*********************************************************************** there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed at ebook (# ) which contains an illustrated html file *********************************************************************** the scarlet letter by nathaniel hawthorne editor's note nathaniel hawthorne was already a man of forty-six, and a tale writer of some twenty-four years' standing, when "the scarlet letter" appeared. he was born at salem, mass., on july th, , son of a sea-captain. he led there a shy and rather sombre life; of few artistic encouragements, yet not wholly uncongenial, his moody, intensely meditative temperament being considered. its colours and shadows are marvelously reflected in his "twice-told tales" and other short stories, the product of his first literary period. even his college days at bowdoin did not quite break through his acquired and inherited reserve; but beneath it all, his faculty of divining men and women was exercised with almost uncanny prescience and subtlety. "the scarlet letter," which explains as much of this unique imaginative art, as is to be gathered from reading his highest single achievement, yet needs to be ranged with his other writings, early and late, to have its last effect. in the year that saw it published, he began "the house of the seven gables," a later romance or prose-tragedy of the puritan-american community as he had himself known it-- defrauded of art and the joy of life, "starving for symbols" as emerson has it. nathaniel hawthorne died at plymouth, new hampshire, on may th, . the following is the table of his romances, stories, and other works: fanshawe, published anonymously, ; twice-told tales, st series, ; nd series, ; grandfather's chair, a history for youth, : famous old people (grandfather's chair), liberty tree: with the last words of grandfather's chair, ; biographical stories for children, ; mosses from an old manse, ; the scarlet letter, ; the house of the seven gables, : true stories from history and biography (the whole history of grandfather's chair), a wonder book for girls and boys, ; the snow image and other tales, : the blithedale romance, ; life of franklin pierce, ; tanglewood tales ( nd series of the wonder book), ; a rill from the town-pump, with remarks, by telba, ; the marble faun; or, the romance of monte beni ( editor's note) (published in england under the title of "transformation"), , our old home, ; dolliver romance ( st part in "atlantic monthly"), ; in parts, ; pansie, a fragment, hawthorne' last literary effort, ; american note-books, ; english note books, edited by sophia hawthorne, ; french and italian note books, ; septimius felton; or, the elixir of life (from the "atlantic monthly"), ; doctor grimshawe's secret, with preface and notes by julian hawthorne, . tales of the white hills, legends of new england, legends of the province house, , contain tales which had already been printed in book form in "twice-told tales" and the "mosses" "sketched and studies," . hawthorne's contributions to magazines were numerous, and most of his tales appeared first in periodicals, chiefly in "the token," - , "new england magazine," , ; "knickerbocker," - ; "democratic review," - ; "atlantic monthly," - (scenes from the dolliver romance, septimius felton, and passages from hawthorne's note-books). works: in volumes, ; in volumes, with introductory notes by lathrop, riverside edition, . biography, etc.; a. h. japp (pseud. h. a. page), memoir of n. hawthorne, ; j. t. field's "yesterdays with authors," g. p. lathrop, "a study of hawthorne," ; henry james english men of letters, ; julian hawthorne, "nathaniel hawthorne and his wife," ; moncure d. conway, life of nathaniel hawthorne, ; analytical index of hawthorne's works, by e. m. o'connor . contents introductory. the custom-house chapter i. the prison-door chapter ii. the market-place chapter iii. the recognition chapter iv. the interview chapter v. hester at her needle chapter vi. pearl chapter vii. the governor's hall chapter viii. the elf-child and the minister chapter ix. the leech chapter x. the leech and his patient chapter xi. the interior of a heart chapter xii. the minister's vigil chapter xiii. another view of hester chapter xiv. hester and the physician chapter xv. hester and pearl chapter xvi. a forest walk chapter xvii. the pastor and his parishioner chapter xviii. a flood of sunshine chapter xix. the child at the brook-side chapter xx. the minister in a maze chapter xxi. the new england holiday chapter xxii. the procession chapter xxiii. the revelation of the scarlet letter chapter xxiv. conclusion the custom-house introductory to "the scarlet letter" it is a little remarkable, that--though disinclined to talk overmuch of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my personal friends--an autobiographical impulse should twice in my life have taken possession of me, in addressing the public. the first time was three or four years since, when i favoured the reader--inexcusably, and for no earthly reason that either the indulgent reader or the intrusive author could imagine--with a description of my way of life in the deep quietude of an old manse. and now--because, beyond my deserts, i was happy enough to find a listener or two on the former occasion--i again seize the public by the button, and talk of my three years' experience in a custom-house. the example of the famous "p. p., clerk of this parish," was never more faithfully followed. the truth seems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth upon the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be addressed only and exclusively to the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment of the writer's own nature, and complete his circle of existence by bringing him into communion with it. it is scarcely decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak impersonally. but, as thoughts are frozen and utterance benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk; and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness, we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the inmost me behind its veil. to this extent, and within these limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical, without violating either the reader's rights or his own. it will be seen, likewise, that this custom-house sketch has a certain propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, as explaining how a large portion of the following pages came into my possession, and as offering proofs of the authenticity of a narrative therein contained. this, in fact--a desire to put myself in my true position as editor, or very little more, of the most prolix among the tales that make up my volume--this, and no other, is my true reason for assuming a personal relation with the public. in accomplishing the main purpose, it has appeared allowable, by a few extra touches, to give a faint representation of a mode of life not heretofore described, together with some of the characters that move in it, among whom the author happened to make one. in my native town of salem, at the head of what, half a century ago, in the days of old king derby, was a bustling wharf--but which is now burdened with decayed wooden warehouses, and exhibits few or no symptoms of commercial life; except, perhaps, a bark or brig, half-way down its melancholy length, discharging hides; or, nearer at hand, a nova scotia schooner, pitching out her cargo of firewood--at the head, i say, of this dilapidated wharf, which the tide often overflows, and along which, at the base and in the rear of the row of buildings, the track of many languid years is seen in a border of unthrifty grass--here, with a view from its front windows adown this not very enlivening prospect, and thence across the harbour, stands a spacious edifice of brick. from the loftiest point of its roof, during precisely three and a half hours of each forenoon, floats or droops, in breeze or calm, the banner of the republic; but with the thirteen stripes turned vertically, instead of horizontally, and thus indicating that a civil, and not a military, post of uncle sam's government is here established. its front is ornamented with a portico of half-a-dozen wooden pillars, supporting a balcony, beneath which a flight of wide granite steps descends towards the street. over the entrance hovers an enormous specimen of the american eagle, with outspread wings, a shield before her breast, and, if i recollect aright, a bunch of intermingled thunderbolts and barbed arrows in each claw. with the customary infirmity of temper that characterizes this unhappy fowl, she appears by the fierceness of her beak and eye, and the general truculency of her attitude, to threaten mischief to the inoffensive community; and especially to warn all citizens careful of their safety against intruding on the premises which she overshadows with her wings. nevertheless, vixenly as she looks, many people are seeking at this very moment to shelter themselves under the wing of the federal eagle; imagining, i presume, that her bosom has all the softness and snugness of an eiderdown pillow. but she has no great tenderness even in her best of moods, and, sooner or later--oftener soon than late--is apt to fling off her nestlings with a scratch of her claw, a dab of her beak, or a rankling wound from her barbed arrows. the pavement round about the above-described edifice--which we may as well name at once as the custom-house of the port--has grass enough growing in its chinks to show that it has not, of late days, been worn by any multitudinous resort of business. in some months of the year, however, there often chances a forenoon when affairs move onward with a livelier tread. such occasions might remind the elderly citizen of that period, before the last war with england, when salem was a port by itself; not scorned, as she is now, by her own merchants and ship-owners, who permit her wharves to crumble to ruin while their ventures go to swell, needlessly and imperceptibly, the mighty flood of commerce at new york or boston. on some such morning, when three or four vessels happen to have arrived at once usually from africa or south america--or to be on the verge of their departure thitherward, there is a sound of frequent feet passing briskly up and down the granite steps. here, before his own wife has greeted him, you may greet the sea-flushed ship-master, just in port, with his vessel's papers under his arm in a tarnished tin box. here, too, comes his owner, cheerful, sombre, gracious or in the sulks, accordingly as his scheme of the now accomplished voyage has been realized in merchandise that will readily be turned to gold, or has buried him under a bulk of incommodities such as nobody will care to rid him of. here, likewise--the germ of the wrinkle-browed, grizzly-bearded, careworn merchant--we have the smart young clerk, who gets the taste of traffic as a wolf-cub does of blood, and already sends adventures in his master's ships, when he had better be sailing mimic boats upon a mill-pond. another figure in the scene is the outward-bound sailor, in quest of a protection; or the recently arrived one, pale and feeble, seeking a passport to the hospital. nor must we forget the captains of the rusty little schooners that bring firewood from the british provinces; a rough-looking set of tarpaulins, without the alertness of the yankee aspect, but contributing an item of no slight importance to our decaying trade. cluster all these individuals together, as they sometimes were, with other miscellaneous ones to diversify the group, and, for the time being, it made the custom-house a stirring scene. more frequently, however, on ascending the steps, you would discern-- in the entry if it were summer time, or in their appropriate rooms if wintry or inclement weathers--a row of venerable figures, sitting in old-fashioned chairs, which were tipped on their hind legs back against the wall. oftentimes they were asleep, but occasionally might be heard talking together, in voices between a speech and a snore, and with that lack of energy that distinguishes the occupants of alms-houses, and all other human beings who depend for subsistence on charity, on monopolized labour, or anything else but their own independent exertions. these old gentlemen--seated, like matthew at the receipt of custom, but not very liable to be summoned thence, like him, for apostolic errands--were custom-house officers. furthermore, on the left hand as you enter the front door, is a certain room or office, about fifteen feet square, and of a lofty height, with two of its arched windows commanding a view of the aforesaid dilapidated wharf, and the third looking across a narrow lane, and along a portion of derby street. all three give glimpses of the shops of grocers, block-makers, slop-sellers, and ship-chandlers, around the doors of which are generally to be seen, laughing and gossiping, clusters of old salts, and such other wharf-rats as haunt the wapping of a seaport. the room itself is cobwebbed, and dingy with old paint; its floor is strewn with grey sand, in a fashion that has elsewhere fallen into long disuse; and it is easy to conclude, from the general slovenliness of the place, that this is a sanctuary into which womankind, with her tools of magic, the broom and mop, has very infrequent access. in the way of furniture, there is a stove with a voluminous funnel; an old pine desk with a three-legged stool beside it; two or three wooden-bottom chairs, exceedingly decrepit and infirm; and--not to forget the library--on some shelves, a score or two of volumes of the acts of congress, and a bulky digest of the revenue laws. a tin pipe ascends through the ceiling, and forms a medium of vocal communication with other parts of the edifice. and here, some six months ago--pacing from corner to corner, or lounging on the long-legged stool, with his elbow on the desk, and his eyes wandering up and down the columns of the morning newspaper--you might have recognised, honoured reader, the same individual who welcomed you into his cheery little study, where the sunshine glimmered so pleasantly through the willow branches on the western side of the old manse. but now, should you go thither to seek him, you would inquire in vain for the locofoco surveyor. the besom of reform hath swept him out of office, and a worthier successor wears his dignity and pockets his emoluments. this old town of salem--my native place, though i have dwelt much away from it both in boyhood and maturer years--possesses, or did possess, a hold on my affection, the force of which i have never realized during my seasons of actual residence here. indeed, so far as its physical aspect is concerned, with its flat, unvaried surface, covered chiefly with wooden houses, few or none of which pretend to architectural beauty--its irregularity, which is neither picturesque nor quaint, but only tame--its long and lazy street, lounging wearisomely through the whole extent of the peninsula, with gallows hill and new guinea at one end, and a view of the alms-house at the other--such being the features of my native town, it would be quite as reasonable to form a sentimental attachment to a disarranged checker-board. and yet, though invariably happiest elsewhere, there is within me a feeling for old salem, which, in lack of a better phrase, i must be content to call affection. the sentiment is probably assignable to the deep and aged roots which my family has stuck into the soil. it is now nearly two centuries and a quarter since the original briton, the earliest emigrant of my name, made his appearance in the wild and forest-bordered settlement which has since become a city. and here his descendants have been born and died, and have mingled their earthly substance with the soil, until no small portion of it must necessarily be akin to the