that they held in their +minds were not so real as his dreams. It was a queer game, queer and +breathless, played in this narrow space shut in by the white +wilderness. And as the slow days went by, the low log house seemed +to be filled more and more with smothered and conflicting emotions. +A dozen times the whole extravaganza came near collapse; a dozen +times Hugh saved it by a word, or Pete and Bella by a silence. Their +parts were not easy, and although Pete still smiled, his young clear +face grew whiter and more strained. Sylvie treated him always as +though he were a child. She would pat his head and rumple his hair +if he sat near her; once, suddenly, she kissed him lightly on the +cheek, after he had moved the chair for her. + +"You're a dear, quiet boy," she said. "I frightened you to death, +then, didn't I? Hasn't anyone ever kissed you before?" His cheek +burned so that, touching it with her fingers, she laughed. "I've made +you blush, poor kid! I know. Boys hate petting, don't they? You'll +have to get used to it, Pete, because I mean to pet you--oh, a lot! +You need some one to draw you out. These two people snub you too much. +Boys of fourteen aren't quite children, after all, are they? Besides, +they're interesting. I know. I was fourteen myself not such ages back. +You're not cross, are you, Pete?" + +His eyes were misty, and his hands were cold. He could not understand +his own emotion, his own pain. He muttered something and got himself +away. She called him "sullen" and was angry with him, complaining +to Hugh at supper that "Petey" had been "a bear" to her. Hugh +simulated a playful annoyance and began to scold; then a sort of +nervous fury came over him. He stamped and struck the table and +snarled at Pete. The young man rose at his place and stared at his +brother silently. There were two splotches of deep color on his +cheeks. Sylvie protested: "Don't, please, be so angry with him. I +was only teasing, just in fun. Bella, tell Hugh to stop. I had no +business to kiss Pete. But I just wanted to pet something." + +Hugh's threatening suddenly stopped, and Pete sat down. In the +strained silence Bella laughed. Her laughter had the sound of a +snapped bow-string. Sylvie had pushed her chair back a little from +the table and was turning her head quickly from one to the other of +them. Her mouth showed a tremble of uncertainty. It was easy to see +that she sensed a tension, a confusion. Hugh leaned forward and broke +into a good-humored rattle of speech, and as Pete and Bella sat +silent, Sylvie gradually was reassured. Near the end of the meal she +put out her hand toward Pete. + +"Please don't be so cross with me, Pete! Give me a shake for +forgiveness." + +He touched her hand, his eyes lowered, and drew his fingers away. +She laughed. + +"How shy you are--a wild, forest thing! I'll have to civilize you." + +"Leave him alone," admonished Hugh softly, "leave him alone." + +As he said this, he did not look at Sylvie, but gazed somberly at +Pete. It was a strange look, at once appealing and threatening, +pitiful and dangerous. Pete fingered his fork nervously. Finally Bella +stood up and began to clear the table with an unaccustomed clatter +of noisy energy. + +"How long are you going to keep it up, Pete?" she asked him afterward. +He was helping her wash the dishes, drying them deftly with a piece +of flour-sacking. + +"Since we've let it begin, we'll have to go on with it to a finish," +he answered coldly. "After all"--he paused, polished a platter and +turned away to put it on its shelf--"he's not doing anything so +dreadful--just twisting the facts a little. I _am_ an ignorant lout. +I might as well be fourteen, for all I know." + +"And I _am_ a mummy of a woman?" + +In pity for her he made to put his arm about her. "Don't be a goose, +Bella," he said, but she flung his hand from her. "Why does it make +you so sore and angry?" he asked wistfully. "Hugh is not pretty to +look at, but perhaps Sylvie sees him better than we do--in a way; +and if she learns to love him while she's blind, then, when she sees +him, if she ever sees him--" + +"Chances are she never will. If her eyes don't get better soon, they +likely never will." + +"Isn't it horrible?" + +"You don't seem to think so. So long's she has Hugh to paint pictures +for her, what does she need eyes for? What's to come of it, Pete? +She's falling in love with the fine figure of a hero he's made her +believe he is. But how can he marry her?" + +"Couldn't he go off somewhere else and marry her and start again? +Honest, I think if Hugh had some one who thought he was a god, he'd +likely enough be one. He--he lives by--illusion--isn't that the word? +It's kind of easy to be noble when some one you love believes you +to be, isn't it? That's Hugh; he--" + +Bella threw down her rag, turned fiercely upon him and gripped his +shoulders. + +"Are you a man or a child?" she said. "You love this girl yourself!" + +"No!" he cried and broke from her and went limping out into the frosty +night with its comfortless glitter of stars. + +As soon as his ankle was stronger, Pete spent all day and most of +the night on his skis, trying to outrun the growing shadow of his +misery. Hugh's work fell on his shoulders. He had not only his +accustomed chores, the Caliban duties of woodchopping and +water-carrying, the dressing of wild meat, the dish-drying and heavier +housework, the repairs about the cabin--but he had the trapping. In +Hugh's profound new absorption he seemed to have forgotten the +necessity for making a livelihood. During the first years of their +exile they had lived on his savings, ordering their supplies by the +mail, which left them at the foot of that distant trail leading into +the forest. Thence Hugh, under shelter of night, would carry +them--lonely, terrible journeys that taxed even his strength. When +Pete grew big enough to load, he was sent to the trading-station, +and Hugh became an expert trapper. The savings were not entirely +spent, but they were no longer touched; the pelts brought a +livelihood. + +Pete had had his instructions concerning his behavior at the +trading-station; many years before, he had stammered a legend of a +sickly father who had died, who was buried back there by the lonely +cabin where he and his "mother" chose to live. Bella and Hugh had +even dug up a mound for which they had fashioned a rude cross. It +could be seen, in summer, from the living-room window--that mock grave +more terrible in its suggestions than a real grave ever could have +been. There was also a hiding-place under the boards of the floor. +No one had ever seen the grave or driven Hugh into hiding. It was +not an inquisitive country, and its desolation was forbidding. Pete +had learned to discourage the rare sociability of the other traders. + +Now, however, the young man had not only to trade his pelts but to +trap them, and for this business of trapping which was distasteful +to him, he had not a tithe of Hugh's skill. His bundle of pelts +brought him a sorry supply of necessities. He was ashamed, himself, +and having dumped the burden from his shoulders to the kitchen floor +would hurry into the other room, not to see Bella's expression when +she opened her bundles. + +To-night Pete was tired; the load had not been heavy, but the snow +was beginning to soften under the mild glowing of an April sun, and +his skis had tugged at his feet and gathered a clogging mass. His +body ached, and there was a sullen and despairing weight upon his +spirit. A mob of rebels danced in his heart. He watched Hugh's face, +saw the flaring adoration of his eyes, thought that Sylvie must feel +the scorch of them on her cheek, so close. In his own eyes there +showed a brooding fire. + +Bella broke into the room. + +"Look here," she said, "you'd better get to trapping again, Hugh +Garth. Pete's pelts don't bring a quarter of what we need--especially +these days." + +Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. "Oh, you mean +me," she said, "I know you mean me. I'm making trouble. I'm eating +too much. I'll go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the +post-office, trying to find me? They _must_ be hunting for me." She +had stood up and was clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete +protested in one breath: "Nonsense, Sylvie!" + +And Pete went on with: "There hasn't been anyone asking about you, +but--so much the better for us. You're safe here, and comfortable, +aren't you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have +her here." + +It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie's arrival, and +it was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old +boy. There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the +youthful quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him, +to thank him, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon +him, a sudden bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the +edge of the hearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her +in his arms. For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely, +closer and more fiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength +of him and heard the pounding of his heart. Then Hugh plucked her +away with a smothered oath. He put her into a chair, crushed her hand +in one of his, and turned upon Bella. + +"Go back into the kitchen," he ordered brutally; "trapping's not your +business. You mind your cooking." + +"Be careful, Hugh!" Bella's whisper whistled like a falling lash, +"I'll not stand that tone from you. Be careful!" + +"Oh," pleaded Sylvie, "why do you all quarrel so? Off here by +yourselves with nobody else to care, I'd think you would just love +each other. I love you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know +you hate _me_. Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so +angry to have me here? Does it make your work so much harder? I'll +soon be better; I'm learning to feel my way about. I'll be able to +help you. I should think you'd be glad to have a girl in the +house--another woman. I'm sorry to be a nuisance, really I am. I'd +go if I could." + +The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut down +with suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal. +For minutes no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room. +She had not answered Sylvie's beseeching questions, but had only stood +with lowered head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress. +She had run out just as her face cramped as though for tears. + +When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie's hands +in his. "You don't mean that, do you?" he asked brokenly. "You don't +mean you'd go away if you could, Sylvie!" + +At Hugh's voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks. +"If I make you quarrel, if I'm a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate +me so!" + +"But I"--he said--"I love you." He drew her head--she was sitting +in her chair again--against his side. "No, don't smile at me like +that; I don't mean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly. +Can't you feel how I love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don't +be frightened. There, now you know how I love you!" + +He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him. + +"How can a man like you love _me_?" she asked with wistful +uncertainty. + +"A man like me?" Hugh groaned. "Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay +with me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!" + +"Now it frightens me," she whispered, "being blind. It does frighten +me now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you +mustn't marry a blind girl, a waif. You've been so noble, you've +suffered so terribly. You ought to have some wonderful woman who would +understand your greatness, would see all that you are." + +"Now," he sighed, "now I _am_ great--because you think I am; that's +water to me--after a lifetime of thirst." + +"Hugh, _am_ I good enough for you?" She was sobbing and laughing at +the same time. + +It was too much for him. He drew himself gently away. He whispered: +"I can't bear being loved--being happy. I'll go out by myself for +a bit alone. Sylvie, Sylvie! Every instant I--I worship _you_!" He +threw himself down before her and pressed his face against her knees. +She caressed the thick, grizzled hair. He stood up and then stumbled +away from her, more blind than she, out of the house into the +gathering night. