it is a long drive in from the railroad to morrison's. hite called it eighteen good miles; the clown put it at nineteen; what the old dog estimated it at none knew. he had always trotted the distance cheerfully.
from thayor's private flag station, the main road into big shanty snakes along over a flat, sparsely settled valley before it enters the deep woods. once in the heavy timber it crossed chattering brooks skirting the ragged edges of wild ravines. on it goes through the forest mile after mile, up hill and down, until it emerges abruptly into the open country at the head of the "deadwater," passes morrison's, is met half a mile farther on by the new road leading down from big shanty camp, and continues straight ahead through a rough notch out to a valley twelve miles beyond.
it was over this road that alice thayor went to her exile.
thayor and holcomb, this rare august afternoon, were at the flag station to meet the "wanderer"—the banker's private car, with a spick-and-span three-seated buckboard and a fast team of bays. aboard the car were alice and margaret, blakeman and annette.
alice thayor's first meeting with holcomb since the time when he saved her husband's life, consisted of a slight nod of recognition and an annoyed "how do you do?" she wore a smart travelling gown of scotch homespun and a becoming toque of gray straw enveloped in a filmy dragon-green veil. holcomb thought it strange that thayor kissed his daughter and simply greeted his wife with the question, "i do hope you were comfortable, dear, coming up?"
"the heat was something frightful," she replied, lifting the dragon-green veil wearily and binding it straight across her forehead. "my head is splitting."
holcomb glanced at her exquisite features. the brilliancy of her dark eyes was enhanced by the pallor of her ivory skin. alice thayor loathed travelling.
margaret had greeted him far more graciously; she had extended her firm little gloved hand to him, with genuine delight in her brown eyes, and had told him how very glad indeed she was to see him—which was the truth. during the drive in her mother scarcely opened her lips. she sat in the middle seat beside her daughter, haughtily gracious and inwardly bored. margaret's enthusiasm irritated her. the woman going to her exile was in no mood to enthuse over nature. holcomb drove, with thayor on the front seat beside him; on the back seat sat blakeman and annette, in respectful silence. as they entered the deep woods at a smart trot, margaret half closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy and drew in a long, delicious breath of forest air.
"my—but that's good, daddy!" she exclaimed. everything was of intense interest to her. the sudden glimpse of some great mountain towering above the trees; the velvety green, billowy moss; the merry little brooks they crossed; the whirring flight of a startled partridge and now the sinking sun flooding the silent woods with gold. when she was not in ecstasies over these, her brown eyes glanced at the clean-cut, handsome profile of the young woodsman who was so skilfully driving the bay team.
he was no longer the awkward and embarrassed young fellow she remembered that summer at long lake. he had, she realized much to her agreeable surprise, the ease and manner of a well-bred man about him now. his honest, cheery frankness appealed to her; moreover, she thought him exceedingly handsome.
"that's where the line crosses," said holcomb, pointing quickly to a blazed hemlock.
"oh, look, mother—quick!" cried margaret.
"we're in big shanty tract now, dear," explained thayor. "the line we have just passed strikes due east from here and runs—how far, billy?"
"oh—clear to alder brook—about fifteen miles, before it corners south."
alice's lips grew tense; she was beginning to realize the vastness of her husband's purchase. she began to wonder, too, how much it had cost him—this folly of sam's.
"and is it all as beautiful as this?" asked margaret of the young man whose strong brown hands held the reins.
"yes, miss thayor, and some of it is a good deal better looking."
"you shall see, dearie," added thayor; "i've a surprise in store for you both—yes, a hundred surprises. we will cross the east branch of big shanty brook in a moment—that is surprise number one. how is the headache, alice—better?"
"a little," she returned indifferently.
"listen!" said thayor; "hear it? that's the east branch roaring."
"oh—i'm just crazy to see it!" cried margaret. "it was on the west
branch you killed the deer, wasn't it, daddy?"
thayor nodded and smiled.
"now look, puss!" he commanded, as they reached the rough bridge spanning the east branch.
margaret peered down into the heavy black water a hundred feet below them.
"daddy, it's gorgeous—simply gorgeous," exclaimed margaret. "look, mother, at the water swirling through that green pool. oh, do look, mother." alice condescended to look.
"isn't it superb, alice?" ventured thayor.
"yes—sam—but lonely."
in the twilight the great brook boiled below them.
"it ain't so lonely," remarked holcomb pleasantly, turning to mrs. thayor, "when the sun is shining." he had dropped into his native dialect, which now and then cropped out in his speech.
"i suppose it ain't," said alice in a whisper to margaret. the girl touched her mother's arm pleadingly.
"please don't," she said; "he might hear you. it really isn't kind in you, mother. you know they speak so differently in the country."
holcomb had heard it, but not a muscle twitched in resentment. he tightened the reins, and for a mile drove in silence.
"and this is the man your father lunched with at the players," continued alice under her breath.
margaret did not reply.
presently they came out into the valley at the head of the deadwater, still as ink, reflecting the barkless trees it had killed so clearly that it was difficult to see the point of immersion. then the plain gabled roof of morrison's came into view above a flat of young poplars, the silver leaves shivering in the breeze.
morrison, who had been sweeping off his narrow porch, in his shirt-sleeves, came out into the road at the rapid approach of the buckboard.