mortal frame wherewith, for a little while, i walk the streets. in part, therefore, the attachment which i speak of is the mere sensuous sympathy of dust for dust. few of my countrymen can know what it is; nor, as frequent transplantation is perhaps better for the stock, need they consider it desirable to know. but the sentiment has likewise its moral quality. the figure of that first ancestor, invested by family tradition with a dim and dusky grandeur, was present to my boyish imagination as far back as i can remember. it still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-feeling with the past, which i scarcely claim in reference to the present phase of the town. i seem to have a stronger claim to a residence here on account of this grave, bearded, sable-cloaked, and steeple-crowned progenitor--who came so early, with his bible and his sword, and trode the unworn street with such a stately port, and made so large a figure, as a man of war and peace--a stronger claim than for myself, whose name is seldom heard and my face hardly known. he was a soldier, legislator, judge; he was a ruler in the church; he had all the puritanic traits, both good and evil. he was likewise a bitter persecutor; as witness the quakers, who have remembered him in their histories, and relate an incident of his hard severity towards a woman of their sect, which will last longer, it is to be feared, than any record of his better deeds, although these were many. his son, too, inherited the persecuting spirit, and made himself so conspicuous in the martyrdom of the witches, that their blood may fairly be said to have left a stain upon him. so deep a stain, indeed, that his dry old bones, in the charter-street burial-ground, must still retain it, if they have not crumbled utterly to dust! i know not whether these ancestors of mine bethought themselves to repent, and ask pardon of heaven for their cruelties; or whether they are now groaning under the heavy consequences of them in another state of being. at all events, i, the present writer, as their representative, hereby take shame upon myself for their sakes, and pray that any curse incurred by them--as i have heard, and as the dreary and unprosperous condition of the race, for many a long year back, would argue to exist--may be now and henceforth removed. doubtless, however, either of these stern and black-browed puritans would have thought it quite a sufficient retribution for his sins that, after so long a lapse of years, the old trunk of the family tree, with so much venerable moss upon it, should have borne, as its topmost bough, an idler like myself. no aim that i have ever cherished would they recognise as laudable; no success of mine--if my life, beyond its domestic scope, had ever been brightened by success--would they deem otherwise than worthless, if not positively disgraceful. "what is he?" murmurs one grey shadow of my forefathers to the other. "a writer of story books! what kind of business in life--what mode of glorifying god, or being serviceable to mankind in his day and generation--may that be? why, the degenerate fellow might as well have been a fiddler!" such are the compliments bandied between my great grandsires and myself, across the gulf of time! and yet, let them scorn me as they will, strong traits of their nature have intertwined themselves with mine. planted deep, in the town's earliest infancy and childhood, by these two earnest and energetic men, the race has ever since subsisted here; always, too, in respectability; never, so far as i have known, disgraced by a single unworthy member; but seldom or never, on the other hand, after the first two generations, performing any memorable deed, or so much as putting forward a claim to public notice. gradually, they have sunk almost out of sight; as old houses, here and there about the streets, get covered half-way to the eaves by the accumulation of new soil. from father to son, for above a hundred years, they followed the sea; a grey-headed shipmaster, in each generation, retiring from the quarter-deck to the homestead, while a boy of fourteen took the hereditary place before the mast, confronting the salt spray and the gale which had blustered against his sire and grandsire. the boy, also in due time, passed from the forecastle to the cabin, spent a tempestuous manhood, and returned from his world-wanderings, to grow old, and die, and mingle his dust with the natal earth. this long connexion of a family with one spot, as its place of birth and burial, creates a kindred between the human being and the locality, quite independent of any charm in the scenery or moral circumstances that surround him. it is not love but instinct. the new inhabitant--who came himself from a foreign land, or whose father or grandfather came--has little claim to be called a salemite; he has no conception of the oyster-like tenacity with which an old settler, over whom his third century is creeping, clings to the spot where his successive generations have been embedded. it is no matter that the place is joyless for him; that he is weary of the old wooden houses, the mud and dust, the dead level of site and sentiment, the chill east wind, and the chillest of social atmospheres;--all these, and whatever faults besides he may see or imagine, are nothing to the purpose. the spell survives, and just as powerfully as if the natal spot were an earthly paradise. so has it been in my case. i felt it almost as a destiny to make salem my home; so that the mould of features and cast of character which had all along been familiar here--ever, as one representative of the race lay down in the grave, another assuming, as it were, his sentry-march along the main street--might still in my little day be seen and recognised in the old town. nevertheless, this very sentiment is an evidence that the connexion, which has become an unhealthy one, should at last be severed. human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and re-planted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. my children have had other birth-places, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth. on emerging from the old manse, it was chiefly this strange, indolent, unjoyous attachment for my native town that brought me to fill a place in uncle sam's brick edifice, when i might as well, or better, have gone somewhere else. my doom was on me. it was not the first time, nor the second, that i had gone away--as it seemed, permanently--but yet returned, like the bad halfpenny, or as if salem were for me the inevitable centre of the universe. so, one fine morning i ascended the flight of granite steps, with the president's commission in my pocket, and was introduced to the corps of gentlemen who were to aid me in my weighty responsibility as chief executive officer of the custom-house. i doubt greatly--or, rather, i do not doubt at all--whether any public functionary of the united states, either in the civil or military line, has ever had such a patriarchal body of veterans under his orders as myself. the whereabouts of the oldest inhabitant was at once settled when i looked at them. for upwards of twenty years before this epoch, the independent position of the collector had kept the salem custom-house out of the whirlpool of political vicissitude, which makes the tenure of office generally so fragile. a soldier--new england's most distinguished soldier--he stood firmly on the pedestal of his gallant services; and, himself secure in the wise liberality of the successive administrations through which he had held office, he had been the safety of his subordinates in many an hour of danger and heart-quake. general miller was radically conservative; a man over whose kindly nature habit had no slight influence; attaching himself strongly to familiar faces, and with difficulty moved to change, even when change might have brought unquestionable improvement. thus, on taking charge of my department, i found few but aged men. they were ancient sea-captains, for the most part, who, after being tossed on every sea, and standing up sturdily against life's tempestuous blast, had finally drifted into this quiet nook, where, with little to disturb them, except the periodical terrors of a presidential election, they one and all acquired a new lease of existence. though by no means less liable than their fellow-men to age and infirmity, they had evidently some talisman or other that kept death at bay. two or three of their number, as i was assured, being gouty and rheumatic, or perhaps bed-ridden, never dreamed of making their appearance at the custom-house during a large part of the year; but, after a torpid winter, would creep out into the warm sunshine of may or june, go lazily about what they termed duty, and, at their own leisure and convenience, betake themselves to bed again. i must plead guilty to the charge of abbreviating the official breath of more than one of these venerable servants of the republic. they were allowed, on my representation, to rest from their arduous labours, and soon afterwards--as if their sole principle of life had been zeal for their country's service--as i verily believe it was--withdrew to a better world. it is a pious consolation to me that, through my interference, a sufficient space was allowed them for repentance of the evil and corrupt practices into which, as a matter of course, every custom-house officer must be supposed to fall. neither the front nor the back entrance of the custom-house opens on the road to paradise. the greater part of my officers were whigs. it was well for their venerable brotherhood that the new surveyor was not a politician, and though a faithful democrat in principle, neither received nor held his office with any reference to political services. had it been otherwise--had an active politician been put into this influential post, to assume the easy task of making head against a whig collector, whose infirmities withheld him from the personal administration of his office--hardly a man of the old corps would have drawn the breath of official life within a month after the exterminating angel had come up the custom-house steps. according to the received code in such matters, it would have been nothing short of duty, in a politician, to bring every one of those white heads under the axe of the guillotine. it was plain enough to discern that the old fellows dreaded some such discourtesy at my hands. it pained, and at the same time amused me, to behold the terrors that attended my advent, to see a furrowed cheek, weather-beaten by half a century of storm, turn ashy pale at the glance of so harmless an individual as myself; to detect, as one or another addressed me, the tremor of a voice which, in long-past days, had been wont to bellow through a speaking-trumpet, hoarsely enough to frighten boreas himself to silence. they knew, these excellent old persons, that, by all established rule--and, as regarded some of them, weighed by their own lack of efficiency for business--they ought to have given place to younger men, more orthodox in politics, and altogether fitter than themselves to serve our common uncle. i knew it, too, but could never quite find in my heart to act upon the knowledge. much and deservedly to my own discredit, therefore, and considerably to the detriment of my official conscience, they continued, during my incumbency, to creep about the wharves, and loiter up and down the custom-house steps. they spent a good deal of time, also, asleep in their accustomed corners, with their chairs tilted back against the walls; awaking, however, once or twice in the forenoon, to bore one another with the several thousandth repetition of old sea-stories and mouldy jokes, that had grown to be passwords and countersigns among them. the discovery was soon made, i imagine, that the new surveyor had no great harm in him. so, with lightsome hearts and the happy consciousness of being usefully employed--in their own behalf at least, if not for our beloved country--these good old gentlemen went through the various formalities of office. sagaciously under their spectacles, did they peep into the holds of vessels. mighty was their fuss about little matters, and marvellous, sometimes, the obtuseness that allowed greater ones to slip between their fingers whenever such a mischance occurred--when a waggon-load of valuable merchandise had been smuggled ashore, at noonday, perhaps, and directly beneath their unsuspicious noses--nothing could exceed the vigilance and alacrity with which they proceeded to lock, and double-lock, and secure with tape and sealing-wax, all the avenues of the delinquent vessel. instead of a reprimand for their previous negligence, the case seemed rather to require an eulogium on their praiseworthy caution after the mischief had happened; a grateful recognition of the promptitude of their zeal the moment that there was no longer any remedy. unless people are more than commonly disagreeable, it is my foolish habit to contract a kindness for them. the better part of my companion's character, if it have a better part, is that which usually comes uppermost in my regard, and forms the type whereby i recognise the man. as most of these old custom-house officers had good traits, and as my position in reference to them, being paternal and protective, was favourable to the growth of friendly sentiments, i soon grew to like them all. it was pleasant in the summer forenoons--when the fervent heat, that almost liquefied the rest of the human family, merely communicated a genial warmth to their half torpid systems--it was pleasant to hear them chatting in the back entry, a row of them all tipped against the wall, as usual; while the frozen witticisms of past generations were thawed out, and came bubbling with laughter from their lips. externally, the jollity of aged men has much in common with the mirth of children; the intellect, any more than a deep sense of humour, has little to do with the matter; it is, with both, a gleam that plays upon the surface, and imparts a sunny and cheery aspect alike to the green branch and grey, mouldering trunk. in one case, however, it is real sunshine; in the other, it more resembles the phosphorescent glow of decaying wood. it would be sad injustice, the reader must understand, to represent all my excellent old friends as in their dotage. in the first place, my coadjutors were not invariably old; there were men among them in their strength and prime, of marked ability and energy, and altogether superior to the sluggish and dependent mode of life on which their evil stars had cast them. then, moreover, the white locks of age were sometimes found to be the thatch of an intellectual tenement in good repair. but, as respects the majority of my corps of veterans, there will be no wrong done if i characterize them generally as a set of wearisome old souls, who had gathered nothing worth preservation from their varied experience of life. they seemed to have flung away all the golden grain of practical wisdom, which they had enjoyed so many opportunities of harvesting, and most carefully to have stored their memory with the husks. they spoke with far more interest and unction of their morning's breakfast, or yesterday's, to-day's, or tomorrow's dinner, than of the shipwreck of forty or fifty years ago, and all the world's wonders which they had witnessed with their youthful eyes. the father of the custom-house--the patriarch, not only of this little squad of officials, but, i am bold to say, of the respectable body of tide-waiters all over the united states--was a certain permanent inspector. he might truly be termed a legitimate son of the revenue system, dyed in the wool, or rather born in the purple; since his sire, a revolutionary colonel, and formerly collector of the port, had created an office for him, and appointed him to fill it, at a period of the early ages which few living men