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +In the big, rudely carved chair Sylvie leaned back her head and +pressed her hands to her unseeing eyes. She was not sorry that Hugh +had left her, for she was oppressed and unnerved by her own emotions. +Until he had kissed her hair, she had not known that she loved him--or +rather loved an invisible presence that had enveloped her in an +atmosphere of sympathy, of protection, that had painted itself, so +to speak, in heroic colors and proportions against her darkness, that +had revealed both strength and tenderness in touch and movement, and +warm, deep voice. + +For until now Sylvie's life had been entirely lacking in protection +and tenderness; she had never known sympathy--her natural romanticism +had been starved. The lacks in her life Hugh had supplied the more +lavishly because he was aided, in her blindness, by the unrestricted +powers of her fancy. But now in all the fervor of this, Sylvie felt, +also for the first time, the full bitterness of her blindness. If +she could see him--if only once! If she could see him! + +And there came to Sylvie unreasonably, disconnectedly, a keen memory +of Pete's embrace when he had caught her up from falling on the +hearth. A boy of fourteen? Strange that he should be so strong, that +his heart should beat so loud, that his arms should draw themselves +so closely, so powerfully about her. What were they really like, these +people who moved unseen around her and who exerted such great power +over her sudden helplessness? + +She got up and began to walk to and fro restlessly, gropingly across +the room. She wished now that Hugh would come back. He had been with +her so constantly that she had grown utterly dependent upon him. The +dense red fog that lay so thick about her, frightened her when Hugh +was not there to keep her mind busy with his talk to paint pictures +for her, to command her with his magnetic presence. She stood still +and strained her eyes. She _must_ see again. If she tried hard, the +red fog would surely lift. Happiness, and her new love, they would +be strong enough to dispel the mist. There--already it was a shade +lighter! She almost thought that she could make out the brightness +of the fire. She went toward it and sat down on the bear-skin, holding +out her tremulous, excited hands. And with a sudden impulse toward +confidence she called: "Pete, O Pete! Come here a moment, please." + +He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguely +directed smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve +of his body holding itself at a distance. + +"Pete," she said wistfully, "what can I do to make you love me?" + +He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing. + +"Are you jealous?" + +"No, Sylvie," he muttered. + +"Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I'd understand +you better. Pete, try to be a little more--more human. Tell me about +yourself. Haven't you a bit of fondness for me? You see, I +want--Pete--some day perhaps I'll be your sister--" + +"Then he has asked you to marry him?" + +He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone. + +"Don't," she said. "Hush! We have only just found out. He went away +because he couldn't bear his own happiness. Pete--" She felt for him +and her hand touched his cheek. "Oh, Pete, your face is wet. You're +crying." + +"No, I'm not," he denied evenly. "It was melting from the roof when +I came in." + +She sighed. "You are so strange, Pete. Will you let me kiss you +now--since you are going to be my big little brother?" + +"I can't," he whispered. "I can't." + +She laughed and crooked her arm about his neck, forcing his face down +to hers. His lips were hard and cool. + +The face that Sylvie imagined a boy's face, shy and blushing, half +frightened, half cross, perhaps a trifle pleased, was so white and +patient a face in its misery that her blind tenderness seemed almost +like an intentional cruelty. It was an intensity of feeling almost +palpable, but Sylvie's mouth remained unburnt, though it removed +itself with a pathetic little twist of disappointment. + +"You don't need to say anything," she said, "You've shown me how you +feel. You can't like me. You are sorry I came. And I want so +dreadfully for some one just now to talk to--to help me, to +understand. It's all dark and wonderful and frightening. I wish I +had a brother--" + +She bent her face to her knees and began to cry simply and +passionately. At that Pete found it easy to forget himself. He put +his arm very carefully about her, laying one of his hands on her bent +head and stroking her hair. + +"You have a brother," he said. "Right here." + +The dark small silken head shook. "No. You don't like me." + +"I do--I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I'd +like awfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, +you've been so much with Hugh, I haven't had a chance to know you +as he does. And I guess--well--maybe I'm sort of shy." + +She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in +both of hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten +for the pleasure of its warmth. "You must get over being shy with +me, Pete. We both love Hugh; we both admire him so. I'd so love to +talk to you about him--" + +"Then do, Sylvie." + +"I've never seen him," she sighed, "and you can see him all day long, +Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me--every bit +of him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his face +and--everything. Tell me all you remember about him always." + +"I--I'm no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long--why, +you don't know what he looks like, 'specially if he's your own +brother." + +"Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes." + +"He has hazel eyes--I think you'd call them--" + +"Yes?" she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in +her excitement. "Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you'd do this +so much better." + +"I--I--but I don't know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very strong." + +"Of course. I know that. Didn't he pick me up out of the snow and +carry me home?" He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You +are very strong too, Pete--_very_ strong. Are _your_ eyes hazel?" + +"No; blue." + +"I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just the +Viking sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You think +I'm a silly goose, don't you?" + +"Yes, rather." + +"Don't keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can't guess how +it comforts me. I'm awfully alone here, and strange. I don't suppose +you know how queer and frightening it's been--this getting lost and +being brought here in the dark, and then--living on in the dark, just +trusting my instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell +a lot about people, don't they?--more than I ever dreamed they could. +Pete, there is nothing in that--that splendid, generous thing Hugh +did, the thing I am not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from +going back to the world--some place--that is, far away from where +it happened--and beginning again, is there?" + +"I hope not, Sylvie." + +She sighed. "Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn't told me of it, +I never should have known half of his greatness; yet I can't help +wishing he were free. It's sad to think there will always be the +memory of that dreadful suffering and danger in his life." + +"Very sad," said Pete. + +"How alone we both are--he and I! Bella, and you, Pete--don't be +angry, please--I don't think you quite understand Hugh, quite +appreciate him." + +"Perhaps not." + +"He has always been lonely. You are so young, and Bella is so +stupid--stupid and cross." + +"No, she isn't, Sylvie. I know Bella a lot better than you do. She's +not stupid or cross--" + +"Well, I like you to stick up for your old nurse. She certainly must +have loved you a lot to bring you way out here and to stay here all +these years to take care of you. I wonder where she'll go and what +she'll do when Hugh and I get married. You're too old for a nurse +now, Pete. Do you mind if I lean back against you that way? It's so +comfortable. I'd be happier without Bella, Pete, you know." + +"Would you, Sylvie? Well, Bella and I will have to go away together +somewhere, I guess." + +"I didn't say you, dear. I love you a lot--next best to Hugh. There's +something awfully sweet about you--you great strong overgrown thing! +Your heart goes _thump-thump-thump-thump_, as though it was as big +as the sun. . . . I feel much better and happier now. Things have +got steady again. Only--I wish Hugh would come back." + +Pete gave a strangled sigh. + +"He'll be back" And he began to draw himself away from her. "I think +I hear him now, Sylvie." + +"Stay where you are," she laughed. "Don't be ashamed of being found +with a sister leaning against you and holding your hand. Are you +afraid of Hugh? I think sometimes he's rather hard with you--I'll +have to speak to him about that. Oh"--in a sudden ecstasy--"how happy +I am! I feel as light as the air. I want every one to be happy. Tell +me when Hugh comes in how happy he looks, Pete--promise me, quick! +There he is at the door now." + +"Yes," he whispered, "I promise. Let me go, please, Sylvie." + +He pulled himself away and stood up. At the instant, the door was +opened and shut quickly, stealthily. It was Hugh, breathing hard, +gray with fear. + +"They're coming," he said harshly. "Pete, they're after me. Men are +coming across the flat." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"Did they see you?" Pete demanded anxiously. + +"I don't think so." Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fled +across the snow at top speed. + +"Get in, then, quick--out of sight." Pete was already tearing up +boards above that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to +step down into it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing +as the unseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands +clasped, her head turning from side to side. "Look here," whispered +Hugh, still absorbed in his own danger, "don't let them know that +Sylvie just wandered in here. Don't let them start asking her any +questions; it's too dangerous. Let her be--one of the family." He +smiled maliciously. "Let her be your wife, Pete." Then, as though +that picture had fired his love through its hint of jeopardy, he held +out both arms suddenly: "Come here, Sylvie--lead her to me, Pete." + +The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh's +shoulders Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmur +of their voices: + +"Hugh, dearest--are you afraid?" And his: "Trust me, little darling. +Love me." A kiss. + +Then a sharp, whispered summons: "Quick, can't you, Pete? Get these +boards down." + +When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stood +flushed and with her hands over her face. + +Bella had meantime been collecting the most characteristic of Hugh's +belongings--those that could not be supposed to belong to Pete--and +now thrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were +rearranged, the rug laid evenly over them. Then the three stood +staring at one another, listening helplessly to the nearing sounds. + +"Oh, Pete," Sylvie gasped, "tell me what I must do--or what I ought +to say." + +"Tell them," said Bella, "what Hugh told you--that you are Pete's +wife. They'll be looking for a different household from that, and +it will help to put them off." + +"But--but Pete won't look old enough." + +"Yes, he will. He looks older than you," Bella declared harshly. "You +sit down and keep quiet; that's the best you can do; and for God's +sake don't look so scared. There's a grave outside to show them, and +nobody digs up a six-year-old grave. They won't find Hugh. Nobody's +ever seen him. Don't shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; +this country has sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. +I'll be in the kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor clothes. +They'll have seen Hugh's tracks even if they haven't seen him, so +somebody's got to have just come in. Be whistling and talking, natural +and calm. Remember we're all at home, just quiet and happy--no reason +to be afraid. That's it." + +Through her darkness Sylvie heard the knocking and Pete's opening +of the door, the scraping of snow, the questions, the simplicity of +Pete's replies. + +Then she was made known. "My wife, gentlemen!" And a moment later: +"My mother!" And she heard Bella's greeting, loud and cheerful like +that of a woman who is glad to see a visitor. Chairs were drawn up +and cigarettes rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of +the smoke. There was brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that while +they talked, the two strangers searched the place and the faces of +its inmates with cold, keen, suspicious eyes. She was grateful now +for her blindness. There came a sharp statement: + +"We're looking for Ham Rutherford, the murderer." Sylvie's heart +contracted in her breast. + +"Well, sir," laughed Pete, in his most boyish, light-hearted fashion, +"that sounds interesting. But it's a new name to me." + +"It's an old case, however," said the man, the man who spoke more +like an Easterner than the sheriff. "Fifteen years old! They've dug +it up again back East. The daughter of the man that was killed came +into some money and thinks she can't spend it any better than in +hunting down her father's murderer. Now, we've traced Rutherford to +this country, and pretty close to this spot. He made a getaway before +trial, and he came out here fifteen years ago. About two years later +he sent back East for his kid brother--he'd be about your age now, +Mr.--what you say your name was?--Garth, Peter Garth. You'll have +to excuse the sheriff; he's bound to search your place." Sylvie had +heard the footsteps going through the three rooms. "A woman named +Bertha Scrane, a distant cousin of Rutherford's to whom he'd been +kind, brought the child out. Now, Missis--what's your name?" + +"Bella Garth," she said tranquilly. "I came out here with my husband, +who died six years ago. He's buried out there under the snow. I've +lived here with my son and my son's wife." + +"Yes. It's not the household we'd been expecting to find. It's a +lonely place, Missis." He looked at Sylvie. "I should think you'd +prefer going to some town." + +"We're used to it here now," Bella answered. + +"How'd your husband happen here, ma'am?" + +"His health was poor; he'd heard of this climate, and he wanted to +try trapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad on +him, and Pete's done well ever since. We haven't suffered any." + +"No, I guess not. You don't look like you'd suffered." + +The talk went on, an awkward, half-disguised cross-questioning as +to Bella's birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband's +antecedents. She was extraordinarily calm, ready and reasonable with +her replies. + +"Well, sir"--the sheriff strolled back into the room--"I reckon these +aren't the parties we're after. But look a-here, this is a description +of Ham Rutherford. Likely you might have had a glimpse of him since +you came into the country. When he made his getaway he was about +thirty-two, height five feet eight, ugly, black-haired, noticeable +eyes, manner violent. He was deformed, one leg shorter, one shoulder +higher than the other, mouth twisted, and a scar across the nose. +He'd been hurt in a fire when he was a child--" + +Sylvie broke into a spontaneous ripple of mirth, the full measure +of her relief. "Goodness," she said with utter spontaneity. "There's +certainly never been a monster like that in this house, has there, +Pete?" + +It did more than all that had gone before to convince the inquisitors. +From that minute there was a distinct relaxation; the evening, indeed, +turned to one of sociability. + +"We hate to inconvenience you, ma'am, but it seems like at this +distance