"hello thar!" he shouted, and holcomb stopped at an insistent gesture from the proprietor.
"hain't seen nothin' of a barril of kerosene fer me down thar, hev ye?" he asked. "gosh durn it!—it oughter been here more'n a week ago."
"nothing there for you. jimmy's coming along with the trunks," replied
holcomb. "he won't start before the freight gets in."
"evenin', mr. thayor," said morrison. "wall, ye've got 'em all here now, haven't ye?" he remarked, running his shrewd eyes over the filled seats.
"mrs. thayor and my daughter, mr. morrison," said thayor.
"pleased to meet you, marm." morrison raised his hat and stretched out a coarse red hand. alice extended three fingers of her own despite her repulsion. there was really no other way out of it. "and here's the little gal, i 'spose," continued the proprietor. margaret laughed as she shook hands. "won't ye stop and take something, friend?" he asked blakeman. blakeman raised his eyebrows in protest.
"mon dieu!" whispered annette.
"relations of yourn, mrs. thayor?" asked morrison, noticing annette's embarrassment.
alice straightened. "my maid!" she said stiffly.
"wall, i'm sorry none of ye ain't dry," said morrison.
"no, thank you," replied thayor; "we must be getting up to camp."
again the bays fell into a brisk trot.
alice was furious.
"who is that dreadful person, sam?" she asked.
"you must not mind him, alice. he meant well enough," explained her husband. "morrison's rough, i'll grant you, but he's a good fellow at heart."
"it was only his way," added holcomb. "he didn't mean to be impolite,
mrs. thayor."
"of course he didn't, mother," added margaret with a glance at
holcomb.
the bays turned suddenly to the left into the new road. alice emitted a sigh of relief. there was a sense of luxury—of exclusiveness—in passing over its smooth surface. morrison and his common hotel, with its blear-eyed windows, were now well out of sight. presently the camp lay ahead of them—an orderly settlement of trim buildings. margaret was too excited to do more than gaze ahead of her with eager interest.
"here we are!" exclaimed thayor. "there, alice, you can thank mr.
holcomb for all you see; i really had nothing to do with it."
his wife did not reply. only margaret's eyes met his own—a pair of brown eyes that seemed to be half sunshine and half tears.
as they drew up to the wide veranda of the camp, the trapper and the clown came slowly across the compound to meet them; at the heels of the trapper stalked the old dog, watching the new arrivals with a certain dignified interest.
there was nothing strange in the fact that when alice thayor saw big shanty camp she made no comment. it was a bitter disappointment to thayor, yet he knew in his heart that he could not have expected her to do otherwise. having reached her exile she had been careful to conceal any outward expression of her approval or dislike. had the camp at that moment been filled with a jolly house-party, including dr. sperry, she could have been content to romp in a fashionable way within it for a week—even a fortnight. it was the thought that it was her home—a home which she had tried to evade and had been brought to bodily in the end—that rankled in her heart. she retired early, but could not sleep. she lay in bed for an hour or more, turning over in her mind the situation. the realization of her defeat stirred within her the old dominant spirit. she realized that her imprisonment had begun. after half an hour more of restless thinking she crept out of bed, tucked her feet into a pair of slippers, drew a silk wrapper about her and crossed to the open window. leaning with her elbows upon its sill she stood for a long time gazing out over the wilderness.
the night was mild and hushed. it was almost certain that with dawn would come a downpour of rain; the tree-toads already heralded the good news. the dry hemlocks whispered it. bathed in a gauze of moonlight the forest rolled away—silent—mighty in its expanse—promising nothing. big shanty brook gleamed defiantly past in a riot of rapids and whirlpools. flashing in the crisp sunlight, these rapids and whirlpools shone in inviting splendour; at night they became terrible.
it was this torrent that swept below the woman leaning on the window sill; it mocked her, roaring with joy, chuckling to itself at the prisoner, every leaping crest in the chaos of foam rearing again for a last glimpse of the exile, and, having seen, dashed on to give place to those who followed. little waves fawned by, partisans in the same mockery.
suddenly she buried her face in her ringless hands:
"my god—i can't stand this!" she moaned. "i can't and i won't!" she muttered helplessly. then she broke into hysterical sobbing, pressing her nails into the sensitive flesh of her temples; her lips trembling in a nervous chill. her body grew cold, chilling even her bare feet thrust deep in her slippers. the torrent of big shanty became to her a jeering crowd, unlimitless—that poured from nowhere and dashed on into the unknown. she shut her eyes tight. in the darkness now she saw only sperry; she saw him plainly—close to her, as one sees a face in a dream. she felt the idle, comforting tone of his voice—the warm pressure of his hand—and with her mental vision, looked into his eyes.
"be patient, dear friend," he said to her quite clearly. could she have looked on sperry at that moment she would have found him playing billiards at his club, his whole mind occupied in making a difficult carom shot. when he made it he ordered a fresh brandy and soda.
the roar of big shanty continued. an owl screamed hoarsely from somewhere in the timber below. alice shuddered, her cheeks burning against the palms of her cold hands, and crept back to bed.
margaret, too, had been gazing out of her window. big shanty to her meant a new life—she, too, had been crying, but from sheer happiness.