can now remember. this inspector, when i first knew him, was a man of fourscore years, or thereabouts, and certainly one of the most wonderful specimens of winter-green that you would be likely to discover in a lifetime's search. with his florid cheek, his compact figure smartly arrayed in a bright-buttoned blue coat, his brisk and vigorous step, and his hale and hearty aspect, altogether he seemed--not young, indeed--but a kind of new contrivance of mother nature in the shape of man, whom age and infirmity had no business to touch. his voice and laugh, which perpetually re-echoed through the custom-house, had nothing of the tremulous quaver and cackle of an old man's utterance; they came strutting out of his lungs, like the crow of a cock, or the blast of a clarion. looking at him merely as an animal--and there was very little else to look at--he was a most satisfactory object, from the thorough healthfulness and wholesomeness of his system, and his capacity, at that extreme age, to enjoy all, or nearly all, the delights which he had ever aimed at or conceived of. the careless security of his life in the custom-house, on a regular income, and with but slight and infrequent apprehensions of removal, had no doubt contributed to make time pass lightly over him. the original and more potent causes, however, lay in the rare perfection of his animal nature, the moderate proportion of intellect, and the very trifling admixture of moral and spiritual ingredients; these latter qualities, indeed, being in barely enough measure to keep the old gentleman from walking on all-fours. he possessed no power of thought, no depth of feeling, no troublesome sensibilities: nothing, in short, but a few commonplace instincts, which, aided by the cheerful temper which grew inevitably out of his physical well-being, did duty very respectably, and to general acceptance, in lieu of a heart. he had been the husband of three wives, all long since dead; the father of twenty children, most of whom, at every age of childhood or maturity, had likewise returned to dust. here, one would suppose, might have been sorrow enough to imbue the sunniest disposition through and through with a sable tinge. not so with our old inspector. one brief sigh sufficed to carry off the entire burden of these dismal reminiscences. the next moment he was as ready for sport as any unbreeched infant: far readier than the collector's junior clerk, who at nineteen years was much the elder and graver man of the two. i used to watch and study this patriarchal personage with, i think, livelier curiosity than any other form of humanity there presented to my notice. he was, in truth, a rare phenomenon; so perfect, in one point of view; so shallow, so delusive, so impalpable such an absolute nonentity, in every other. my conclusion was that he had no soul, no heart, no mind; nothing, as i have already said, but instincts; and yet, withal, so cunningly had the few materials of his character been put together that there was no painful perception of deficiency, but, on my part, an entire contentment with what i found in him. it might be difficult--and it was so--to conceive how he should exist hereafter, so earthly and sensuous did he seem; but surely his existence here, admitting that it was to terminate with his last breath, had been not unkindly given; with no higher moral responsibilities than the beasts of the field, but with a larger scope of enjoyment than theirs, and with all their blessed immunity from the dreariness and duskiness of age. one point in which he had vastly the advantage over his four-footed brethren was his ability to recollect the good dinners which it had made no small portion of the happiness of his life to eat. his gourmandism was a highly agreeable trait; and to hear him talk of roast meat was as appetizing as a pickle or an oyster. as he possessed no higher attribute, and neither sacrificed nor vitiated any spiritual endowment by devoting all his energies and ingenuities to subserve the delight and profit of his maw, it always pleased and satisfied me to hear him expatiate on fish, poultry, and butcher's meat, and the most eligible methods of preparing them for the table. his reminiscences of good cheer, however ancient the date of the actual banquet, seemed to bring the savour of pig or turkey under one's very nostrils. there were flavours on his palate that had lingered there not less than sixty or seventy years, and were still apparently as fresh as that of the mutton chop which he had just devoured for his breakfast. i have heard him smack his lips over dinners, every guest at which, except himself, had long been food for worms. it was marvellous to observe how the ghosts of bygone meals were continually rising up before him--not in anger or retribution, but as if grateful for his former appreciation, and seeking to reduplicate an endless series of enjoyment, at once shadowy and sensual: a tenderloin of beef, a hind-quarter of veal, a spare-rib of pork, a particular chicken, or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey, which had perhaps adorned his board in the days of the elder adams, would be remembered; while all the subsequent experience of our race, and all the events that brightened or darkened his individual career, had gone over him with as little permanent effect as the passing breeze. the chief tragic event of the old man's life, so far as i could judge, was his mishap with a certain goose, which lived and died some twenty or forty years ago: a goose of most promising figure, but which, at table, proved so inveterately tough, that the carving-knife would make no impression on its carcase, and it could only be divided with an axe and handsaw. but it is time to quit this sketch; on which, however, i should be glad to dwell at considerably more length, because of all men whom i have ever known, this individual was fittest to be a custom-house officer. most persons, owing to causes which i may not have space to hint at, suffer moral detriment from this peculiar mode of life. the old inspector was incapable of it; and, were he to continue in office to the end of time, would be just as good as he was then, and sit down to dinner with just as good an appetite. there is one likeness, without which my gallery of custom-house portraits would be strangely incomplete, but which my comparatively few opportunities for observation enable me to sketch only in the merest outline. it is that of the collector, our gallant old general, who, after his brilliant military service, subsequently to which he had ruled over a wild western territory, had come hither, twenty years before, to spend the decline of his varied and honourable life. the brave soldier had already numbered, nearly or quite, his three-score years and ten, and was pursuing the remainder of his earthly march, burdened with infirmities which even the martial music of his own spirit-stirring recollections could do little towards lightening. the step was palsied now, that had been foremost in the charge. it was only with the assistance of a servant, and by leaning his hand heavily on the iron balustrade, that he could slowly and painfully ascend the custom-house steps, and, with a toilsome progress across the floor, attain his customary chair beside the fireplace. there he used to sit, gazing with a somewhat dim serenity of aspect at the figures that came and went, amid the rustle of papers, the administering of oaths, the discussion of business, and the casual talk of the office; all which sounds and circumstances seemed but indistinctly to impress his senses, and hardly to make their way into his inner sphere of contemplation. his countenance, in this repose, was mild and kindly. if his notice was sought, an expression of courtesy and interest gleamed out upon his features, proving that there was light within him, and that it was only the outward medium of the intellectual lamp that obstructed the rays in their passage. the closer you penetrated to the substance of his mind, the sounder it appeared. when no longer called upon to speak or listen--either of which operations cost him an evident effort--his face would briefly subside into its former not uncheerful quietude. it was not painful to behold this look; for, though dim, it had not the imbecility of decaying age. the framework of his nature, originally strong and massive, was not yet crumpled into ruin. to observe and define his character, however, under such disadvantages, was as difficult a task as to trace out and build up anew, in imagination, an old fortress, like ticonderoga, from a view of its grey and broken ruins. here and there, perchance, the walls may remain almost complete; but elsewhere may be only a shapeless mound, cumbrous with its very strength, and overgrown, through long years of peace and neglect, with grass and alien weeds. nevertheless, looking at the old warrior with affection--for, slight as was the communication between us, my feeling towards him, like that of all bipeds and quadrupeds who knew him, might not improperly be termed so,--i could discern the main points of his portrait. it was marked with the noble and heroic qualities which showed it to be not a mere accident, but of good right, that he had won a distinguished name. his spirit could never, i conceive, have been characterized by an uneasy activity; it must, at any period of his life, have required an impulse to set him in motion; but once stirred up, with obstacles to overcome, and an adequate object to be attained, it was not in the man to give out or fail. the heat that had formerly pervaded his nature, and which was not yet extinct, was never of the kind that flashes and flickers in a blaze; but rather a deep red glow, as of iron in a furnace. weight, solidity, firmness--this was the expression of his repose, even in such decay as had crept untimely over him at the period of which i speak. but i could imagine, even then, that, under some excitement which should go deeply into his consciousness--roused by a trumpet's peal, loud enough to awaken all of his energies that were not dead, but only slumbering--he was yet capable of flinging off his infirmities like a sick man's gown, dropping the staff of age to seize a battle-sword, and starting up once more a warrior. and, in so intense a moment his demeanour would have still been calm. such an exhibition, however, was but to be pictured in fancy; not to be anticipated, nor desired. what i saw in him--as evidently as the indestructible ramparts of old ticonderoga, already cited as the most appropriate simile--was the features of stubborn and ponderous endurance, which might well have amounted to obstinacy in his earlier days; of integrity, that, like most of his other endowments, lay in a somewhat heavy mass, and was just as unmalleable or unmanageable as a ton of iron ore; and of benevolence which, fiercely as he led the bayonets on at chippewa or fort erie, i take to be of quite as genuine a stamp as what actuates any or all the polemical philanthropists of the age. he had slain men with his own hand, for aught i know--certainly, they had fallen like blades of grass at the sweep of the scythe before the charge to which his spirit imparted its triumphant energy--but, be that as it might, there was never in his heart so much cruelty as would have brushed the down off a butterfly's wing. i have not known the man to whose innate kindliness i would more confidently make an appeal. many characteristics--and those, too, which contribute not the least forcibly to impart resemblance in a sketch--must have vanished, or been obscured, before i met the general. all merely graceful attributes are usually the most evanescent; nor does nature adorn the human ruin with blossoms of new beauty, that have their roots and proper nutriment only in the chinks and crevices of decay, as she sows wall-flowers over the ruined fortress of ticonderoga. still, even in respect of grace and beauty, there were points well worth noting. a ray of humour, now and then, would make its way through the veil of dim obstruction, and glimmer pleasantly upon our faces. a trait of native elegance, seldom seen in the masculine character after childhood or early youth, was shown in the general's fondness for the sight and fragrance of flowers. an old soldier might be supposed to prize only the bloody laurel on his brow; but here was one who seemed to have a young girl's appreciation of the floral tribe. there, beside the fireplace, the brave old general used to sit; while the surveyor--though seldom, when it could be avoided, taking upon himself the difficult task of engaging him in conversation--was fond of standing at a distance, and watching his quiet and almost slumberous countenance. he seemed away from us, although we saw him but a few yards off; remote, though we passed close beside his chair; unattainable, though we might have stretched forth our hands and touched his own. it might be that he lived a more real life within his thoughts than amid the unappropriate environment of the collector's office. the evolutions of the parade; the tumult of the battle; the flourish of old heroic music, heard thirty years before--such scenes and sounds, perhaps, were all alive before his intellectual sense. meanwhile, the merchants and ship-masters, the spruce clerks and uncouth sailors, entered and departed; the bustle of his commercial and custom-house life kept up its little murmur round about him; and neither with the men nor their affairs did the general appear to sustain the most distant relation. he was as much out of place as an old sword--now rusty, but which had flashed once in the battle's front, and showed still a bright gleam along its blade--would have been among the inkstands, paper-folders, and mahogany rulers on the deputy collector's desk. there was one thing that much aided me in renewing and re-creating the stalwart soldier of the niagara frontier--the man of true and simple energy. it was the recollection of those memorable words of his--"i'll try, sir"--spoken on the very verge of a desperate and heroic enterprise, and breathing the soul and spirit of new england hardihood, comprehending all perils, and encountering all. if, in our country, valour were rewarded by heraldic honour, this phrase--which it seems so easy to speak, but which only he, with such a task of danger and glory before him, has ever spoken--would be the best and fittest of all mottoes for the general's shield of arms. it contributes greatly towards a man's moral and intellectual health to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate. the accidents of my life have often afforded me this advantage, but never with more fulness and variety than during my continuance in office. there was one man, especially, the observation of whose character gave me a new idea of talent. his gifts were emphatically those of a man of business; prompt, acute, clear-minded; with an eye that saw through all perplexities, and a faculty of arrangement that made them vanish as by the waving of an enchanter's wand. bred up from boyhood in the custom-house, it was his proper field of activity; and the many intricacies of business, so harassing to the interloper, presented themselves before him with the regularity of a perfectly comprehended system. in my contemplation, he stood as the ideal of his class. he was, indeed, the custom-house in himself; or, at all events, the mainspring that kept its variously revolving wheels in motion; for, in an institution like this, where its officers are appointed to subserve their own profit and convenience, and seldom with a leading reference to their fitness for the duty to be performed, they must perforce seek elsewhere the dexterity which is not in them. thus, by an inevitable necessity, as a magnet attracts steel-filings, so did our man of business draw to himself the difficulties which everybody met with. with