from town we've got to ask you for supper and a place to +sleep." + +If it had not been for the thought of Hugh in hiding, that supper +and the evening about the hearth would have been to Sylvie a pleasant +one. The men, apparently laying aside all suspicion, were +entertaining; their adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, +moving, humorous experience. It was Sylvie herself, prompted by +curiosity, believing as she did that the monster the sheriff had +described bore no possible resemblance to the man she loved, who +asked suddenly: + +"Do tell us about the man you're hunting for now--this Rutherford? +Tell us about what he did." + +The Easterner gave her a look, and Bella, seeing it, chimed in: "Yes, +sure. Tell us about his crime." + +Pete stood up and rolled another cigarette. Try as he might to steady +his fingers, they trembled. He had never heard Hugh's story. He did +not want to hear it. The very name of Rutherford that had, in what +now seemed to him another age, belonged to Hugh and to him was +terrible in his ears. A sickness of dread seized him. Fortunately +the eyes of neither of the men were upon him. Sylvie had their whole +attention. + +The detective spoke. "He was a storekeeper back in a university town, +way East, where I came from. He kept a bookshop and had a heap of +book-learning. I remember him myself, though I was a youngster. He +was a wonderful, astonishing sort of chap, though as ugly as the +devil; had a great gift of narration, never told the truth in his +life, I guess, but that only made him all the more entertaining. And +he had a temper--phew! Redhot! He'd fly out and storm and strike in +all directions. That's what did for him. Some fool quarrel about a +book it was, and the man, a frequenter of the shop, a scholar, a +scientist, professor at the university, accused Rutherford of lying. +Rutherford had a heavy brass paper-cutter in his hand. The professor +had a nasty tongue in his head. Well, a tongue's no match for a +paper-cutter. The professor said too much, called Rutherford a +hump-backed liar and got a clip on the head that did for him." + +"It's an ugly story," said Sylvie. Bella and Pete retained their +silence. + +"Murder ain't pretty telling, as a general thing," remarked the +sheriff. + +"No, though I've heard of cases where a man was justified in killing +another man--I mean to save some one he loved from dreadful +suffering," Sylvie replied. + +"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. I've read stories that make +it look that way, but in all my experience, it's the cowards and the +fools that kill, and they do it because they're lower down, closer +to the beast, or perhaps to an uncontrolled child, than most of us." + +"But there was a time," Bella said, with a smothered passion, "when +an insult to a gentleman's honor had to be avenged." + +"Yes, ma'am," drawled the sheriff, "in them history days things was +fixed up to excuse animal doin's, kind of neater and easier and more +becomin' than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we have our beds? +We've kept these ladies up talkin' long enough. Your mother looks +plum wore out." + +They slept in the bed usually shared by Pete and Hugh. Pete lay on the +floor in the living-room not far from his brother's hiding-place--lay +there rigid and feverish, staring at the night. Sylvie, at Bella's +side, slept no better. Her imagination went over and over the story +of Ham Rutherford's crime. She saw the little dark bookshop, the +professor's thin, sneering face, the hideous anger of the cripple, +the blow, the dead body, Rutherford's arrest. And when her brain was +sick, it would turn for relief to the noble story of Hugh's +self-sacrifice, only to be balked by a sense of unreality. What the +detective had told, briefly and dryly, lived in her mind convincingly; +but Hugh's romance, that had glowed on his tongue, now lay lifeless +on her fancy. Back her mind would go to the bookshop, the gibing +professor, the heavy paper-cutter. + +In the dawn she heard Bella get up with a deep-shaken sigh and go +about her preparations for breakfast. But it was noon before the two +men left. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Hugh came up from his hiding-place like a man risen from the dead. +They helped him to his chair before the fire; they poured coffee down +him, rubbed his blue, stiff hands. He sat looking up pitifully, his +eyes turning from one to the other of them like those of a beaten +hound. All the masterfulness, all the bombast, had been crushed out +of him; even the splendor of his flaring hazel eyes was dimmed--they +were hollow, hopeless, old. For a long time he did not speak, only +drank the coffee and submitted himself meekly to their ministrations; +then at last he touched Sylvie with a trembling hand. + +"Sylvie," he whispered brokenly. + +"Hugh, dear, you're safe now; please speak; please laugh; you frighten +me more than anything--why is he so silent, Pete? Bella, tell me +what's wrong?" + +"He's been crouching there on the damp, cold ground for hours," said +Bella, "not knowing what might happen." Her voice trembled; she passed +a hand as shaking as her voice across Hugh's bent head. "You're safe +now. You're safe now," she murmured. + +Hugh's teeth chattered, and he bent closer to the fire. + +"Ugh--it was cold down there," he said, "like a grave! Sylvie, come +here." Just an echo of his old imperious fashion it was--though the +look was that of a beggar for alms. "Give me those warm little hands +of yours." She knelt close to him, rubbed his hands in hers, looking +up at Pete with a tremulous mouth that asked for advice. + +"He'll be all right in a minute," said Pete. "You talk to him, +Sylvie." + +"Yes, you talk--you talk. Do you remember how I talked to you when +you were afraid of the bears--ah!" He drew her head savagely against +his breast, folded his arms about it, stroked the hair. "Sylvie! Is +it all right? Can it be--the same?" + +"Yes, yes, why not?" + +"Were you frightened?" + +"Not after the first. After they had described you, I knew that they +were looking for the wrong man, and then I felt all right. I didn't +know--poor Hugh!--how cold and cramped you were. What a shame that +you took a false alarm and hid yourself! I don't believe there would +have been a bit of danger if you'd stayed out. They'd never even heard +of you, I suppose." + +Her talk, so gay, so strangely at cross-purposes with reality, was +like a vivifying wine to him. The color came back into his face; a +wild sort of relief lighted his eyes. + +"Then it didn't occur to you, Sylvie, that that brute might have been +me--that the men might, after all, have been describing me--eh?" he +asked, risking all his hope on one throw. + +She laughed, and, lifting herself a little in his arms, touched her +soft mouth to his. "But, Hugh, you told me your story, don't you +remember? And it is gloriously, mercifully different from +Rutherford's." + +He put his chin on his fist and stared over her head into the fire. +She felt the slackening of his embrace and searched his arms with +questioning fingers. "Why are you cross, Hugh? Did I say anything +to hurt you? Let's forget Ham Rutherford. I wonder where he is, poor, +horrible wretch!" + +"Dead--dead--dead," Hugh muttered. "Dead and buried--or he ought to +be. O God!" he groaned, and crushed her close against him; "I can't +ask you to love me, Sylvie--to marry me. Now you know what it is like +to love a man who must be afraid of other men. What right have I to +ask any woman to share my life?" + +"But, Hugh--if I love you?" + +"And you do love me?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +He laughed out at that, stood up, drawing her to stand beside him. +"Bella--Pete," he called, "do you hear--you two?" He beckoned them +close, laid a hand on them, drew first one, then the other toward +Sylvie. "She loves me. She sees me as I am!" Suddenly he put his +grizzled head on Sylvie's shoulder and wept. She felt her way back +to the chair, sat down, and drew him to kneel with his arms about +her, her head bent over him, her small hands caressing him. She looked +at Pete for help, for explanations, but she could not see his pale, +tormented face. + +After a while Hugh was calm and sat at her feet, smoking. But he was +unnaturally silent, and his eyes brooded upon her haggardly. + +It was several days before Hugh regained his old vigor and buoyancy; +then it came to life like an Antaeus flung down to mother earth. His +hour of doubt, of self-distrust, of compunction, was whirled away +like an uprooted tree on the flood of his happiness. He flung reason +and caution to the four winds; he dared Bella or Pete to betray him, +he played his heroic part with boisterous energy; his tongue wagged +like a tipsy troubadour's. What an empty canvas, a palette piled with +rainbow tints, a fistful of clean brushes would be to an artist long +starved for his tools, such was Sylvie's mind to Hugh. She was +darkness for him to scrawl upon with light; she was the romantic ear +to his romantic tongue; she was the poet reader for his gorgeous +imagery. He had not only the happiness of the successful lover, but +even more, the happiness of the successful creator. What he was +creating was the Hugh that might have been. + +With Sylvie clinging to his hand, he now went out singing--the three +of them together, great Hugh and happy artist Hugh all but welded +into one man for her and for her love. Those were splendid days, days +of fantastic happiness. Hugh's joy, his sense of freedom, gave him +a tenfold gift of fascination. + +Yet one day--one of those dim, moist spring days more colorful to +Hugh's heart than any of his days--there cut into his consciousness +like a hard, thin edge, a sense of a little growing change in Sylvie. +It had been there--the change,--slightly, dimly there, ever since +the sheriff's visit. It was not that she doubted Hugh--such a +suspicion would have struck him instantly aware and awake--but that +she had become in some way uncertain of herself, restless, depressed, +afraid. And it was always his love-making that brought the reaction, +a curious, delicate, inner recoil, so delicate and slight, so deep +beneath the threshold of her consciousness, that in the blind glory +of his self-intoxication he missed it altogether--might, indeed, have +gone on missing it, as she would have gone on ignoring or repressing +it, if it had not been for their kiss on the mountain-top. + +This was one of Hugh's madnesses; he would take Sylvie up a mountain +and show her his kingdom, show her himself as lord of the wilderness. +He had been there before many times, to the top of their one mountain, +always under protest from Bella and Pete. It was a bare rock exposed +to half the world and all the eyes of Heaven; and for a man in hiding, +a man who lived, yet whose name was carved above a grave, it was a +very target for untoward accident. Some trader or trapper down in +the forest might look up and behold the misshapen figure black and +bold, against the sky. Yet there was never so mighty a Hugh as when +he stood there defiant and alone. Now he wanted Sylvie to sense that +tragic magnificence. + +So they went out, Hugh's arm about her, as strange a pair of lovers +as ever tempted the spring--the great, scarred, uncouth, gray cripple +and the slim, unseeing girl, groping and clinging, absolutely shut +off from any contact with reality as long as this man should interpret +creation for her. Sylvie turned back to wave at Pete, whom they had +left standing in the doorway. + +"I'll be hunting for you if you stay out late," he called--to which +Hugh shouted back: "You hunting for us! Don't fancy I can't take care +of this child, myself." + +"Both of them blind!" Pete muttered to himself in answer. + +They were moving rather slowly across the rough, sagebrush-covered +flat, and presently Hugh led Sylvie into the fragrant silence of the +forest trail. To her it was all scent and sound. Hugh whispered to +her what this drumming meant and that chattering and that sudden +rattle almost under their feet. + +They had to go slowly, Sylvie touching the trees here and there, along +her side of the trail. He lifted her over logs and fallen trees, and +sometimes, before he set her down, he kissed her. Then Sylvie would +turn her head shyly, and he would laugh. Thus they made slow, sweet +progress. + +"I see more in the woods with your eyes than I ever could with my +own," she told him. + +"I have eyes for us both," he answered. "That's why God gave me the +eyes I have, because He knew the use I'd be making of them." + +"Is this the trail Pete follows to the trading-station?" she asked. +"I wish you could take me there, Hugh, or--would you let him take +me?" + +He tightened his arm. "I can't bear to have you out of my sight," +he answered. + +She sighed. "It seems so queer that they haven't tried to find me. +Do you suppose they think that I'm dead? Did Pete mail my letter to +Miss Foby, I wonder?" + +"What does Miss Foby matter?" he asked jealously. "What does anything +matter to you but--me? Here we leave Pete's trail and I take you +straight up the mountain, dear one. We'll rest now and then; when +we get to the rocky place just below the top, I'll carry you. Are +you happy? I always feel as if my heart melted with the snow when +spring comes--a wild, free, tumbling feeling of softness and escape." + +She sighed. "Yes--if only I could see. I miss my eyes out of doors +more than in the house. Does snow-blindness really last so long? +Perhaps it was the nervous shock and the exhaustion as much as the +glare. I am sure it all will just go suddenly some day. I stare and +stare sometimes, and I feel as if I might see--almost." + +He frowned. "You mustn't miss anything when you have me, Sylvie. Do +you suppose I miss anything, now that I have you? My career, my old +friends, my old life, my liberty, the world? That for everything!" +He snapped his fingers. "If only I have you." + +"You love me so much," she answered, as though she were oppressed, +"it frightens me sometimes." + +"When you are wholly mine--" he began. "Well, wait till we get to +the top of the mountain; there I'll tell you all my plans. They're +as big and beautiful as the world. I feel, with your love, that