an easy condescension, and kind forbearance towards our stupidity--which, to his order of mind, must have seemed little short of crime--would he forth-with, by the merest touch of his finger, make the incomprehensible as clear as daylight. the merchants valued him not less than we, his esoteric friends. his integrity was perfect; it was a law of nature with him, rather than a choice or a principle; nor can it be otherwise than the main condition of an intellect so remarkably clear and accurate as his to be honest and regular in the administration of affairs. a stain on his conscience, as to anything that came within the range of his vocation, would trouble such a man very much in the same way, though to a far greater degree, than an error in the balance of an account, or an ink-blot on the fair page of a book of record. here, in a word--and it is a rare instance in my life--i had met with a person thoroughly adapted to the situation which he held. such were some of the people with whom i now found myself connected. i took it in good part, at the hands of providence, that i was thrown into a position so little akin to my past habits; and set myself seriously to gather from it whatever profit was to be had. after my fellowship of toil and impracticable schemes with the dreamy brethren of brook farm; after living for three years within the subtle influence of an intellect like emerson's; after those wild, free days on the assabeth, indulging fantastic speculations, beside our fire of fallen boughs, with ellery channing; after talking with thoreau about pine-trees and indian relics in his hermitage at walden; after growing fastidious by sympathy with the classic refinement of hillard's culture; after becoming imbued with poetic sentiment at longfellow's hearthstone--it was time, at length, that i should exercise other faculties of my nature, and nourish myself with food for which i had hitherto had little appetite. even the old inspector was desirable, as a change of diet, to a man who had known alcott. i looked upon it as an evidence, in some measure, of a system naturally well balanced, and lacking no essential part of a thorough organization, that, with such associates to remember, i could mingle at once with men of altogether different qualities, and never murmur at the change. literature, its exertions and objects, were now of little moment in my regard. i cared not at this period for books; they were apart from me. nature--except it were human nature--the nature that is developed in earth and sky, was, in one sense, hidden from me; and all the imaginative delight wherewith it had been spiritualized passed away out of my mind. a gift, a faculty, if it had not been departed, was suspended and inanimate within me. there would have been something sad, unutterably dreary, in all this, had i not been conscious that it lay at my own option to recall whatever was valuable in the past. it might be true, indeed, that this was a life which could not, with impunity, be lived too long; else, it might make me permanently other than i had been, without transforming me into any shape which it would be worth my while to take. but i never considered it as other than a transitory life. there was always a prophetic instinct, a low whisper in my ear, that within no long period, and whenever a new change of custom should be essential to my good, change would come. meanwhile, there i was, a surveyor of the revenue and, so far as i have been able to understand, as good a surveyor as need be. a man of thought, fancy, and sensibility (had he ten times the surveyor's proportion of those qualities), may, at any time, be a man of affairs, if he will only choose to give himself the trouble. my fellow-officers, and the merchants and sea-captains with whom my official duties brought me into any manner of connection, viewed me in no other light, and probably knew me in no other character. none of them, i presume, had ever read a page of my inditing, or would have cared a fig the more for me if they had read them all; nor would it have mended the matter, in the least, had those same unprofitable pages been written with a pen like that of burns or of chaucer, each of whom was a custom-house officer in his day, as well as i. it is a good lesson--though it may often be a hard one--for a man who has dreamed of literary fame, and of making for himself a rank among the world's dignitaries by such means, to step aside out of the narrow circle in which his claims are recognized and to find how utterly devoid of significance, beyond that circle, is all that he achieves, and all he aims at. i know not that i especially needed the lesson, either in the way of warning or rebuke; but at any rate, i learned it thoroughly: nor, it gives me pleasure to reflect, did the truth, as it came home to my perception, ever cost me a pang, or require to be thrown off in a sigh. in the way of literary talk, it is true, the naval officer--an excellent fellow, who came into the office with me, and went out only a little later--would often engage me in a discussion about one or the other of his favourite topics, napoleon or shakespeare. the collector's junior clerk, too a young gentleman who, it was whispered occasionally covered a sheet of uncle sam's letter paper with what (at the distance of a few yards) looked very much like poetry--used now and then to speak to me of books, as matters with which i might possibly be conversant. this was my all of lettered intercourse; and it was quite sufficient for my necessities. no longer seeking nor caring that my name should be blasoned abroad on title-pages, i smiled to think that it had now another kind of vogue. the custom-house marker imprinted it, with a stencil and black paint, on pepper-bags, and baskets of anatto, and cigar-boxes, and bales of all kinds of dutiable merchandise, in testimony that these commodities had paid the impost, and gone regularly through the office. borne on such queer vehicle of fame, a knowledge of my existence, so far as a name conveys it, was carried where it had never been before, and, i hope, will never go again. but the past was not dead. once in a great while, the thoughts that had seemed so vital and so active, yet had been put to rest so quietly, revived again. one of the most remarkable occasions, when the habit of bygone days awoke in me, was that which brings it within the law of literary propriety to offer the public the sketch which i am now writing. in the second storey of the custom-house there is a large room, in which the brick-work and naked rafters have never been covered with panelling and plaster. the edifice--originally projected on a scale adapted to the old commercial enterprise of the port, and with an idea of subsequent prosperity destined never to be realized--contains far more space than its occupants know what to do with. this airy hall, therefore, over the collector's apartments, remains unfinished to this day, and, in spite of the aged cobwebs that festoon its dusky beams, appears still to await the labour of the carpenter and mason. at one end of the room, in a recess, were a number of barrels piled one upon another, containing bundles of official documents. large quantities of similar rubbish lay lumbering the floor. it was sorrowful to think how many days, and weeks, and months, and years of toil had been wasted on these musty papers, which were now only an encumbrance on earth, and were hidden away in this forgotten corner, never more to be glanced at by human eyes. but then, what reams of other manuscripts--filled, not with the dulness of official formalities, but with the thought of inventive brains and the rich effusion of deep hearts--had gone equally to oblivion; and that, moreover, without serving a purpose in their day, as these heaped-up papers had, and--saddest of all--without purchasing for their writers the comfortable livelihood which the clerks of the custom-house had gained by these worthless scratchings of the pen. yet not altogether worthless, perhaps, as materials of local history. here, no doubt, statistics of the former commerce of salem might be discovered, and memorials of her princely merchants--old king derby--old billy gray--old simon forrester--and many another magnate in his day, whose powdered head, however, was scarcely in the tomb before his mountain pile of wealth began to dwindle. the founders of the greater part of the families which now compose the aristocracy of salem might here be traced, from the petty and obscure beginnings of their traffic, at periods generally much posterior to the revolution, upward to what their children look upon as long-established rank. prior to the revolution there is a dearth of records; the earlier documents and archives of the custom-house having, probably, been carried off to halifax, when all the king's officials accompanied the british army in its flight from boston. it has often been a matter of regret with me; for, going back, perhaps, to the days of the protectorate, those papers must have contained many references to forgotten or remembered men, and to antique customs, which would have affected me with the same pleasure as when i used to pick up indian arrow-heads in the field near the old manse. but, one idle and rainy day, it was my fortune to make a discovery of some little interest. poking and burrowing into the heaped-up rubbish in the corner, unfolding one and another document, and reading the names of vessels that had long ago foundered at sea or rotted at the wharves, and those of merchants never heard of now on 'change, nor very readily decipherable on their mossy tombstones; glancing at such matters with the saddened, weary, half-reluctant interest which we bestow on the corpse of dead activity--and exerting my fancy, sluggish with little use, to raise up from these dry bones an image of the old town's brighter aspect, when india was a new region, and only salem knew the way thither--i chanced to lay my hand on a small package, carefully done up in a piece of ancient yellow parchment. this envelope had the air of an official record of some period long past, when clerks engrossed their stiff and formal chirography on more substantial materials than at present. there was something about it that quickened an instinctive curiosity, and made me undo the faded red tape that tied up the package, with the sense that a treasure would here be brought to light. unbending the rigid folds of the parchment cover, i found it to be a commission, under the hand and seal of governor shirley, in favour of one jonathan pue, as surveyor of his majesty's customs for the port of salem, in the province of massachusetts bay. i remembered to have read (probably in felt's "annals") a notice of the decease of mr. surveyor pue, about fourscore years ago; and likewise, in a newspaper of recent times, an account of the digging up of his remains in the little graveyard of st. peter's church, during the renewal of that edifice. nothing, if i rightly call to mind, was left of my respected predecessor, save an imperfect skeleton, and some fragments of apparel, and a wig of majestic frizzle, which, unlike the head that it once adorned, was in very satisfactory preservation. but, on examining the papers which the parchment commission served to envelop, i found more traces of mr. pue's mental part, and the internal operations of his head, than the frizzled wig had contained of the venerable skull itself. they were documents, in short, not official, but of a private nature, or, at least, written in his private capacity, and apparently with his own hand. i could account for their being included in the heap of custom-house lumber only by the fact that mr. pue's death had happened suddenly, and that these papers, which he probably kept in his official desk, had never come to the knowledge of his heirs, or were supposed to relate to the business of the revenue. on the transfer of the archives to halifax, this package, proving to be of no public concern, was left behind, and had remained ever since unopened. the ancient surveyor--being little molested, i suppose, at that early day with business pertaining to his office--seems to have devoted some of his many leisure hours to researches as a local antiquarian, and other inquisitions of a similar nature. these supplied material for petty activity to a mind that would otherwise have been eaten up with rust. a portion of his facts, by-the-by, did me good service in the preparation of the article entitled "main street," included in the present volume. the remainder may perhaps be applied to purposes equally valuable hereafter, or not impossibly may be worked up, so far as they go, into a regular history of salem, should my veneration for the natal soil ever impel me to so pious a task. meanwhile, they shall be at the command of any gentleman, inclined and competent, to take the unprofitable labour off my hands. as a final disposition i contemplate depositing them with the essex historical society. but the object that most drew my attention to the mysterious package was a certain affair of fine red cloth, much worn and faded, there were traces about it of gold embroidery, which, however, was greatly frayed and defaced, so that none, or very little, of the glitter was left. it had been wrought, as was easy to perceive, with wonderful skill of needlework; and the stitch (as i am assured by ladies conversant with such mysteries) gives evidence of a now forgotten art, not to be discovered even by the process of picking out the threads. this rag of scarlet cloth--for time, and wear, and a sacrilegious moth had reduced it to little other than a rag--on careful examination, assumed the shape of a letter. it was the capital letter a. by an accurate measurement, each limb proved to be precisely three inches and a quarter in length. it had been intended, there could be no doubt, as an ornamental article of dress; but how it was to be worn, or what rank, honour, and dignity, in by-past times, were signified by it, was a riddle which (so evanescent are the fashions of the world in these particulars) i saw little hope of solving. and yet it strangely interested me. my eyes fastened themselves upon the old scarlet letter, and would not be turned aside. certainly there was some deep meaning in it most worthy of interpretation, and which, as it were, streamed forth from the mystic symbol, subtly communicating itself to my sensibilities, but evading the analysis of my mind. when thus perplexed--and cogitating, among other hypotheses, whether the letter might not have been one of those decorations which the white men used to contrive in order to take the eyes of indians--i happened to place it on my breast. it seemed to me--the reader may smile, but must not doubt my word--it seemed to me, then, that i experienced a sensation not altogether physical, yet almost so, as of burning heat, and as if the letter were not of red cloth, but red-hot iron. i shuddered, and involuntarily let it fall upon the floor. in the absorbing contemplation of the scarlet letter, i had hitherto neglected to examine a small roll of dingy paper, around which it had been twisted. this i now opened, and had the satisfaction to find recorded by the old surveyor's pen, a reasonably complete explanation of the whole affair. there were several foolscap sheets, containing many particulars respecting the life and conversation of one hester prynne, who appeared to have been rather a noteworthy personage in the view of our ancestors. she had flourished during the period between the early days of massachusetts and the close of the seventeenth century. aged persons, alive in the time of mr. surveyor pue, and from whose oral testimony he had made up his narrative, remembered her, in their youth, as a very old, but not decrepit woman, of a stately and solemn aspect. it had been her habit, from an almost immemorial date, to go about the country as a kind of voluntary nurse, and doing whatever miscellaneous good she might; taking upon herself, likewise, to give advice in all matters, especially those of the heart, by which means--as a person of such propensities inevitably must--she gained from many people the reverence due to an angel, but, i should imagine, was looked upon by others as an intruder and a nuisance. prying further into the manuscript, i found the record of other doings and sufferings of this singular woman, for most of which the reader is referred to the story entitled "the scarlet letter"; and it should be borne carefully in mind that the main facts of that story are authorized and authenticated by the document of mr. surveyor pue. the original papers, together with the scarlet letter itself--a most curious relic--are still in my possession, and shall be freely exhibited to whomsoever, induced by the great interest of the narrative, may desire a sight of them. i must not be understood affirming that, in the dressing up of the tale, and imagining the motives and modes of passion that influenced the characters who figure in it, i have invariably confined myself within the limits of the old surveyor's half-a-dozen sheets of foolscap. on the contrary, i have allowed myself, as to such points, nearly, or altogether, as much license as if the facts had been entirely of my own invention. what i contend for is the authenticity of the outline. this incident recalled my mind, in some degree, to its old track. there seemed to be here the groundwork of a tale. it impressed me as if the ancient surveyor, in his garb of a hundred years gone by, and wearing his immortal wig--which was buried with him, but did not perish in the grave--had met me in the deserted chamber of the custom-house. in his port was the dignity of one who had borne his majesty's commission, and who was therefore illuminated by a ray of the splendour that shone so dazzlingly about the throne. how unlike alas the hangdog look of a republican official, who, as the servant of the people, feels himself less than the least, and below the lowest of his masters. with his own ghostly hand, the obscurely seen, but majestic, figure had imparted to me the scarlet symbol and the little roll of explanatory manuscript. with his own ghostly voice he had exhorted me, on the sacred consideration of my filial duty and reverence towards him--who might reasonably regard himself as my official ancestor--to bring his mouldy and moth-eaten lucubrations before the public. "do this," said the ghost of mr. surveyor pue, emphatically nodding the head that looked so imposing within its memorable wig; "do this, and the profit shall be all your own. you will shortly need it; for it is not in your days as it was in mine, when a man's office was a life-lease, and oftentimes an heirloom. but i charge you, in this matter of old mistress prynne, give to your predecessor's memory the credit which will be rightfully due" and i said to the ghost of mr. surveyor pue--"i will". on hester prynne's story, therefore, i bestowed much thought. it was the subject of my meditations for many an hour, while pacing to and fro across my room, or traversing, with a hundredfold repetition, the long extent from the front door of the custom-house to the side entrance, and back again. great were the weariness and annoyance of the old inspector and the weighers and gaugers, whose slumbers were disturbed by the unmercifully lengthened tramp of my passing and returning footsteps. remembering their own former habits, they used to say that the surveyor was walking the quarter-deck. they probably fancied that my sole object--and, indeed, the sole object for which a sane man could ever put himself into voluntary motion--was to get an appetite for dinner. and, to say the truth, an appetite, sharpened by the east wind that generally blew along the passage, was the only valuable result of so much indefatigable exercise. so little adapted is the atmosphere of a custom-house to the delicate harvest of fancy and sensibility, that, had i remained there through ten presidencies yet to come, i doubt whether the tale of "the scarlet letter" would ever have been brought before the public eye. my imagination was a tarnished mirror. it would not reflect, or only with miserable dimness, the figures with which i did my best to people it. the characters of the narrative would not be warmed and rendered malleable by any heat that i could kindle at my intellectual forge. they would take neither the glow of passion nor the tenderness of sentiment, but retained all the rigidity of dead corpses, and stared me in the face with a fixed and ghastly grin of contemptuous defiance. "what have you to do with us?" that expression seemed to say. "the little power you might have once possessed over the tribe of unrealities is gone! you have bartered it for a pittance of the public gold. go then, and earn your wages!" in short, the almost torpid creatures of my own fancy twitted me with imbecility, and not without fair occasion. it was not merely during the three hours and a half which uncle sam claimed as his share of my daily life that this wretched numbness held possession of me. it went with me on my sea-shore walks and rambles into the country, whenever--which was seldom and reluctantly--i bestirred myself to seek that invigorating charm of nature which used to give me such freshness and activity of thought, the moment that i stepped across the threshold of the old manse. the same torpor, as regarded the capacity for intellectual effort, accompanied me home, and weighed upon me in the chamber which i most absurdly termed my study. nor did it quit me when, late at night, i sat in the deserted parlour, lighted only by the glimmering coal-fire and the moon, striving to picture forth imaginary scenes, which, the next day, might flow out on the brightening page in many-hued description. if the imaginative faculty refused to act at such an hour, it might well be deemed a hopeless case. moonlight, in a familiar room, falling so white upon the carpet, and showing all its figures so distinctly--making every object so minutely visible, yet so unlike a morning or noontide visibility--is a medium the most suitable for a romance-writer to get acquainted with his illusive guests. there is the little domestic scenery of the well-known apartment; the chairs, with each its separate individuality; the centre-table, sustaining a work-basket, a volume or two, and an extinguished lamp; the sofa; the book-case; the picture on the wall--all these details, so completely seen, are so spiritualised by the unusual light, that they seem to lose their actual substance, and become things of intellect. nothing is too small or too trifling to undergo this change, and acquire dignity thereby. a child's shoe; the doll, seated in her little wicker carriage; the hobby-horse--whatever, in a word, has been used or played with during the day is now invested with a quality of strangeness and remoteness, though still almost as vividly present as by daylight. thus, therefore, the floor of our familiar room has become a neutral territory, somewhere between the real world and fairy-land, where the actual and the imaginary may meet, and each imbue itself with the nature of the other. ghosts might enter here without affrighting us. it would be too much in keeping with the scene to excite surprise, were we to look about us and discover a form, beloved, but gone hence, now sitting quietly in a streak of this magic moonshine, with an aspect that would make us doubt whether it had returned from afar, or had never once stirred from our fireside. the somewhat dim coal fire has an essential influence in producing the effect which i would describe. it throws its unobtrusive tinge throughout the room, with a faint ruddiness upon the walls and ceiling, and a reflected gleam upon the polish of the furniture. this warmer light mingles itself with the cold spirituality of the moon-beams, and communicates, as it were, a heart and sensibilities of human tenderness to the forms which fancy summons up. it converts them from snow-images into men and women. glancing at the looking-glass, we behold--deep within its haunted verge--the smouldering glow of the half-extinguished anthracite, the white moon-beams on the floor, and a repetition of all the gleam and shadow of the picture, with one remove further from the actual, and nearer to the imaginative. then, at such an hour, and with this scene before him, if a man, sitting all alone, cannot dream strange things, and make them look like truth, he need never try to write romances. but, for myself, during the whole of my custom-house experience, moonlight and sunshine, and the glow of firelight, were just alike in my regard; and neither of them was of one whit more avail than the twinkle of a tallow-candle. an entire class of susceptibilities, and a gift connected with them--of no great richness or value, but the best i had--was gone from me. it is my belief, however, that had i attempted a different order of composition, my faculties would not have been found so pointless and inefficacious. i might, for instance, have contented myself with writing out the narratives of a veteran shipmaster, one of the inspectors, whom i should be most ungrateful not to mention, since scarcely a day passed that he did not stir me to laughter and admiration by his marvelous gifts as a story-teller. could i have preserved the picturesque force of his style, and the humourous colouring which nature taught him how to throw over his descriptions, the result, i honestly believe, would have been something new in literature. or i might readily have found a more serious task. it was a folly, with the materiality of this daily life pressing so intrusively upon me, to attempt to fling myself back into another age, or to insist on creating the semblance of a world out of airy matter, when, at every moment, the impalpable beauty of my soap-bubble was broken by the rude contact of some actual circumstance. the wiser effort would have been to diffuse thought and imagination through the opaque substance of to-day, and thus to make it a bright transparency; to spiritualise the burden that began to weigh so heavily; to seek, resolutely, the true and indestructible value that lay hidden in the petty and wearisome incidents, and ordinary characters with which i was now conversant. the fault was mine. the page of life that was spread out before me seemed dull and commonplace only because i had not fathomed its deeper import. a better book than i shall ever write was there; leaf after leaf presenting itself to me, just as it was written out by the reality of the flitting hour, and vanishing as fast as written, only because my brain wanted the insight, and my hand the cunning, to transcribe it. at some future day, it may be, i shall remember a few scattered fragments and broken paragraphs, and write them down, and find the letters turn to gold upon the page. these perceptions had come too late. at the instant, i was only conscious that what would have been a pleasure once was now a hopeless toil. there was no occasion to make much moan about this state of affairs. i had ceased to be a writer of tolerably poor tales and essays, and had become a tolerably good surveyor of the customs. that was all. but, nevertheless, it is anything but agreeable to be haunted by a suspicion that one's intellect is dwindling away, or exhaling, without your consciousness, like ether out of a phial; so that, at every glance, you find a smaller and less volatile residuum. of the fact there could be no doubt and, examining myself and others, i was led to conclusions, in reference to the effect of public office on the character, not very favourable to the mode of life in question. in some other form, perhaps, i may hereafter develop these effects. suffice it here to say that a custom-house officer of long continuance can hardly be a very praiseworthy or respectable personage, for many reasons; one of them, the tenure by which he holds his situation, and another, the very nature of his business, which--though, i trust, an honest one--is of such a sort that he does not share in the united effort of mankind. an effect--which i believe to be observable, more or less, in every individual who has occupied the position--is, that while he leans on the mighty arm of the republic, his own proper strength departs from him. he loses, in an extent proportioned to the weakness or force of his original nature, the capability of self-support. if he possesses an unusual share of native energy, or the enervating magic of place do not operate too long upon him, his forfeited powers may be redeemable. the ejected officer--fortunate in the unkindly shove that sends him forth betimes, to struggle amid a struggling world--may return to himself, and become all that he has ever been. but this seldom happens. he usually keeps his ground just long enough for his own ruin, and is then thrust out, with sinews all unstrung, to totter along the difficult footpath of life as he best may. conscious of his own infirmity--that his tempered steel and elasticity are lost--he for ever afterwards looks wistfully about him in quest of support external to himself. his pervading and continual hope--a hallucination, which, in the face of all discouragement, and making light of impossibilities, haunts him while he lives, and, i fancy, like the convulsive throes of the cholera, torments him for a brief space after death--is, that finally, and in no long time, by some happy coincidence of circumstances, he shall be restored to office. this faith, more than anything else, steals the pith and availability out of whatever enterprise he may dream of undertaking. why should he toil and moil, and be at so much trouble to pick himself up out of the mud, when, in a little while hence, the strong arm of his uncle will raise and support him? why should he work for his living here, or go to dig gold in california, when he is so soon to be made happy, at monthly intervals, with a little pile of glittering coin out of his uncle's pocket? it is sadly curious to observe how slight a taste of office suffices to infect a poor fellow with this singular disease. uncle sam's gold--meaning no disrespect to the worthy old gentleman--has, in this respect, a quality of enchantment like that of the devil's wages. whoever touches it should look well to himself, or he may find the bargain to go hard against him, involving, if not his soul, yet many of its better attributes; its sturdy force, its courage and constancy, its truth, its self-reliance, and all that gives the emphasis to manly character. here was a fine prospect in the distance. not that the surveyor brought the lesson home to himself, or admitted that he could be so utterly undone, either by continuance in office or ejectment. yet my reflections were not the most comfortable. i began to grow melancholy and restless; continually prying into my mind, to discover which of its poor properties were gone, and what degree of detriment had already accrued to the remainder. i endeavoured to calculate how much longer i could stay in the custom-house, and yet go forth a man. to confess the truth, it was my greatest apprehension--as it would never be a measure of policy to turn out so quiet an individual as myself; and it being hardly in the nature of a public officer to resign--it was my chief trouble, therefore, that i was likely to grow grey and decrepit in the surveyorship, and become much such another animal as the old inspector. might it not, in the tedious lapse of official life that lay before me, finally be with me as it was with this venerable friend--to make the dinner-hour the nucleus of the day, and to spend the rest of it, as an old dog spends it, asleep in the sunshine or in the shade? a dreary look-forward, this, for a man