I +can move mountains. I can fashion the world close to my heart's +desire. We'll leave this blank spot and go to some lovely, warm, +smiling land where the water is turquoise and the sky aquamarine--" + +"And perhaps my sight will come back." It was almost a prayer. + +He did not answer. They had come to a sharp sudden ascent. He took +her in his arms, scrambled across the tumbled rocks, and set her down +beside him on the great granite crest that rose like the edge of a +gray wave. The clean, wild wind smote her and shook her and pressed +back her hair and dress. She clung to him. + +"Is it steep? Are we on the edge of a cliff, Hugh? I'm not afraid!" + +"We're on the very top of the world," he told her breathlessly, his +voice filled with a sense of awe, "our world, Sylvie, I'm master here. +There's no greater mind than my own in all that dark green circle. +It's pines, pines, pines to the edge of the earth, Sylvie, an ocean +of purple and green--silver where the wind moves, treading down, like +Christ walking on the water. And the sky is all gray, like stone." + +"Can you see the flat, the cabin?" + +"The flat, yes--a round green spot, way down there behind us. The +cabin? No. That's in a hollow, you may be sure, well out of sight. +I'm an outlaw, dearest, remember. There's a curve of the river, like +a silver elbow. And Sylvie, up above us, an eagle is turning and +turning in a huge circle. He thinks he's king. But, Sylvie, it's our +world--yours and mine. This is our marriage." + +She drew back. "What do you mean?" + +"Haven't you a feeling for such images? We'll go before a +parson--don't be afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you +too much for that. Why, Sylvie, what's wrong?" + +When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her +face to his arm and began to cry. + +"Oh, I don't know. I don't know. . . . But please don't kiss me like +that, not like that!" + +He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for +him, found him and clung. + +"Hugh, don't be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps +it's because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait. +Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don't understand? You're +angry? But I can't explain it any better." + +"You can lay your hand on me," he said hoarsely. "God knows I'm real +enough." And he thought so! "My love for you is here like a granite +block, Sylvie." + +"I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know +you--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little, +Hugh. Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog +will lift. Then we'll really be on top of the mountain." She laughed, +but rather sadly. + +"I will always hate this mountain-top," he said. "I used to love it. +I was so close to happiness, and now you've snatched it out of my +reach." He drew in sobbing breaths. + +"No--it's myself I'm keeping from happiness, not you," she answered. +"I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh, +be patient." She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her +lips. "Please be patient. Let's go down out of this wind. I can't +see your world, and I'm cold." + +So, in silence--a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +They came down the hill rapidly and carelessly. Hugh, stung by pain +and anger, threw himself over the rocks, and Sylvie was too proud +to show her timidity or to ask for help. She crept and climbed up +and down, saving herself with groping hand, letting one foot test +the distances before she put the other down. At last the rattle of +his progress sounded so far below that she quavered: "Aren't you +going to wait for me, Hugh?" + +He stopped short, and for a moment watched her silently; then, smitten +by the pathos of her progress--a little child, she seemed, against +the mountain toppling so close behind her--he came swinging up to +her and gave her his hand. + +"You _need_ me, anyway, don't you?" he asked with a tender sort of +roughness. + +She couldn't answer because she didn't want him to know that he had +made her cry. She kept her face turned from him and hurried along +at his side. + +"Why do you go so fearfully fast?" she was forced at last to protest. + +"Because I want to get down from this accursed mountain. I want to +get down into the woods again where I was happy." + +"Hugh"--she pulled at his arm--"you are only a child after all." + +"Perhaps." + +"Well--" She stopped. "Go home alone, then. I'll be no worse off than +when you found me the first time. Pete will come out and hunt for +me. He has a far sweeter temper than you, Hugh, and doesn't think +only of himself." + +He swung away at that, resting his hand against a big rock to clear +a hole; then, seeing her about to step down into it, he pivoted back, +caught her up bodily in his arms, and, laughing, ran with her down +the hill, bounding over the rocks, leaping over the crevices, while +she clung to him in fright. + +"You silly child!" he cried. "This is the way I'll take you home. +Now I've got you, and I'll punish you well, too." She clung to him +and begged him to stop. She was frightened by their rash, plunging +progress, by his speech. She struggled. "Let me down. I won't be +carried like this against my will. Hugh, let me down!" + +"All right!" He fairly flung her from him on a grassy spot. He was +about to leave her when a rushing rattle sounded above them. The +boulder he had twice used to turn his own weight upon was charging +down the hillside! Just in time he caught Sylvie, threw her to one +side and fell prone, helpless, in the path of the slide. He cried +out, flinging up his arm, and, as though his cry had been of magic, +the boulder faltered and stopped. A root half buried just above his +body had made a hollow and a ledge; it had rocked the rolling fragment +back up on its haunches, so to speak, and balanced it to a stop. + +"Hugh! Hugh!" sobbed Sylvie. "What was it? Are you hurt?" + +She crept up to him. + +"No," Hugh told her, breathing heavily. "It was a rolling rock." + +"How did you stop it? You must be hurt, crushed, bruised." + +"My arm's wrenched--not badly." He had in fact wrenched it slightly. + +"Your poor arm! You were so quick, so strong. You didn't think of +your own life. And I've been so cruel. Hugh, Hugh, kiss me." + +Hugh took his reward, none the less sweet to his strange nature, in +that it was only potentially earned. And joy, like a warm flood, crept +up again to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small love +close. One of his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. She +rubbed it for him. + +"You'd better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badly +hurt. You're sure it isn't broken?" she asked. + +"Quite sure." + +"Lean on me! I'll help you down. You can tell me where to step." + +"Nonsense," he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. "A +strained arm won't hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover's +quarrel, didn't we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the +boulder!" + +"Don't joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Are +you always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you +had been--" She shivered. + +"Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours, +Sylvie?" He bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned +his lesson, and there was restraint and timidity in that kiss. + +"The sun's come out," cried Sylvie. + +"Yes, it's splendidly bright. There's a clean slit in the sky; there +at the western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch, +the way a boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he's caught. All's +gold behind it, Sylvie, burning gold. The rocks are like bright +copper. And the pines, they're incandescent, phosphorescent green--" + +"If I could only see it!" + +Down near the pines a tall, still figure stood watching them. It was +Pete, and his smile, usually so frank and sweet, had now a sardonic +twist. As they came down out of their sun into his shadow, he spoke +with a drag to his syllables. + +"Hullo," he said. "That was a narrow escape you had, you two!" + +The voice might have been a pistol-shot for the start it gave to Hugh. + +"Why, it's Pete. We must be late, Pete," Sylvie called joyously. "Did +you see how Hugh saved my life? He threw himself down before the rock +and stopped it. He's hurt his poor arm. The great stone was right +on top of us, and he threw me out of the way and set his own strength +against it. I couldn't see the rock, Pete, but it felt like a +mountain." + +"It was big enough to smash you both," said Pete. + +He looked at Hugh, whose eyes glared in a strained, shamed face. The +older man's fingers worked nervously; he opened his lips and closed +them again. It was easy to understand the travail of his mind, +unwilling to forego the imaginary bit of heroism, and yet abashed +by the boy's awareness of the lie. + +Pete gave one short laugh; then, springing suddenly across a fallen +tree that separated them, he caught Sylvie up into his arms. + +"You can't carry her with a wrenched arm," he said, half gayly, half +tauntingly, "and at the best rate she can go, it will be night before +we get her home. I'm strong. I'll carry her myself." + +Sylvie laughed protesting that she was being treated like a doll, +and resigned herself to Pete's swift, smooth stride. It was as though +she were skimming through space, so quietly did his moccasined feet +press the pine-needled earth, so exquisitely did his young strength +save her from any jar. He whistled softly through his teeth as he +ran in long, swift strides. And as he did not speak to her, she lay +silent, yet strangely peaceful and happy. Hugh was left far behind. +The forest fragrance moved cool and resinous against her face. + +"I feel as if we could go on and on forever," she said with a sigh, +"forever and ever and ever." + +"We will," he answered through his teeth, hardly pausing in his +whistling for the odd reply. "We will." + +But for all that, he set her gently and suddenly down, and she knew +that she stood again at the cabin door. + +"Pete, where are you?" she asked. + +But he had disappeared, still in utter silence, like a genie whose +task is done. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"What did he say to you? What did he say to you?" asked Hugh again +and again. + +Sylvie laughed at him. + +"He didn't say anything--hardly a word, except that he pretended he +was going on forever. He said: 'We will, we will.' That's absolutely +all, Hugh. Don't be so silly. What _could_ he say?" + +"I don't know," Hugh answered. "He might have made fun of me." + +"Fun of you! After saving my life! I'd have boxed his ears! No, no, +Peter wouldn't do that. He's afraid of me." + +She was so proud of this that Hugh, perforce, laughed. It was after +supper, and they had walked a little way from the cabin. They were +standing just above the river on a little hillock topped with three +big pines. The dusk was thick about them; stars pricked the soft sky. +Sylvie was wrapped in Hugh's coat, and they were linked by their hands +hanging at their sides. Every one but Sylvie had been very silent +at supper, but she had told her story of Hugh's heroism again and +again until finally even Hugh had grumbled at "the fuss." + +"What makes you think anyone could be afraid of you?" He smiled down +at the small dark head which did not reach his shoulder. + +"He's afraid I'll kiss him. Don't grip my hand that way; it hurts. +You couldn't be jealous of a boy! Besides, I _don't_ kiss him any +more. I never have kissed him but that once--no, twice, when I told +him that I was going to be his sister." + +"You told him that?" Hugh's voice had an odd anxiety. "How did he +take it?" + +"I don't think he was very enthusiastic. He loves you so much, Hugh; +you are the very heart of his universe, and I suppose he is jealous +of your love for me. Since then he's avoided me and is as dumb as +a fish when I talk to him. I think his body has outgrown his mind, +Hugh." + +"Perhaps. I don't know," he answered. + +"And Bella is so silent, too. Hugh, it must have been a lonely life +for you before I came. Those two people, though they love you so much, +are not companionable. I think, Hugh, that they aren't able to +understand you. You are so brilliant, and they are so dull; you are +so articulate, and they are so dumb; you are so warm, so quick to +see, to feel, to sympathize, while they are so slow and so cold. Dear +Hugh, I'm glad I came. I am stupid myself, but I have enough +intelligence to understand you--a little, haven't I, dear?" + +"So much more than enough!" The low speech with its tremor of humility +was almost lost. + +"What a noise the river makes!" he said presently. + +"Yes. And the pines. The whole air is full of rushing and sighing +and clapping and rattling. Sounds tell me so much now. They fill my +whole life. It is very queer. Why, a voice means more to me now, I +think, than a face ever did. . . . Is it a deep river, Hugh?" + +"Now it is--deep and dangerous. But it goes down very quickly when +the snow at its source has melted. In summer it is a friendly little +brook, and in the fall a mere trickle that hardly wets your shoe. +I have a boat here tied to the root of one of these trees, a boat +I made myself, to pole across when the stream is too deep for wading. +I'll take you out in it when the flood's down; it wouldn't last +fifteen minutes now. In the spring, Sylvie, a nymph comes down from +the mountain, a wild white nymph. She has ice-green hair and +frost-white arms; you can see her lashing the water, and if you +listen, you can hear her sing and cry. Let's go in, dear; you're tired +and cold--I can feel you shivering. We'll start a big fire, and I'll +tell you how that nymph caught me once and nearly strangled me with +her cold, wet arms. I was trying to save--you'll laugh when I tell +you about it--a baby bear." + +Pete and Bella made room for them silently about the hearth where +Pete had already built up a fire. Sylvie groped her way to the throne +from which the other woman slipped half furtively and so noiselessly +that Sylvie never guessed her usurpation. + +"Hugh is going to tell us a story," she said, and rested her head +back