who felt it to be the best definition of happiness to live throughout the whole range of his faculties and sensibilities. but, all this while, i was giving myself very unnecessary alarm. providence had meditated better things for me than i could possibly imagine for myself. a remarkable event of the third year of my surveyorship--to adopt the tone of "p. p. "--was the election of general taylor to the presidency. it is essential, in order to form a complete estimate of the advantages of official life, to view the incumbent at the in-coming of a hostile administration. his position is then one of the most singularly irksome, and, in every contingency, disagreeable, that a wretched mortal can possibly occupy; with seldom an alternative of good on either hand, although what presents itself to him as the worst event may very probably be the best. but it is a strange experience, to a man of pride and sensibility, to know that his interests are within the control of individuals who neither love nor understand him, and by whom, since one or the other must needs happen, he would rather be injured than obliged. strange, too, for one who has kept his calmness throughout the contest, to observe the bloodthirstiness that is developed in the hour of triumph, and to be conscious that he is himself among its objects! there are few uglier traits of human nature than this tendency--which i now witnessed in men no worse than their neighbours--to grow cruel, merely because they possessed the power of inflicting harm. if the guillotine, as applied to office-holders, were a literal fact, instead of one of the most apt of metaphors, it is my sincere belief that the active members of the victorious party were sufficiently excited to have chopped off all our heads, and have thanked heaven for the opportunity! it appears to me--who have been a calm and curious observer, as well in victory as defeat--that this fierce and bitter spirit of malice and revenge has never distinguished the many triumphs of my own party as it now did that of the whigs. the democrats take the offices, as a general rule, because they need them, and because the practice of many years has made it the law of political warfare, which unless a different system be proclaimed, it was weakness and cowardice to murmur at. but the long habit of victory has made them generous. they know how to spare when they see occasion; and when they strike, the axe may be sharp indeed, but its edge is seldom poisoned with ill-will; nor is it their custom ignominiously to kick the head which they have just struck off. in short, unpleasant as was my predicament, at best, i saw much reason to congratulate myself that i was on the losing side rather than the triumphant one. if, heretofore, i had been none of the warmest of partisans i began now, at this season of peril and adversity, to be pretty acutely sensible with which party my predilections lay; nor was it without something like regret and shame that, according to a reasonable calculation of chances, i saw my own prospect of retaining office to be better than those of my democratic brethren. but who can see an inch into futurity beyond his nose? my own head was the first that fell. the moment when a man's head drops off is seldom or never, i am inclined to think, precisely the most agreeable of his life. nevertheless, like the greater part of our misfortunes, even so serious a contingency brings its remedy and consolation with it, if the sufferer will but make the best rather than the worst, of the accident which has befallen him. in my particular case the consolatory topics were close at hand, and, indeed, had suggested themselves to my meditations a considerable time before it was requisite to use them. in view of my previous weariness of office, and vague thoughts of resignation, my fortune somewhat resembled that of a person who should entertain an idea of committing suicide, and although beyond his hopes, meet with the good hap to be murdered. in the custom-house, as before in the old manse, i had spent three years--a term long enough to rest a weary brain: long enough to break off old intellectual habits, and make room for new ones: long enough, and too long, to have lived in an unnatural state, doing what was really of no advantage nor delight to any human being, and withholding myself from toil that would, at least, have stilled an unquiet impulse in me. then, moreover, as regarded his unceremonious ejectment, the late surveyor was not altogether ill-pleased to be recognised by the whigs as an enemy; since his inactivity in political affairs--his tendency to roam, at will, in that broad and quiet field where all mankind may meet, rather than confine himself to those narrow paths where brethren of the same household must diverge from one another--had sometimes made it questionable with his brother democrats whether he was a friend. now, after he had won the crown of martyrdom (though with no longer a head to wear it on), the point might be looked upon as settled. finally, little heroic as he was, it seemed more decorous to be overthrown in the downfall of the party with which he had been content to stand than to remain a forlorn survivor, when so many worthier men were falling: and at last, after subsisting for four years on the mercy of a hostile administration, to be compelled then to define his position anew, and claim the yet more humiliating mercy of a friendly one. meanwhile, the press had taken up my affair, and kept me for a week or two careering through the public prints, in my decapitated state, like irving's headless horseman, ghastly and grim, and longing to be buried, as a political dead man ought. so much for my figurative self. the real human being all this time, with his head safely on his shoulders, had brought himself to the comfortable conclusion that everything was for the best; and making an investment in ink, paper, and steel pens, had opened his long-disused writing desk, and was again a literary man. now it was that the lucubrations of my ancient predecessor, mr. surveyor pue, came into play. rusty through long idleness, some little space was requisite before my intellectual machinery could be brought to work upon the tale with an effect in any degree satisfactory. even yet, though my thoughts were ultimately much absorbed in the task, it wears, to my eye, a stern and sombre aspect: too much ungladdened by genial sunshine; too little relieved by the tender and familiar influences which soften almost every scene of nature and real life, and undoubtedly should soften every picture of them. this uncaptivating effect is perhaps due to the period of hardly accomplished revolution, and still seething turmoil, in which the story shaped itself. it is no indication, however, of a lack of cheerfulness in the writer's mind: for he was happier while straying through the gloom of these sunless fantasies than at any time since he had quitted the old manse. some of the briefer articles, which contribute to make up the volume, have likewise been written since my involuntary withdrawal from the toils and honours of public life, and the remainder are gleaned from annuals and magazines, of such antique date, that they have gone round the circle, and come back to novelty again. keeping up the metaphor of the political guillotine, the whole may be considered as the posthumous papers of a decapitated surveyor: and the sketch which i am now bringing to a close, if too autobiographical for a modest person to publish in his lifetime, will readily be excused in a gentleman who writes from beyond the grave. peace be with all the world! my blessing on my friends! my forgiveness to my enemies! for i am in the realm of quiet! the life of the custom-house lies like a dream behind me. the old inspector--who, by-the-bye, i regret to say, was overthrown and killed by a horse some time ago, else he would certainly have lived for ever--he, and all those other venerable personages who sat with him at the receipt of custom, are but shadows in my view: white-headed and wrinkled images, which my fancy used to sport with, and has now flung aside for ever. the merchants--pingree, phillips, shepard, upton, kimball, bertram, hunt--these and many other names, which had such classic familiarity for my ear six months ago,--these men of traffic, who seemed to occupy so important a position in the world--how little time has it required to disconnect me from them all, not merely in act, but recollection! it is with an effort that i recall the figures and appellations of these few. soon, likewise, my old native town will loom upon me through the haze of memory, a mist brooding over and around it; as if it were no portion of the real earth, but an overgrown village in cloud-land, with only imaginary inhabitants to people its wooden houses and walk its homely lanes, and the unpicturesque prolixity of its main street. henceforth it ceases to be a reality of my life; i am a citizen of somewhere else. my good townspeople will not much regret me, for--though it has been as dear an object as any, in my literary efforts, to be of some importance in their eyes, and to win myself a pleasant memory in this abode and burial-place of so many of my forefathers--there has never been, for me, the genial atmosphere which a literary man requires in order to ripen the best harvest of his mind. i shall do better amongst other faces; and these familiar ones, it need hardly be said, will do just as well without me. it may be, however--oh, transporting and triumphant thought--that the great-grandchildren of the present race may sometimes think kindly of the scribbler of bygone days, when the antiquary of days to come, among the sites memorable in the town's history, shall point out the locality of the town pump. the scarlet letter i. the prison door a throng of bearded men, in sad-coloured garments and grey steeple-crowned hats, inter-mixed with women, some wearing hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes. the founders of a new colony, whatever utopia of human virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognised it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a prison. in accordance with this rule it may safely be assumed that the forefathers of boston had built the first prison-house somewhere in the vicinity of cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground, on isaac johnson's lot, and round about his grave, which subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in the old churchyard of king's chapel. certain it is that, some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and other indications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and gloomy front. the rust on the ponderous iron-work of its oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the new world. like all that pertains to crime, it seemed never to have known a youthful era. before this ugly edifice, and between it and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with burdock, pig-weed, apple-pern, and such unsightly vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the soil that had so early borne the black flower of civilised society, a prison. but on one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild rose-bush, covered, in this month of june, with its delicate gems, which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of nature could pity and be kind to him. this rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it, or whether, as there is fair authority for believing, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted ann hutchinson as she entered the prison-door, we shall not take upon us to determine. finding it so directly on the threshold of our narrative, which is now about to issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present it to the reader. it may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow. ii. the market-place the grass-plot before the jail, in prison lane, on a certain summer morning, not less than two centuries ago, was occupied by a pretty large number of the inhabitants of boston, all with their eyes intently fastened on the iron-clamped oaken door. amongst any other population, or at a later period in the history of new england, the grim rigidity that petrified the bearded physiognomies of these good people would have augured some awful business in hand. it could have betokened nothing short of the anticipated execution of some noted culprit, on whom the sentence of a legal tribunal had but confirmed the verdict of public sentiment. but, in that early severity of the puritan character, an inference of this kind could not so indubitably be drawn. it might be that a sluggish bond-servant, or an undutiful child, whom his parents had given over to the civil authority, was to be corrected at the whipping-post. it might be that an antinomian, a quaker, or other heterodox religionist, was to be scourged out of the town, or an idle or vagrant indian, whom the white man's firewater had made riotous about the streets, was to be driven with stripes into the shadow of the forest. it might be, too, that a witch, like old mistress hibbins, the bitter-tempered widow of the magistrate, was to die upon the gallows. in either case, there was very much the same solemnity of demeanour on the part of the spectators, as befitted a people among whom religion and law were almost identical, and in whose character both were so thoroughly interfused, that the mildest and severest acts of public discipline were alike made venerable and awful. meagre, indeed, and cold, was the sympathy that a transgressor might look for, from such bystanders, at the scaffold. on the other hand, a penalty which, in our days, would infer a degree of mocking infamy and ridicule, might then be invested with almost as stern a dignity as the punishment of death itself. it was a circumstance to be noted on the summer morning when our story begins its course, that the women, of whom there were several in the crowd, appeared to take a peculiar interest in whatever penal infliction might be expected to ensue. the age had not so much refinement, that any sense of impropriety restrained the wearers of petticoat and farthingale from stepping forth into the public ways, and wedging their not unsubstantial persons, if occasion were, into the throng nearest to the scaffold at an execution. morally, as well as materially, there was a coarser fibre in those wives and maidens of old english birth and breeding than in their fair descendants, separated from them by a series of six or seven generations; for, throughout that chain of ancestry, every successive mother had transmitted to her child a fainter bloom, a more delicate and briefer beauty, and a slighter physical frame, if not character of less force and solidity than her own. the women who were now standing about the prison-door stood within less than half a century of the period when the man-like elizabeth had been the not altogether unsuitable representative of the sex. they were her countrywomen: and the beef and ale of their native land, with a moral diet not a whit more refined, entered largely into their composition. the bright morning sun, therefore, shone on broad shoulders and well-developed busts, and on round and ruddy cheeks, that had ripened in the far-off island, and had hardly yet grown paler or thinner in the atmosphere of new england. there was, moreover, a boldness and rotundity of speech among these matrons, as most of them seemed to be, that would startle us at the present day, whether in respect to its purport or its volume of tone. "goodwives," said a hard-featured dame of fifty, "i'll tell ye a piece of my mind. it would be greatly for the public behoof if we women, being of mature age and church-members in good repute, should have the handling of such malefactresses as this hester prynne. what think ye, gossips? if the hussy stood up