so that her small chin pointed out and her slim neck was drawn +up--"a wonderful story about the river and a bear. I hope it's a baby +bear, Hugh, for you know how I feel about bears. I honestly think +that being so afraid of seeing them is what made me blind!" She gave +her small, shy laugh. "I thought I saw them everywhere I looked that +day and night. It seems so long ago now, and yet it is not so many +weeks. I can still hear Hugh's voice calling out to me across the +snow. And now," she said, "the snow's all gone and none of you are +strangers any more, and--Go on with your story, Hugh." + +Pete added a log to the fire so that the flames stretched up bravely +and made a great fan of light against which they all seemed painted +like ornamental figures, Hugh lounging along the rug to make a +striking central figure. Bella was drawn up rigidly on a stiff, hard +chair; she hemmed a long, coarse towel with her blunt, work-roughened +fingers. + +Pete sat opposite Sylvie on the floor, his back against the corner +of the fireplace, his knees drawn up in his hands, his head a little +bent. He too--from under his long level brows--looked for the most +part at Hugh, not devotedly, not wistfully, but with a somber +wondering. It was only now and then, and as though he couldn't help +it, that the blue, smouldering Northern eyes were turned to Sylvie +on her throne. Then they would brighten painfully, and his lips would +tighten so that the dimple, meant for laughter, cut itself like a +touch of pain into his cheek. The firelight heightened his +picturesqueness--the dull blue of his shirt, open at the round, smooth +throat, the dark gold-brown of his corduroy trousers, against which +the long, tanned hands, knit strongly together, stood out in the rosy, +leaping light--beautifully painted against the background of old brown +logs. + +Yet it was Hugh, after all, who dominated the room by right of his +power, his magnetism, the very distortion of his spirit. Here in this +lonely square of light and warmth, surrounded by a world of savage, +lawless winds heightening the voices of vast loneliness, these three +people were imprisoned by him, a Merlin of the West. + +He sat up to begin his story, pressing tobacco into his pipe. "Oh, +it's not so much of a story, Sylvie. It was last spring when the river +was high and I'd been out with my traps. I was coming home along the +river edge, pretty tired, a big load on my back. I came around a bend +of the river, and not far below me a little black bear, round as a +barrel, was trying to scramble over the flood on a very shaky log. +The mother was on the other side, but I didn't know that then. Well, +there's nothing in God's world, Sylvie, so beguiling as a baby bear. +This little fellow was scared by what he was doing, but he was bound +he'd get across the river. He'd make a few steps; then he'd back up +and half rise on his hind legs. I watched him a long time. Then he +made up his mind he'd better make a dash for it. He began scrambling +like a frantic kitten, and it was just in the most ticklish spot that +he heard me and jumped and went rolling off into the river. I tell +you, my heart came right up into my mouth." + +"Oh, _was_ he drowned?" wailed Sylvie. + +Hugh rose and stood with his back to the fire, dominating the room +even more convincingly, with his vivid ugliness. Sylvie's face turned +up to him like a white flower to the sun it lives by, without seeing. +It was strange to watch the adoration, the worship on that small face, +and at the same time to behold the grotesqueness toward which it was +directed. Bella was listening with her lowered eyes and tightened +lips. She was interested in spite of herself; and Pete's inscrutable +face followed the story with absorption. + +"Well, in he rolled with a splash and went rattling down the current, +turning over and over. Like a fool, I threw away my hides, ran down +the bank and jumped in after him--that is, I meant to hold on to a +branch and stand out in the water and catch him as he went by. But +the nymph I told you about had her own plans. She wrapped her arms +round me, and away we went, bear all. Oh, yes, I'd caught the cub +all right, and he was about half drowned by that time--no fight left +in him. + +"Well, for a bit it was a question whether the world wouldn't be +quickly and well rid of us both, but we tumbled up against a root +and scrambled out, and when I'd rested, I picked up limp and trembling +Master Bear and went back for my hides. And while I was collecting +them, I heard a sort of grumpy, grumbling sound, and I looked up--and, +by Jove, Mother Bear was coming across that log with the longest steps +you ever saw. That's when I ran to collect my gun--it was a little +farther up the bank than my hides, worse luck!" + +Even Bella had forgotten her bitterness in listening, and Pete's +parted lips were those of an excited child. Sylvie leaned forward +in her chair, her cheeks tingling, her hands locked. Hugh had thrown +himself into the action of his story; his face was slightly contorted +as though sighting along a gun-barrel, his arm raised, the +ungainliness of his deformity strongly accentuated. He was not looking +at Sylvie; true to his nature and his habit, he had forgotten every +one but that Hugh of adventure and of romance, the one companion of +his soul. None of them was watching Sylvie, and when she gave a sharp, +little cry, a queer start and then sat utterly still, Hugh +accepted it--they all accepted it--as a tribute to his story-telling +powers. + +But Sylvie, leaning her elbows on her knees, raised trembling hands +to her eyes and hid them. She sat very still, very white, while the +story went on, vividly imagined, picturesquely told. When it was over, +and the mother bear, after a worthy struggle, defeated, Hugh looked +about for his applause. It came, grudgingly from Bella, eagerly from +Pete--and from Sylvie in a sudden extravagant clapping of hands, a +ripple of high, excited laughter, and a collapse in her chair. She +had fainted in a limp little heap. + +She came to in an instant, but seemed bewildered and, unprotesting, +permitted herself to be carried to bed. She declared she felt quite +well again and wanted only to be alone. She repeated this moaningly. +"Oh, to be alone!" + +Hugh seated himself on the end of the bed and kissed her forehead +and her hand, but it quivered under his lips and was drawn away. + +He came back into the living-room with a pale, bewildered face. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Next day there came out of that room a new Sylvie or rather a dozen +new Sylvies: a flighty witch of a Sylvie who tempted her blindness +with rash ventures about the rooms and even out of doors, who +laughed at Hugh and led him on, and drew him out to his maddest +improvisations, who treated Pete to snubs and tauntings that stung +like so many little whips; and again a Sylvie who was still and timid +and a trifle furtive, who rarely spoke, but sat with locked hands +in an attitude of desperate concentration and seemed to be planning +something secret and dangerous; and then there was a haughty, +touch-me-not Sylvie; and a Sylvie who mysteriously wept. But all of +these Sylvies showed an impetuous, new tenderness toward Bella. + +"I've been all wrong about you, Bella," she confessed. "I know you're +not really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face." +Bella, awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick +of the light, young fingers. "I'm learning the touch of the blind," +Sylvie boasted. "Now, listen--isn't this right? You have thick, +straight eyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella, +or bright gray?" + +"They're gray," said Pete. + +Hugh was watching from eyes sunk in a nervous, pallid face. He had +come in from his traps in the midst of Sylvie's experiment. + +"And she has a nice, straight, strong, short nose, and a mouth that +she holds too tight. Loosen your mouth, Bella; it might be very sweet +if you gave it a chance. And she has a sharp chin--not pretty, your +chin, but--look! If you'd soften your hair, pull it over your ears +and forehead--Why do you brush it back that way? It _must_ be +unbecoming. And, Bella, it's curly, or would be with a little freedom. +What color is your hair?" + +"Gray--like my eyes," said Bella, scarlet now, and trying to draw +herself away. + +"Is it really gray, Pete? Tell me the truth, if you can." + +"Her hair is a very light brown," said Pete, flushed as scarlet now +as Bella; "sort of a grayish brown; you wouldn't notice any gray +hairs, hardly." + +"Bella, I'm sure you don't look a day older than thirty-five. Your +skin feels smooth and young. Why do you let Hugh call you an old +woman? Poor Bella, I'm afraid you've spoiled those two boys?" + +Sylvie turned suddenly and imperiously upon the men, and Bella made +her escape, not from the room, for she was too stirred, too full of +an excited suspense, to bring herself to leave. From a far corner, +near the window through which came the soft May wind, she watched +them. + +"Now, Pete," said Sylvie, "it's your turn. If I'm to learn the touch +of the blind, I must have practice. What can I make of you! Come here. +Why don't you come?" She stamped her foot. "My, but you are badly +trained. Really, Hugh, you ought to discipline him. Wait until I am +your sister-in-law." + +Hugh started angrily. "Don't joke about that!" he threatened in a +harsh, sudden voice. + +She turned toward him with quickness and bent her head sidelong as +though listening intently for what else he might have to say. Her +lips were set close and narrow. She had listened to him like this, +almost breathlessly, ever since her sudden faintness, listened as +though she would draw his very soul in through her ears. + +He too flushed. "It's life and death to me, Sylvie," he pleaded. + +"Life and death--life _or_ death," she repeated strangely. She stood, +as if turning the speech over in her mind, then gave her head a quick +little shake like a diver coming to the surface of deep water, and +moved a step toward Pete. "Are you coming, boy, or not? I want to +feel your face." + +"Do as she says," Hugh commanded harshly, and Pete came slowly to +her and stood with his hands locked behind him, bending over the +little figure. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a +shake, and smiled. + +"Such a big, strong boy! Where's your face?" It winced and paled under +her touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh's, who watched +with unsteady breathing and white lips. + +"Your face is as smooth as a girl's, Pete. What a wide, low forehead +and crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must +be a pretty boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and--oh, Pete, +Pete! I believe you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple +like a slit in your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so? +They're long eyes, with thick, short lashes. What a strong, round +neck! I think I like your face." + +She patted his cheek, the pat more like a smart slap. He pulled away. +"That's for disobedience. Come back. I'm not through with you. Where's +your mouth? A big, long mouth. Pete, why does your mouth tremble?" +Her hand fell from his lips, and she turned away. "Take me out for +a walk, Hugh, please," she said. "This cabin is stuffy, now that the +days are warm. I want to sit under the pines and listen to the river. +You can tell me one of your wonderful stories about yourself." + +"What does it mean, Bella?" Pete asked breathlessly when Hugh had +gone out, not so much leading the girl as hurrying after her to save +her from the rashness of her impetuous progress. "What does it mean?" +Pete was as white as paper. + +"I don't know." Bella came over from the window and stood by the +fireplace, rolling her arms in her apron and shaking her head. "She's +a crazy little witch. She'll drive us mad. Hugh is half mad now--have +you noticed? She won't let him touch her. And you, poor boy! Pete, +why don't you go away?" + +"I've thought about it," he said. "I--I can't." He flung himself down +in Hugh's chair and rested his head in his hands. + +Bella bent over him. "Poor Pete! It's cruel for you--and," she added +softly, uncertainly, "and for me." + +"For you too, Bella?" He looked up at her through tears. + +She nodded her head, and her face worked. "Perhaps you could take +her back to her friends, Pete?" + +"And leave Hugh? Didn't you hear what he said, Bella? Life and death! +It would kill him if she should go away with me. Or--he'd follow and +kill me." + +"Yes," Bella assented somberly; "yes, he'd kill you. The devil is +still living in his heart." + +"No. Sylvie will marry him. Hugh gets his will." Pete shook his head. +"Wait a few days--you'll see. She's fighting against him now; I don't +know why--some instinct. But though he tells her so many lies, he +doesn't lie about one thing. He loves her. He does love her." + +"No! No!" Bella's passion, tearing its way through her long habit +of repression, was almost terrifying. "He loves the image she has +of him. If he knew that she could see him as I do, his love would +shrivel up like a flower in a drought. Hugh can't love the truth. +He can't love anything but his delusions. Pete, tell her the truth. +For God's sake, tell her the truth. Give her back her eyesight. Let +her know his name, his story--his _face_!" + +"Don't dare ask me, Bella!" + +"Why not?" She seemed to be out of breath, like a person who has been +climbing in thin air. Her lips were dry. + +"Because--well, would you do it yourself?" + +"Ah! He would hate me, if I did. But you, Pete, when Sylvie loved +you--and if she knew you, she would surely love you; any woman +would--why, then you could bear Hugh's hatred. I have only him--only +him." + +She locked her hands and lifted them to her forehead and was now +making blind steps toward the kitchen door. + +Pete followed her, and turning her about, drew down the hands from +her face. + +"Bella--_you_? Without saying a word? All these years?" + +Under the first pressure of sympathy that her agony had ever known, +she could not speak. She bent her head for an instant against his +arm, then moved away from him, groping through the kitchen door, back +to her unutterable loneliness. + +Pete stood staring after her. A new Bella, this, not the cousin, the +little cousin from the farm; not the nurse who had saved him from +Hugh's hardness and told him limping fairy tales and doctored his +hurts; not the accepted necessity, but a woman--a woman young, yes, +young. In the instant when he had glimpsed her face, broken and +quivering, the tight lips parted and the hair disarranged about +flushed, quivering cheeks, the eyes deep with widened pupils, she +had revealed beauty and passion--the two halves of youth. How blind, +how blind Hugh had been, blind and selfish and greedy, drinking up +the woman's heart, feeding upon her youth! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"When you sit so silent, Pete," Sylvie said softly, "I sometimes +wonder if you're not staring at me." + +"When I'm making a trap," he answered, smiling a little to himself +and instinctively shifting his gaze, "I can't very well be staring +at you, can I?" + +He was kneeling on the ground before the cabin door, she sitting on +the low step under the shadow of the roof. Her chin rested on the +backs of her hands, the limber wrists bent up a little, the sleeves +slipped away from her slim, white wrists. Her face was brightly rosy, +her lips very red--at once a little stern, yet very sweet. + +"Traps are cruel," she said. + +"I think so myself. But we have to make a living, don't we?" + +"Aren't you ashamed of yourself sometimes, Pete?" + +"For making traps, and catching live things in them?" + +"Yes. It's a sort of deceitful cruelty, catching the little blind, +wandering wild things." + +"Blind?" he repeated blankly, then flushed. + +"Yes, blind. But it wasn't only that I meant." + +"What else ought I to be ashamed of?" + +"Of living on your brother." He winced sharply, but she went on +coolly: "Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now. +Many a boy of your age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the +world to make his own way. There's no reason for _you_ to hide, is +there? _You_ haven't sacrificed your life for anyone." + +"No," he answered doubtfully, "n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one +has to take the skins. It isn't safe for Hugh." + +"Yes, of course. So that's what you'll do all your life--carry loads +to and fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh +goes away himself?" + +"Yes?" he asked breathlessly. + +His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare. + +"You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marry +me, to start life again." + +"And--and you will, Sylvie?" + +"Give me your advice," she said. She pressed her red lips together; +her face was bent upon him as though she watched. + +"But," he stammered, "you tell me all the time, a dozen times a day, +that I'm badly trained. What good's my advice?" + +"_Are_ you badly trained?" + +"I suppose so." + +"You are absurdly unselfish, Pete!" She moved a chip along the ground +with her foot, but Pete failed to notice this curious seeing gesture. + +"Why? What do you mean?" + +She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, his +hands had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregular +heartbeats from his lips. + +At last she spoke deliberately. "You would lay down your life for +your friend?" she said. It was almost a whisper. + +Pete's face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of +his heart he searched for loyal words. + +"I love Hugh--if that's what you mean," he said. + +"I love you?" she repeated softly, perversely. "Did you say 'Hugh' +or 'you,' Pete?" + +His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. "I said 'Hugh!'" + +"Ah--you love only him--nobody else in all the world?" + +Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggled +as though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to remember +Hugh. He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he +made a short step toward the waiting girl. She _was_ waiting, +breathing fast. Pete's arms quivered at his sides. + +A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had +come up behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray; +his eyes were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to +become a straight, hard line. The effort gave a twitch to the pale, +lower lip. + +Sylvie stood up, singing as though in absent-minded idleness, and +vanished into the house. It would have been difficult to tell whether +or not she had heard Hugh's arrival. + +"What's the matter?" Pete stammered like a boy wakened from a dream +to behold a lifted cane. "Let go my arm, Hugh. Your fingers cut." + +"Come away from the house," said Hugh coldly, tightening the iron +grip as though Pete's wincing gave him satisfaction. "Come up here +by the pines. I want to talk to you." + +"I'll come," said Pete. "Let go my arm." + +There was that in his voice that compelled obedience. Hugh's hand +fell and knotted into a fist. Pete walked beside him up the abrupt +slope of their hollow to the little hill above the river. Its noise +was loud in the still, sunny air. There was no wind stirring. It was +high noon. A sloping tent of shadow drooped from the pines and made +a dark circle about their roots. In this transparent, purplish tent +the brothers faced each other. Pete's lips were tremulous, and Hugh's +distorted. + +"Now," said Hugh, breathing irregularly and speaking very low, "I'll +tell you what I think of you." + +"No, Hugh, don't," Pete pleaded. "You'll say things you don't +mean--unkind things, terrible things. I don't deserve it from you. +You--you think that I--that I--" + +"Go on. Don't stop. Tell me what I think--I think--that you--that +you--" + +It was an unbearable moment, an impossible atmosphere, for the +revelation of a first love. Pete felt stripped and shamed. + +"You think that I was telling Sylvie, that Sylvie--that I--" + +Hugh lifted his hand and struck. The younger man sprang back, then +forward, and was at his elder's throat. For an instant they struggled, +silently, terribly, slipping on the red pine-needles. Then Pete gave +a hard laugh. "Are we tigers?" he asked, and he pulled himself back +and leaned, shaking, against a tree-trunk, gripping it with his hands. +His blue eyes were cold and blazing in his white face, against which +Hugh's blow had made a mark. "You won't strike me again," Pete said. +All boyishness was gone from his hard, level voice. "Go on. Say what +you like. I'll listen." + +"You liar!" stormed Hugh. "You cheat!" + +Pete laughed again. + +A certain quality in his bitter self-control flicked Hugh. He tried +to emulate the young man's coolness. + +"I've trusted you," he began again; "and behind my back you have been +trying to win the love of the woman who has promised to be my wife." + +"I have not." + +"You were not making love to her there, then, when I came up behind +you? When you were so excited that you didn't hear me? when you were +moving toward her--trembling all over? _I_ felt your arm!" + +Pete's eyes dropped, then lifted as though under a great weight. + +"And you say you're not a liar!" + +"I _am_ a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars. +We have caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her, +all three of us--Bella and I, and you, Hugh--you have lied most of +all." + +"She loves me," Hugh panted. "She knows me. She understands me." + +"Yes," Pete answered, trembling. "I've seen that. I've kept quiet. +Bella and I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by +striking me and calling me a liar and a cheat!" + +Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the +justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, +put a hand on each of his brother's shoulders, searching the white, +young face with his wild eyes. + +"I must have Sylvie," he groaned. "Pete, I must. You don't know; you +can't know--" He dropped his grizzled head against Pete's neck, and +his breath caught. "You don't know what I felt when I saw you there, +when I thought--Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take +my love, my only joy, my one prize away from me?" + +After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically +across the twisted, gasping back. + +"Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn't. But I've had to play a part, +and it's not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it's been, +because you seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I +went away?" + +He was gripped again, shaken a little. "No, don't leave me. Wait. +It won't be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets +over a girl's timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don't stand +dumb; tell me that she does." + +"She does," Pete repeated tonelessly. + +"I'm sorry I struck you. I have a devil's temper. And I think of you +as still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have +beaten you." He put this forward as though it were a reasonable +excuse. + +"Yes." Pete smiled grimly. "I can remember your beatings." He drew +himself away. "Shall we go back?" + +Hugh still held him, though at arm's length. "First I must have a +promise from you." He spoke sternly. + +"What do you want?" + +"I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the +end." + +"You won't trust me, then?" + +"Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your +arm." + +Pete was silent. He studied the ground. There was a sullen look on +his face, and his tightened mouth deepened the odd, incongruous +dimple. + +"Well, perhaps you're right. I promise." He flashed up a blue +desperation of young eyes as he asked: "How long will it last, Hugh?" + +"Not long. Not long. Surely not long." + +"I promise." + +"Give me your hand." + +They came back down from the hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Pete looked forward with white-hot impatience to the day of his trip +to the trading-station; twelve hours of relief, it would mean, from +the worst pressure of his torment--twelve hours of merciful solitude +in the old, voiceful friendliness of his forest trail. He started +early, at the break of a sweet, singing dawn. The earth was elastic +under his feet, the air tingling and mellow with a taste of growth; +the flooded river chattered loudly like a creature half beside itself +with joy. Pete came out of the dark and silent cabin in which he had +made his tiptoe preparations, and lifted his face, letting the light, +soft fingers of the wind, cooler and softer even than Sylvie's, smooth +out the knots of suffering from his tired brain. He shook his +shoulders before settling them under the load of pelts. He would, +he swore, just for this day, be a boy again. He sprang lightly up +from the hollow and strode forward with long, swift steps, swinging +a companionable stick in his free hand. + +Loneliness and the dawn and love had made a poet of the young man, +so that he had the release of poetry and forgot reality in its +translation into a tale that is told. He thought of Sylvie, but he +thought of her as a man thinks of a lovely memory. He went through +the wood with his chin lifted, half smiling, almost happy, an integral +part of the wild, glad, wistful spring. + +It was not until the afternoon when he was nearing the station--just, +in fact, before he left the wood-trail for the rutted, frontier +road--that his mind was caught as sharply as a cloth by a needle, +by the light sound of following steps. In the solitude of that trail +which his feet alone had worn, the sound brought him to a stop with +a sense of terror and suspense. His mind leaped to Hugh, and for the +first time in his loyal life Pete remembered, and remembering, felt +a creeping on his skin, that this brother of his, who had grown harsh +and jealous and suspicious, had been a murderer. The cold, unkindly +memory slid along his senses like a snake. On the edge of the sloping +road-bank, studded with little yellow flowers, just where the trees +stopped, Pete set down his load and waited, instinctively bracing +his body, drawing it back beneath the shelter of one of the big pines. + +The steps were light and swift and stealthy. In the purplish confusion +of the distance, a tangled and yet ordered regiment of trunks and +boughs, sun-splotches and shadow-blots, through which the uncertain +trail seemed to rise like a slender thread of smoke to the pale, +flecked sky, Pete made out a moving shape. It slipped in and out; +it hesitated, hurried, paused, moved on. With a shudder of relief +and of surprise, Pete saw it; out from behind the great, close trunks +came Sylvie, her chin lifted, her hands stretched out on either side, +brushing the swinging branches along the trail, her small head turning +from this side to that, as though she listened in suspense. + +Pete called out her name and ran quickly to meet her. Forgetting his +part of a dull, sullen boy, he spoke eagerly, catching her hand, +watching the warm, happy blush flow in her cheeks. + +"Where were you?" she asked. She had stood to wait for him as soon +as his voice reached her. "I couldn't see--I mean, I lost the sound +of your steps. I've been following you for hours and hours and hours. +I was so afraid of being lost again that I didn't dare drop too far +behind." + +"But why didn't you call to me? Why have you come? Is anything wrong +at home?" + +Her fingers moved uncertainly in his grasp, like the fingers of a +shy child. "Nothing is wrong. I wanted to come with you. I wanted +to go to the trading-station and the post-office. I didn't dare ask +you to take me with you. I was afraid you'd send me home. I suppose +I'll be a nuisance, but--Oh, Pete, please be nice to me and take care +of me, won't you?" She paused, turned her face away from him and +smiled. "After all, since you have called me your wife before +witnesses, you ought to introduce me to your friends at the +trading-station, oughtn't you? They might think it was queer that +I should hide myself, now that the snow has gone." + +He dropped her hand. Suddenly he realized the consequences, the +necessary effect upon Hugh of this willful venture of hers. + +"Does Hugh know where you are?" he asked painfully. + +"No. I ran away. I heard you getting ready, and I just felt that I +couldn't bear to be left behind. I slipped out of bed so quietly