for judgment before us five, that are now here in a knot together, would she come off with such a sentence as the worshipful magistrates have awarded? marry, i trow not." "people say," said another, "that the reverend master dimmesdale, her godly pastor, takes it very grievously to heart that such a scandal should have come upon his congregation." "the magistrates are god-fearing gentlemen, but merciful overmuch--that is a truth," added a third autumnal matron. "at the very least, they should have put the brand of a hot iron on hester prynne's forehead. madame hester would have winced at that, i warrant me. but she--the naughty baggage--little will she care what they put upon the bodice of her gown! why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch, or such like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave as ever!" "ah, but," interposed, more softly, a young wife, holding a child by the hand, "let her cover the mark as she will, the pang of it will be always in her heart." "what do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the bodice of her gown or the flesh of her forehead?" cried another female, the ugliest as well as the most pitiless of these self-constituted judges. "this woman has brought shame upon us all, and ought to die; is there not law for it? truly there is, both in the scripture and the statute-book. then let the magistrates, who have made it of no effect, thank themselves if their own wives and daughters go astray." "mercy on us, goodwife!" exclaimed a man in the crowd, "is there no virtue in woman, save what springs from a wholesome fear of the gallows? that is the hardest word yet! hush now, gossips for the lock is turning in the prison-door, and here comes mistress prynne herself." the door of the jail being flung open from within there appeared, in the first place, like a black shadow emerging into sunshine, the grim and grisly presence of the town-beadle, with a sword by his side, and his staff of office in his hand. this personage prefigured and represented in his aspect the whole dismal severity of the puritanic code of law, which it was his business to administer in its final and closest application to the offender. stretching forth the official staff in his left hand, he laid his right upon the shoulder of a young woman, whom he thus drew forward, until, on the threshold of the prison-door, she repelled him, by an action marked with natural dignity and force of character, and stepped into the open air as if by her own free will. she bore in her arms a child, a baby of some three months old, who winked and turned aside its little face from the too vivid light of day; because its existence, heretofore, had brought it acquaintance only with the grey twilight of a dungeon, or other darksome apartment of the prison. when the young woman--the mother of this child--stood fully revealed before the crowd, it seemed to be her first impulse to clasp the infant closely to her bosom; not so much by an impulse of motherly affection, as that she might thereby conceal a certain token, which was wrought or fastened into her dress. in a moment, however, wisely judging that one token of her shame would but poorly serve to hide another, she took the baby on her arm, and with a burning blush, and yet a haughty smile, and a glance that would not be abashed, looked around at her townspeople and neighbours. on the breast of her gown, in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery and fantastic flourishes of gold thread, appeared the letter a. it was so artistically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeous luxuriance of fancy, that it had all the effect of a last and fitting decoration to the apparel which she wore, and which was of a splendour in accordance with the taste of the age, but greatly beyond what was allowed by the sumptuary regulations of the colony. the young woman was tall, with a figure of perfect elegance on a large scale. she had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw off the sunshine with a gleam; and a face which, besides being beautiful from regularity of feature and richness of complexion, had the impressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes. she was ladylike, too, after the manner of the feminine gentility of those days; characterised by a certain state and dignity, rather than by the delicate, evanescent, and indescribable grace which is now recognised as its indication. and never had hester prynne appeared more ladylike, in the antique interpretation of the term, than as she issued from the prison. those who had before known her, and had expected to behold her dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were astonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo of the misfortune and ignominy in which she was enveloped. it may be true that, to a sensitive observer, there was some thing exquisitely painful in it. her attire, which indeed, she had wrought for the occasion in prison, and had modelled much after her own fancy, seemed to express the attitude of her spirit, the desperate recklessness of her mood, by its wild and picturesque peculiarity. but the point which drew all eyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer--so that both men and women who had been familiarly acquainted with hester prynne were now impressed as if they beheld her for the first time--was that scarlet letter, so fantastically embroidered and illuminated upon her bosom. it had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relations with humanity, and enclosing her in a sphere by herself. "she hath good skill at her needle, that's certain," remarked one of her female spectators; "but did ever a woman, before this brazen hussy, contrive such a way of showing it? why, gossips, what is it but to laugh in the faces of our godly magistrates, and make a pride out of what they, worthy gentlemen, meant for a punishment?" "it were well," muttered the most iron-visaged of the old dames, "if we stripped madame hester's rich gown off her dainty shoulders; and as for the red letter which she hath stitched so curiously, i'll bestow a rag of mine own rheumatic flannel to make a fitter one!" "oh, peace, neighbours--peace!" whispered their youngest companion; "do not let her hear you! not a stitch in that embroidered letter but she has felt it in her heart." the grim beadle now made a gesture with his staff. "make way, good people--make way, in the king's name!" cried he. "open a passage; and i promise ye, mistress prynne shall be set where man, woman, and child may have a fair sight of her brave apparel from this time till an hour past meridian. a blessing on the righteous colony of the massachusetts, where iniquity is dragged out into the sunshine! come along, madame hester, and show your scarlet letter in the market-place!" a lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators. preceded by the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession of stern-browed men and unkindly visaged women, hester prynne set forth towards the place appointed for her punishment. a crowd of eager and curious schoolboys, understanding little of the matter in hand, except that it gave them a half-holiday, ran before her progress, turning their heads continually to stare into her face and at the winking baby in her arms, and at the ignominious letter on her breast. it was no great distance, in those days, from the prison door to the market-place. measured by the prisoner's experience, however, it might be reckoned a journey of some length; for haughty as her demeanour was, she perchance underwent an agony from every footstep of those that thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into the street for them all to spurn and trample upon. in our nature, however, there is a provision, alike marvellous and merciful, that the sufferer should never know the intensity of what he endures by its present torture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after it. with almost a serene deportment, therefore, hester prynne passed through this portion of her ordeal, and came to a sort of scaffold, at the western extremity of the market-place. it stood nearly beneath the eaves of boston's earliest church, and appeared to be a fixture there. in fact, this scaffold constituted a portion of a penal machine, which now, for two or three generations past, has been merely historical and traditionary among us, but was held, in the old time, to be as effectual an agent, in the promotion of good citizenship, as ever was the guillotine among the terrorists of france. it was, in short, the platform of the pillory; and above it rose the framework of that instrument of discipline, so fashioned as to confine the human head in its tight grasp, and thus hold it up to the public gaze. the very ideal of ignominy was embodied and made manifest in this contrivance of wood and iron. there can be no outrage, methinks, against our common nature--whatever be the delinquencies of the individual--no outrage more flagrant than to forbid the culprit to hide his face for shame; as it was the essence of this punishment to do. in hester prynne's instance, however, as not unfrequently in other cases, her sentence bore that she should stand a certain time upon the platform, but without undergoing that gripe about the neck and confinement of the head, the proneness to which was the most devilish characteristic of this ugly engine. knowing well her part, she ascended a flight of wooden steps, and was thus displayed to the surrounding multitude, at about the height of a man's shoulders above the street. had there been a papist among the crowd of puritans, he might have seen in this beautiful woman, so picturesque in her attire and mien, and with the infant at her bosom, an object to remind him of the image of divine maternity, which so many illustrious painters have vied with one another to represent; something which should remind him, indeed, but only by contrast, of that sacred image of sinless motherhood, whose infant was to redeem the world. here, there was the taint of deepest sin in the most sacred quality of human life, working such effect, that the world was only the darker for this woman's beauty, and the more lost for the infant that she had borne. the scene was not without a mixture of awe, such as must always invest the spectacle of guilt and shame in a fellow-creature, before society shall have grown corrupt enough to smile, instead of shuddering at it. the witnesses of hester prynne's disgrace had not yet passed beyond their simplicity. they were stern enough to look upon her death, had that been the sentence, without a murmur at its severity, but had none of the heartlessness of another social state, which would find only a theme for jest in an exhibition like the present. even had there been a disposition to turn the matter into ridicule, it must have been repressed and overpowered by the solemn presence of men no less dignified than the governor, and several of his counsellors, a judge, a general, and the ministers of the town, all of whom sat or stood in a balcony of the meeting-house, looking down upon the platform. when such personages could constitute a part of the spectacle, without risking the majesty, or reverence of rank and office, it was safely to be inferred that the infliction of a legal sentence would have an earnest and effectual meaning. accordingly, the crowd was sombre and grave. the unhappy culprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, and concentrated at her bosom. it was almost intolerable to be borne. of an impulsive and passionate nature, she had fortified herself to encounter the stings and venomous stabs of public contumely, wreaking itself in every variety of insult; but there was a quality so much more terrible in the solemn mood of the popular mind, that she longed rather to behold all those rigid countenances contorted with scornful merriment, and herself the object. had a roar of laughter burst from the multitude--each man, each woman, each little shrill-voiced child, contributing their individual parts--hester prynne might have repaid them all with a bitter and disdainful smile. but, under the leaden infliction which it was her doom to endure, she felt, at moments, as if she must needs shriek out with the full power of her lungs, and cast herself from the scaffold down upon the ground, or else go mad at once. yet there were intervals when the whole scene, in which she was the most conspicuous object, seemed to vanish from her eyes, or, at least, glimmered indistinctly before them, like a mass of imperfectly shaped and spectral images. her mind, and especially her memory, was preternaturally active, and kept bringing up other scenes than this roughly hewn street of a little town, on the edge of the western wilderness: other faces than were lowering upon her from beneath the brims of those steeple-crowned hats. reminiscences, the most trifling and immaterial, passages of infancy and school-days, sports, childish quarrels, and the little domestic traits of her maiden years, came swarming back upon her, intermingled with recollections of whatever was gravest in her subsequent life; one picture precisely as vivid as another; as if all were of similar importance, or all alike a play. possibly, it was an instinctive device of her spirit to relieve itself by the exhibition of these phantasmagoric forms, from the cruel weight and hardness of the reality. be that as it might, the scaffold of the pillory was a point of view that revealed to hester prynne the entire track along which she had been treading, since her happy infancy. standing on that miserable eminence, she saw again her native village, in old england, and her paternal home: a decayed house of grey stone, with a poverty-stricken aspect, but retaining a half obliterated shield of arms over the portal, in token of antique gentility. she saw her father's face, with its bold brow, and reverend white beard that flowed over the old-fashioned elizabethan ruff; her mother's, too, with the look of heedful and anxious love which it always wore in her remembrance, and which, even since her death, had so often laid the impediment of a gentle remonstrance in her daughter's pathway. she saw her own face, glowing with girlish beauty, and illuminating all the interior of the dusky mirror in which she had been wont to gaze at it. there she beheld another countenance, of a man well stricken in years, a pale, thin, scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and bleared by the lamp-light that had served them to pore over many ponderous books. yet those same bleared optics had a strange, penetrating power, when it was their owner's purpose to read the human soul. this figure of the study and the cloister, as hester prynne's womanly fancy failed not to recall, was slightly deformed, with the left shoulder a trifle higher than the right. next rose before her in memory's picture-gallery, the intricate and narrow thoroughfares, the tall, grey houses, the huge cathedrals, and the public edifices, ancient in date and quaint in architecture, of a continental city; where new life had awaited her, still in connexion with the misshapen scholar: a new life, but feeding itself on time-worn materials, like a tuft of green moss on a crumbling wall. lastly, in lieu of these shifting scenes, came back the rude market-place of the puritan settlement, with all the townspeople assembled, and levelling their stern regards at hester prynne--yes, at herself--who stood on the scaffold of the pillory, an infant on her arm, and the letter a, in scarlet, fantastically embroidered with gold thread, upon her bosom. could it be true? she clutched the child so fiercely to her breast that it sent forth a cry; she turned her eyes downward at the scarlet letter, and even touched it with her finger, to assure herself that the infant and the shame were real. yes