that +Bella didn't even stir, and I dressed just as quietly, and when you +had gone half across the clearing, I ran out after you, listening +to your steps. You see, I have the hearing, as well as the touch, +of the blind." This was said with a cunning sort of recklessness; +but Pete, absorbed in his anxiety, did not challenge the improbable +statement. "Please don't be angry with me, Pete." She touched his +hand where it hung at his side. "Can't I have my adventure? Let's +call it _ours_." + +In spite of himself, the young man's pulse quickened, but his face +and voice were stern. + +"Do you know that we'll be very late?" he said. "It will be midnight +before we can possibly make it back to the cabin, if you can even +do it at all. You'll have to spend the night somewhere at the station. +What will they think? They will be anxious, Bella and Hugh." + +"But what can they think?" Her cheeks were unexplainably scarlet. +"If I choose to trust you to take care of me, why should they grumble? +And I won't have to spend the night. You don't know how strong I am. +I'm very strong. I don't feel tired. We'll go back by moonlight. +There's a beautiful moon." + +"It will be almost morning." He made a reckless gesture. "Well, it's +too late to think of that now. Come on." + +He threw himself down the bank, held up his hands to catch hers, and +swung her down beside him. The sun slanted warmly along the road and +just ahead flickered the blue ripples of a lake. + +Sylvie moved quickly and easily beside him, barely touching his arm +with her hand. She seemed definitely to decide to put away her +childishness. She treated him as though she had forgotten his supposed +youth; she talked straightforwardly, with a certain dignity, about +her childhood, about her amusing and pitiful experience as a +third-rate little actress, and she asked him a question now and then +half diffidently, which he answered in stumbling, careful speech, +always weighed upon by his promise, by the deception he must practice, +by the dread of what must come. Nevertheless, minute by minute, his +pulse quickened. This, God be thanked, would mean the end. The +insufferable knot of circumstance, so fantastic, so extravagantly +unlivable and unreal, would break, Hugh would tear the tangle of his +making to tatters with angry hands when they got back. His difficult +trust in Pete's promise would go down under the strain of these long +and unexplained hours of Sylvie's absence in his company. It was the +last act in the extravaganza, queer and painful, that had twisted +them all out of their real shapes for the confusion of a blind waif. +This adventure that Sylvie's impatience had planned would bring down +the curtain. After all, no matter what came of it, Pete was glad. +The color warmed his face; his blue eyes deepened; he smiled down +at Sylvie beside him. For this hour she seemed to belong to him +rightfully, naturally, by her own will. He let go of his inhibitions +and resigned himself to Fate. + +When, on the far shore of the lake, the low walls of the +trading-station came in sight, a double image, reflected faithfully +with the strip of sand at its door, the low, level wall of pines +behind and the blue, still sky above, Pete caught the girl's hand +in his. + +"Here we are, Sylvie," he said. "Keep quiet and follow my lead. +Remember, now, that I am supposed to be your husband and you my wife. +Can you play that part?" + +She nodded, bending down her face so that he saw only the tip of her +small, sunburnt chin. She was hatless; the sun struck blue, bright +lines in her black hair. + +"I'll be careful, Pete." + +She pressed his hand, and he returned the pressure. + +The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a +serious buck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret +of their observation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down +one side of which ran a long and littered counter, there was another, +even more interested spectator of the young couple's entrance. He +sat at a small table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and +from over a spread-out time-table he gave them a large and heavy share +of his attention. He was a man of middle age and sturdy build, round, +clean-shaven, dressed in Eastern outing clothes of dignified +correctness. He put on a pair of glasses to peer closer at the two +who came in hand in hand like adventuring children, with the lithe, +half-fearful grace of wild things. + +A tall and sallow man behind the counter smiled under his long, +ragged, blond mustache and made a gesture of polite greeting. + +"Well, you've sure kept us in the dark as to your movements, Peter +Garth. We had no notion there was a bride in these parts until the +sheriff brought us back word the other day. Ma'am, I'm glad to make +your acquaintance." He glanced keenly and curiously at Sylvie's +averted face. + +"I'd have been here before," she said, "but I've been suffering from +snow-blindness." + +"Ah, that's bad sometimes. Your eyes are better now?" + +"Y-yes, I think so." + +"I can give you a first-class lotion, lady." + +Sylvie and he discussed the lotion while Pete stood, drawn up, proud +and silent, his cheeks flushed, waiting to dispose of his pelts. The +bartering prolonged itself in spite of his best endeavors. Sylvie +seemed to have no sense of peril or anxiety. She insisted upon taking +a bite of early supper, forced coffee and bread and meat upon her +companion, and chatted affably. Pete saw that the Eastern stranger +had riveted upon her his attention, that he observed every gesture, +listened to every word, and while she ate, that he walked over and +asked a few murmured questions of the trader, nodding his head, then +shaking it over the answers as though they confirmed some suspicion +or anxiety. + +At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie +come with him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back +over her shoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards +along the beach trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across +the porch and waved his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without +replying. Then came a summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice: +"Hi, there! One moment, please." + +It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunset +light. Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, and +formidable; Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious +summons gave her a first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man's +square body and square, serious face bore down upon them, freighted +with incongruous judgments. He came sturdily, defying the unspoken +threat of loneliness. + +He spoke when he came up to them--spoke with evident effort. + +"My friends," he said, "I am a minister of the gospel, and though +my mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in its +ministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will +not allow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual +aid." + +He cleared his throat. "Your name I didn't catch," he said doubtfully, +and Pete did not supply the knowledge, "but I heard you introduce +this young woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched +you, too, sir; I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you. +I have had much and varied experience in the study of human nature." +Here he put out a broad, clean hand with square finger-tips and lifted +Sylvie's brown, unwilling left hand high from her side. "I am a +minister of the gospel," he repeated. "In a land where such a symbol +is thought much of, this woman has no wedding-ring. There is no +register of your marriage here in the one spot where such a +registration might have been most conveniently made--" + +Sylvie jerked away her fingers; Pete laid down his load and slowly +drew his right hand into a terrible fist. + +"No, no!" The square-tipped fingers were lifted deprecatingly. "You +must not be angry with me, my children. I am not here to judge you. +I have no knowledge of your temptation, of your difficulties; you +have met and loved in a wild and difficult land. I was not even sure +of my surmise. Now, however; your silence and your anger confirm my +opinion. I want only to offer you my services. Will you continue in +your life and love as I have seen them to be, or will you, if only +for the sake of other lives not yet your responsibility--perhaps, +will you take advantage of this opportunity which God has now given +you and let me make you indeed man and wife?" + +Pete's fist was still terrible, and his lips were gathering their +words, when Sylvie unbelievably spoke. + +"Pete," she asked tremulously, and he felt her drawing even closer +to his side, "Pete, don't you want--you _do_ want--I know--I mean, +will you, would you--marry me?" + +He was dumb as a rock, and gray. His hand opened; he stared from her +to the impossible intruder, the worker of the miracle, or rather for +he felt like a beast trapped, the strange layer of the snare. For +an instant the lake and the forest and the red sky turned in a great +wheel before his eyes. Then he caught Sylvie's wrist almost brutally +in his hand. "Be quiet!" he said; it was the savage speaking to his +woman. "You've gone mad. Come with me. As for you, sir, my marrying +or not marrying is none of your business--" + +The minister looked sadly up into the young man's white and rigid +face. + +"God be with you!" + +He bowed, turned and walked back along the beach, hands locked behind +his broad tweed back, his head bent. + +Pete tightened his grip on Sylvie's arm. "Come," he said to her as +harshly as before. "We must hurry. It's nearly night." + +Sylvie set her small teeth tight, bent down her head, and followed +him without a word. Their silence seemed to grow into a pressure, +a weight. It bent Pete's shoulders and Sylvie's slender neck, and +whitened their lips. All that they did not dare to say aloud bulked +itself, huge and thunderous, before the combined consciousness which +makes a strange third companion in such dual silences. They dared +not pause, or look at each other, or move their strained lips for +fear truth, the desperate, treacherous truth, would leap out and link +them like a lightning-flash. The somber forest enveloped them. They +moved through it as through a deep wall that opened by enchantment. +The moon came up, gibbous and white and glittering, paler than silver; +and the forest became streaked and mottled with its light. A soft, +sudden wind tore the light and shade into eerie, dancing ribbons and +tatters and shreds. There were such sounds as are not heard in +daylight--moon sounds and cloud sounds and sounds of dark wind; +branches talked and other small voices answered in anxious undertones. +A moose rubbed his antlers and coughed. They heard his big body +hulking through a swamp down there in a well of darkness. + +"I can't go so fast." Sylvie's shaken voice moved doubtfully. "I'm +tired." + +She pulled at his arm and stopped. The whole forest seemed to sway +and stir and urge them to haste and secrecy. + +"A storm's coming," Pete answered. "I can't carry you, Sylvie, unless +I leave my load." + +"Do you think I'd let you carry me?" she answered through her set +teeth. "I'd rather die here than let you lift me up in your arms. +I'll go on till I drop. I don't care for the storm. But I can't walk +so fast. How can you see? The moon isn't--can't be, I mean--very, +very bright here in the woods." + +"The moon? There's a big storm-cloud just going to wipe it out. +Listen! Don't you hear that thunder, that wind?" + +The storm blew its distant trumpets, shouted louder, trampled the +world with great steps, crashed and came upon them with a wet, cold +blast. They were stunned with noise, dazzled with flashes, smothered +and beaten with long, wet whips. Under a big rocking pine which +shouted with a hundred confused tongues they found a dangerous +shelter. Not far from them a tree was struck, splitting their ears, +half stunning them. When the worst was over, Pete drew Sylvie out +relentlessly and started in the heavily falling rain. The storm was +drawing away, but the night was still impenetrably black. They walked +for a few groping yards when Pete gave a sudden desperate laugh and +stopped. + +"What's the good of this! We're off the trail. We'll have to wait +for the light. My God! How cold and wet and trembling you are." He +threw down his pack, took off his coat, wet only on the outside, and +wrapped it closely about her. She felt that he parted branches for +her, and she knew that they were in a dry, still, scented place whose +walls stirred and breathed. She sank down beside him on the smooth +pine-needles and crept close. They were giddy, beaten and confused; +they felt each other's trembling warmth; for greater comfort she +tucked her hands under his arm. Her head dropped back against his +shoulder so that her breath fell on his cheek. He felt the silent +tears of her humiliation, hot and bitter and human after the cold, +impersonal wetness of rain. It was as though a hand drew them together +in the darkness; they moved numbly at the same instant, by the same +impulse; then with a sort of convulsion they were in each other's +arms. Cold, wet, tremulous, their lips met. The night became the +beating of a heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Hugh sat in his great carved chair, his hands laid out across the +bulky arms, his head bent forward a little so that his eyes +encompassed all the restless beauty of the fire. After nightfall, +when the wind began to shake the cabin, he had built up the fire, +and its light now fought ruddily against the whiteness of the moon. +Hugh had not lighted his lamp, nor let Bella light it, but he told +her to make some strong coffee and keep it hot on the stove. "When +Sylvie comes in," he had said, "she'll be exhausted. We'll give her +a hot drink and send her to bed, eh, Bella! The foolish child!" This +had been said softly, but with a wild, half-vacant look which Bella +could not meet. + +It was her belief that Pete and Sylvie had gone, not to return that +night or any other night. In a desperate, still fashion she guarded +this flaming conviction, peering up from long contemplations of it +to learn whether there flickered any light of torment on Hugh's face. +But all day, after the queer blankness of face and eyes with which +he had first received her news of Sylvie's disappearance, he had been +alternately gay and tranquil. All morning he had mended his boat, +and in the afternoon he had cleaned his gun; and whenever he could +cajole Bella into being his audience, he had talked. His talk was +all of Sylvie, of her pretty childishness, her sweet, wayward ways, +of her shyness, her timidity; and later, when supper was cleared away +and he had throned himself in the center of that familiar circle of +firelight, he had dropped his beautiful voice to a lower key and had +boasted of Sylvie's love for him. + +Bella sat on a big log sawed to the height of a low stool. She sat +with her face bent down between her hands as though she were saving +her eyes from the fire, but those bright, devoted eyes never left +Hugh's face, though sometimes they made of it but a blurred image +set in the broken crystals of her tears. + +Thus, together, they heard the first rumble of the storm and saw the +white squares of moonlight wiped from the floor as with a dark cloth. +Next, the windows seemed to jump at them and jump away. "Lightning!" +said Hugh. "She'll be afraid! Will Pete be able to comfort her? Will +he, Bella?" Then, because she took courage to look into his face, +she saw that his heart had been burnt all day, but that his faith, +stronger than his fear, had kept the flame smothered, almost below +his consciousness. + +While the storm raged across their roof, beat a brutal tattoo close +above their deafened heads, pushed at the door, drove a pool of water +under the threshold, Hugh walked up and down, to and fro, from fire +to window, from door to wall, but not fast, rather with a sort of +stateliness. Sometimes he looked sidelong at Bella's expressionless, +listening face. At last he forced himself back to the chair and sat +there, mechanically polishing the barrel of his gun, but his tongue +still spoke the saga of illusion. It stopped when the storm dropped +into the bottomless silence of dawn. Then there was only the dripping +from their eaves. Hugh sat there, very white, his gun laid across +his lap. Bella, as white, lifted her face. + +"They're coming," she whispered, and got stiffly to her feet. + +Hugh moved back into his chair, turning sidewise and gathering himself +as though for a spring. His nervous hands clutched at his gun. Upon +the silence the door opened, and Pete and Sylvie came into the room. +Wet and storm-beaten and beautiful they were, with scarlet cheeks. + +Pete came quickly over to Hugh's chair; he let fall his pack and gazed +resolutely down at his brother's face. + +"Sylvie had a fancy to come with me to the trading-station," he said. +"She came out after me and didn't overtake me until just where the +trail comes out into the road. We hurried back, but the storm caught +us. It was pitch-black in the woods; we couldn't keep the trail. We +had to wait for daylight. I hope you weren't too anxious about her, +Hugh.--Bella"--he glanced over his shoulder--"could you make us some +hot coffee and help Sylvie into some dry clothes? We are properly +drenched, both of us." + +This speaker of terse, authoritative sentences was not the boy that +had gone out that morning. That boy was gone forever. + +Hugh stood up and looked slowly from Sylvie, who had stayed near the +door and held her head up like a queen, to Pete. + +"Where were you," he asked gently--"where were you while it stormed?" + +Pete moved toward the fire, holding out his hands. "Ugh!" he shivered, +"I'm numb with cold." + +"Where were you," Hugh repeated, "during the storm?" + +Pete lifted his eyes slowly. They were bluer than the blue heart of +a sapphire. "Under a pine-tree," he answered casually enough, and +then, just as Hugh would have smiled, the color creeping up into his +lips, Pete's young and honest blood poured over his forehead, +engulfing him, blazing the truth across his face. Bella saw it and +clenched her hands. Sylvie's cheeks, too, caught fire. Hugh turned +from him, blinded by terror, saw Sylvie's trembling mouth in her dyed +countenance, and turned back. He lifted the hand that had held, all +this while, to the chair, and balled it into a fist. + +"Don't strike him," said Sylvie quietly, not moving from her place +by the door. "Don't ever strike him again--_Ham Rutherford_!" + +Hugh's bones seemed to crumble; his knees bent; he leaned back against +the chair, holding to it behind him with both hands. The gun clattered +to the floor. In the silence Sylvie walked across the room and lifted +her face. As if for the first time they saw her eyes, black and +brilliant and young, sharpening the softness of her features. She +looked at Hugh mercilessly, pitilessly. + +"I've been able to see you for a long time now, Ham Rutherford," she +said. "And the instant I first saw you, I knew your name. Ever since +the night you told me that story about the river, I've been watching +you. You are a great and infamous liar! Yes, I know that you once +killed a man for telling you that. Kill me if you like, for I am going +to repeat it after him--a liar, hideous and deformed outside and in. +I have no pity for a liar. Not even your physical misfortune shall +shield you! You have made too great a mockery of it. You brought me +here, blind, as helpless as one of the things you catch in your traps, +and you played the hero with me. And you fed me with lies and lies +and lies. I've eaten and drunk them until I'm sick. Now stand up and +look at the truth. You are to eat that until _you_ are sick.--No, +Bella; no, Pete; I'm going to speak; no one can stop me. I know you +love him. How you can look at him and see him as he is and know what +he has done and still love him, I can't understand. Now, Hugh +Garth--the name you tried to make me love you by--I'll tell these +people that love you, some of the beautiful fables with which you +tried to win _my_ love. Maybe, then, they will begin to see you as +you are. Here is the first: 'There was once a very noble youth who +had a friend--'" + +"Don't!" Hugh groaned pitifully, his head bent before her. + +"Perhaps I won't; after all, it's not interesting unless you're fool +enough, or blind enough, to be tricked into fancying it's the truth. +But let me tell them some of the other things. This noble youth, this +man sacrificed his life for his friend and bore the blame of that +friend's guilt. He is as handsome as a Viking, the very ideal of a +girl's imagination, strong and shapely and graceful. Has he a humped +shoulder and a lame leg and a scarred face revealing his scarred soul? +Answer me." + +Hugh flinched as though under a lash. + +Pete put out his hand uncertainly; his face was drawn with pain. +"Sylvie--stop. You _must_ stop. You're too cruel. He did lie to you, +but remember, that was because he--" + +The brilliant black eyes flashed back at him. + +"Because he loved me, you were going to say? When you love a woman, +do you try to ruin her life? Do you creep up in the dark under cover +of her blindness and touch her with some dreadful, poisonous wound? +You don't know my horror of that man, Pete. Oh, he kissed--kissed +me!" She shivered. "A murderer! Yes, a murderer. Oh, Ham Rutherford, +if I could only _make_ you see yourself! If I could give you my eyes +when they opened, and I saw Pete's beauty and Bella's sweetness and +the horrible ugliness of you! And then, day by day--you see, I was +afraid to let you know that I _had_ seen you. I was in terror of you, +of what you might do to me. I was afraid of you all; you had all +deceived me. Day by day I learned the utter distortion of you, mind, +body, and soul. How could I help but--but--" She faltered and half +turned to Pete, holding out her hands. Her indignation at the +treachery practiced upon her, an anger that had grown in silence to +unbearable heat, had spent itself in words. She was all for +consolation now--for sympathy. But Pete stepped back from her. He +was looking at Hugh, and his clear, young face was an open wound. + +Hugh pushed himself up and slowly lifted his face. It was then that +he saw Sylvie's hands stretched out to Pete. He started--no one knew +what the convulsive movement meant; but as he started--the gun tripped +him. He caught it up carelessly, blindly. There was a flash--a crash. +Pete leaped and bent, holding his arm. Blood spurted between his +fingers, soaking his wet sleeve; and Sylvie, crying aloud, wrapped +him in trembling, protective arms. + +"I'm not much hurt," he said half dazedly. "It--it was an accident. +He didn't mean it. I was looking at him. The gun went off. He didn't +shoot at me. . . . _Hugh_!" + +The man was staring straight ahead of him, and now he drew his hand +across his eyes, the fingers crooked as though they tore a veil. + +"Now," he said, "I do see myself just as I am. Yes, I did shoot at +you. Yes, I think I meant to kill you. I must have meant to kill you. +That's the truth. For the second time I'm a murderer. Yet now, as +God lives, even if I am down in the dust, I'll lay hold of my stars. +I'm going to walk out of your lives so that they can shape themselves +to their own good ends. Sylvie can shape yours with you, Pete." He +hesitated a moment. "If a coward, a murderer, can say 'God bless you,' +take that blessing!" + +He picked up his gun and shuffled across the floor, flinching aside +from Bella as though he could bear no further touch or word, and went +out of the door, letting in the brightness of the sunrise. + +Pete had sunk into a chair, faint from the shock and weakness of his +wound; and Sylvie bent over him. For a minute, in great and bitter +loneliness Bella stood and watched them; then she followed Hugh. + +He had put down his gun and gone slowly up from the hollow and was +walking along the river-bank. He had the look of a man who strolls +in meditation. When he came to his boat where it lay near the roots +of the three big pines, he turned it over--he had been mending its +bottom the morning of yesterday--and began to push it down toward +the plunging stream. The glitter of morning took all the swirlings +and ripplings and plungings of the swift water in its golden hands. +Hugh steadied the boat. Above him on the bank Bella spoke quietly. + +"Hugh," she said, "look up at me. What are you going to do?" + +He lifted his face, still holding to the boat. + +"What are you going to do?" she repeated. + +"Why do you want to know? You've heard the truth." + +She came down the bank and stood beside him so close that her hair, +loosened by the wind, was blown against his shoulder. She pressed +it back and gazed into his eyes. The inner glow had worn through at +last. She was all warmth, all flame now. She smiled with soft and +parted lips. "Do you think that was the truth of you, my dear," she +said, "_my_ truth of you? I have always seen you as you are. But"--she +drew a big breath, like a climber who has reached the height--"but--I +came to you, didn't I?" + +Hugh's eyes widened, the pupils swallowing her light. "You--you came +to me? Not for Pete's sake?" + +"Never for his sake." + +"But, Bella--you laughed at me." + +"Yes, once, for your poor folly in trying to be what you are not. +When have I ever laughed at what you are? It's what you are I've +loved, my dear, just what you are--a tormented child. Only be honest +with me, Hugh. Tell me what do you want: the moon now or--or all the +truth?" + +"I want the truth--and the end," he said. "I'm going down the river." + +She glanced at the flood as though it were a brook. "I am going with +you then. You must take me. My life has always been yours." + +He laid one of his hands on either of her cheeks so that her face +was framed for him to read. It was flushed; the deep eyes were +beautiful. + +"You--all these empty years! _You_, Bella." It was as though he saw +her now for the first time. The revelation dazzled him. "I've gone +thirsty, with wine at my elbow, until it's too late." He shook his +shoulders. "Come with me, then, if you must." + +She stepped into the boat and sat in the stern, her hands folded in +her lap, her eyes in their great and sudden beauty still fixed on +his face. The wind blew her hair wildly in a long, streaming veil +across her forehead, down her cheek, out over her shoulder. She was +beautiful with the joy that was hers at last. + +Hugh stepped in and stood to push the boat out from the shore. His +eyes never left hers. It was a deep, long look of which her soul +drank, quenching its thirst. Very slowly the boat moved; then it +turned. A hand seemed to grip it's prow. There was a mighty, confused +roaring in their ears; the bank seemed to be snatched back from them. +The sunlight, shone into Hugh's face. Suddenly he caught at his oar. + +"The river is not so high," he shouted; "the flood's going down." +He looked away from her and back. "We have--just a chance. We'll leave +it to the river. It may be the end of you and me--or, Bella, it may +be the beginning." + +He steadied the boat with all his skill. It was drawn with frightful +swiftness down the swollen stream. + + * * * * * + +Before noon Sylvie and Pete moved slowly across the open space and +went back along their forest trail. They walked like lovers, and +Sylvie's arm helped to support him. Just before he stepped in among +the trees he turned for a long, desolate, backward look. + +Now the hoop of green, once white as paper under the noon sun, and +the level, circular rim of the forest are empty and silent except +for the rattling of the river and the moving of the pines against +the fixed, grave stars. The human tragedy--or was it comedy?--has +burnt itself out like the embers of a camp-fire that will never again +be kindled in that lonely spot. + + THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin Burt + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BLIND *** + +This file should be named sblnd10.txt or sblnd10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, sblnd11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, sblnd10a.txt + +Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett from the book. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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