these were her realities--all else had vanished! iii. the recognition from this intense consciousness of being the object of severe and universal observation, the wearer of the scarlet letter was at length relieved, by discerning, on the outskirts of the crowd, a figure which irresistibly took possession of her thoughts. an indian in his native garb was standing there; but the red men were not so infrequent visitors of the english settlements that one of them would have attracted any notice from hester prynne at such a time; much less would he have excluded all other objects and ideas from her mind. by the indian's side, and evidently sustaining a companionship with him, stood a white man, clad in a strange disarray of civilized and savage costume. he was small in stature, with a furrowed visage, which as yet could hardly be termed aged. there was a remarkable intelligence in his features, as of a person who had so cultivated his mental part that it could not fail to mould the physical to itself and become manifest by unmistakable tokens. although, by a seemingly careless arrangement of his heterogeneous garb, he had endeavoured to conceal or abate the peculiarity, it was sufficiently evident to hester prynne that one of this man's shoulders rose higher than the other. again, at the first instant of perceiving that thin visage, and the slight deformity of the figure, she pressed her infant to her bosom with so convulsive a force that the poor babe uttered another cry of pain. but the mother did not seem to hear it. at his arrival in the market-place, and some time before she saw him, the stranger had bent his eyes on hester prynne. it was carelessly at first, like a man chiefly accustomed to look inward, and to whom external matters are of little value and import, unless they bear relation to something within his mind. very soon, however, his look became keen and penetrative. a writhing horror twisted itself across his features, like a snake gliding swiftly over them, and making one little pause, with all its wreathed intervolutions in open sight. his face darkened with some powerful emotion, which, nevertheless, he so instantaneously controlled by an effort of his will, that, save at a single moment, its expression might have passed for calmness. after a brief space, the convulsion grew almost imperceptible, and finally subsided into the depths of his nature. when he found the eyes of hester prynne fastened on his own, and saw that she appeared to recognize him, he slowly and calmly raised his finger, made a gesture with it in the air, and laid it on his lips. then touching the shoulder of a townsman who stood near to him, he addressed him in a formal and courteous manner: "i pray you, good sir," said he, "who is this woman?--and wherefore is she here set up to public shame?" "you must needs be a stranger in this region, friend," answered the townsman, looking curiously at the questioner and his savage companion, "else you would surely have heard of mistress hester prynne and her evil doings. she hath raised a great scandal, i promise you, in godly master dimmesdale's church." "you say truly," replied the other; "i am a stranger, and have been a wanderer, sorely against my will. i have met with grievous mishaps by sea and land, and have been long held in bonds among the heathen-folk to the southward; and am now brought hither by this indian to be redeemed out of my captivity. will it please you, therefore, to tell me of hester prynne's--have i her name rightly?--of this woman's offences, and what has brought her to yonder scaffold?" "truly, friend; and methinks it must gladden your heart, after your troubles and sojourn in the wilderness," said the townsman, "to find yourself at length in a land where iniquity is searched out and punished in the sight of rulers and people, as here in our godly new england. yonder woman, sir, you must know, was the wife of a certain learned man, english by birth, but who had long ago dwelt in amsterdam, whence some good time agone he was minded to cross over and cast in his lot with us of the massachusetts. to this purpose he sent his wife before him, remaining himself to look after some necessary affairs. marry, good sir, in some two years, or less, that the woman has been a dweller here in boston, no tidings have come of this learned gentleman, master prynne; and his young wife, look you, being left to her own misguidance--" "ah!--aha!--i conceive you," said the stranger with a bitter smile. "so learned a man as you speak of should have learned this too in his books. and who, by your favour, sir, may be the father of yonder babe--it is some three or four months old, i should judge--which mistress prynne is holding in her arms?" "of a truth, friend, that matter remaineth a riddle; and the daniel who shall expound it is yet a-wanting," answered the townsman. "madame hester absolutely refuseth to speak, and the magistrates have laid their heads together in vain. peradventure the guilty one stands looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of man, and forgetting that god sees him." "the learned man," observed the stranger with another smile, "should come himself to look into the mystery." "it behoves him well if he be still in life," responded the townsman. "now, good sir, our massachusetts magistracy, bethinking themselves that this woman is youthful and fair, and doubtless was strongly tempted to her fall, and that, moreover, as is most likely, her husband may be at the bottom of the sea, they have not been bold to put in force the extremity of our righteous law against her. the penalty thereof is death. but in their great mercy and tenderness of heart they have doomed mistress prynne to stand only a space of three hours on the platform of the pillory, and then and thereafter, for the remainder of her natural life to wear a mark of shame upon her bosom." "a wise sentence," remarked the stranger, gravely, bowing his head. "thus she will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominious letter be engraved upon her tombstone. it irks me, nevertheless, that the partner of her iniquity should not at least, stand on the scaffold by her side. but he will be known--he will be known!--he will be known!" he bowed courteously to the communicative townsman, and whispering a few words to his indian attendant, they both made their way through the crowd. while this passed, hester prynne had been standing on her pedestal, still with a fixed gaze towards the stranger--so fixed a gaze that, at moments of intense absorption, all other objects in the visible world seemed to vanish, leaving only him and her. such an interview, perhaps, would have been more terrible than even to meet him as she now did, with the hot mid-day sun burning down upon her face, and lighting up its shame; with the scarlet token of infamy on her breast; with the sin-born infant in her arms; with a whole people, drawn forth as to a festival, staring at the features that should have been seen only in the quiet gleam of the fireside, in the happy shadow of a home, or beneath a matronly veil at church. dreadful as it was, she was conscious of a shelter in the presence of these thousand witnesses. it was better to stand thus, with so many betwixt him and her, than to greet him face to face--they two alone. she fled for refuge, as it were, to the public exposure, and dreaded the moment when its protection should be withdrawn from her. involved in these thoughts, she scarcely heard a voice behind her until it had repeated her name more than once, in a loud and solemn tone, audible to the whole multitude. "hearken unto me, hester prynne!" said the voice. it has already been noticed that directly over the platform on which hester prynne stood was a kind of balcony, or open gallery, appended to the meeting-house. it was the place whence proclamations were wont to be made, amidst an assemblage of the magistracy, with all the ceremonial that attended such public observances in those days. here, to witness the scene which we are describing, sat governor bellingham himself with four sergeants about his chair, bearing halberds, as a guard of honour. he wore a dark feather in his hat, a border of embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic beneath--a gentleman advanced in years, with a hard experience written in his wrinkles. he was not ill-fitted to be the head and representative of a community which owed its origin and progress, and its present state of development, not to the impulses of youth, but to the stern and tempered energies of manhood and the sombre sagacity of age; accomplishing so much, precisely because it imagined and hoped so little. the other eminent characters by whom the chief ruler was surrounded were distinguished by a dignity of mien, belonging to a period when the forms of authority were felt to possess the sacredness of divine institutions. they were, doubtless, good men, just and sage. but, out of the whole human family, it would not have been easy to select the same number of wise and virtuous persons, who should be less capable of sitting in judgment on an erring woman's heart, and disentangling its mesh of good and evil, than the sages of rigid aspect towards whom hester prynne now turned her face. she seemed conscious, indeed, that whatever sympathy she might expect lay in the larger and warmer heart of the multitude; for, as she lifted her eyes towards the balcony, the unhappy woman grew pale, and trembled. the voice which had called her attention was that of the reverend and famous john wilson, the eldest clergyman of boston, a great scholar, like most of his contemporaries in the profession, and withal a man of kind and genial spirit. this last attribute, however, had been less carefully developed than his intellectual gifts, and was, in truth, rather a matter of shame than self-congratulation with him. there he stood, with a border of grizzled locks beneath his skull-cap, while his grey eyes, accustomed to the shaded light of his study, were winking, like those of hester's infant, in the unadulterated sunshine. he looked like the darkly engraved portraits which we see prefixed to old volumes of sermons, and had no more right than one of those portraits would have to step forth, as he now did, and meddle with a question of human guilt, passion, and anguish. "hester prynne," said the clergyman, "i have striven with my young brother here, under whose preaching of the word you have been privileged to sit"--here mr. wilson laid his hand on the shoulder of a pale young man beside him--"i have sought, i say, to persuade this godly youth, that he should deal with you, here in the face of heaven, and before these wise and upright rulers, and in hearing of all the people, as touching the vileness and blackness of your sin. knowing your natural temper better than i, he could the better judge what arguments to use, whether of tenderness or terror, such as might prevail over your hardness and obstinacy, insomuch that you should no longer hide the name of him who tempted you to this grievous fall. but he opposes to me--with a young man's over-softness, albeit wise beyond his years--that it were wronging the very nature of woman to force her to lay open her heart's secrets in such broad daylight, and in presence of so great a multitude. truly, as i sought to convince him, the shame lay in the commission of the sin, and not in the showing of it forth. what say you to it, once again, brother dimmesdale? must it be thou, or i, that shall deal with this poor sinner's soul?" there was a murmur among the dignified and reverend occupants of the balcony; and governor bellingham gave expression to its purport, speaking in an authoritative voice, although tempered with respect towards the youthful clergyman whom he addressed: "good master dimmesdale," said he, "the responsibility of this woman's soul lies greatly with you. it behoves you; therefore, to exhort her to repentance and to confession, as a proof and consequence thereof." the directness of this appeal drew the eyes of the whole crowd upon the reverend mr. dimmesdale--young clergyman, who had come from one of the great english universities, bringing all the learning of the age into our wild forest land. his eloquence and religious fervour had already given the earnest of high eminence in his profession. he was a person of very striking aspect, with a white, lofty, and impending brow; large, brown, melancholy eyes, and a mouth which, unless when he forcibly compressed it, was apt to be tremulous, expressing both nervous sensibility and a vast power of self restraint. notwithstanding his high native gifts and scholar-like attainments, there was an air about this young minister--an apprehensive, a startled, a half-frightened look--as of a being who felt himself quite astray, and at a loss in the pathway of human existence, and could only be at ease in some seclusion of his own. therefore, so far as his duties would permit, he trod in the shadowy by-paths, and thus kept himself simple and childlike, coming forth, when occasion was, with a freshness, and fragrance, and dewy purity of thought, which, as many people said, affected them like the speech of an angel. such was the young man whom the reverend mr. wilson and the governor had introduced so openly to the public notice, bidding him speak, in the hearing of all men, to that mystery of a woman's soul, so sacred even in its pollution. the trying nature of his position drove the blood from his cheek, and made his lips tremulous. "speak to the woman, my brother," said mr. wilson. "it is of moment to her soul, and, therefore, as the worshipful governor says, momentous to thine own, in whose charge hers is. exhort her to confess the truth!" the reverend mr. dimmesdale bent his head, in silent prayer, as it seemed, and then came forward. "hester prynne," said he, leaning over the balcony and looking down steadfastly into her eyes, "thou hearest what this good man says, and seest the accountability under which i labour. if thou feelest it to be for thy soul's peace, and that thy earthly punishment will thereby be made more effectual to salvation, i charge thee to speak out the name of thy fellow-sinner and fellow-sufferer! be not silent from any mistaken pity and tenderness for him; for, believe me, hester, though he were to step down from a high place, and stand there beside thee, on thy pedestal of shame, yet better were it so than to hide a guilty heart through life. what can thy silence do for him, except it tempt him--yea, compel him, as it were--to add hypocrisy to sin? heaven hath granted thee an open ignominy, that thereby thou mayest work out an open triumph over the evil within thee and the sorrow without. take heed how thou deniest to him--who, perchance, hath not the courage to grasp it for himself--the bitter, but wholesome, cup that is now presented to thy lips!" the young pastor's voice was tremulously sweet, rich, deep, and broken. the feeling that it so evidently manifested, rather than the direct purport of the words, caused it to vibrate within all hearts, and brought the listeners into one accord of sympathy. even the poor baby at hester's bosom was affected by the same influence, for it directed its hitherto vacant gaze towards mr. dimmesdale, and held up its little arms with a half-pleased, half-plaintive murmur. so powerful seemed the minister's appeal that the people could not believe but that hester prynne would speak out the guilty name, or else that the guilty one himself in whatever high or lowly place he stood, would be drawn forth by an inward and inevitable necessity, and compelled to ascend the scaffold. hester shook her head. "woman, transgress not beyond the limits of heaven's mercy!" cried the reverend mr. wilson, more harshly than before. "that little babe hath been gifted with a voice, to second and confirm the counsel which thou hast heard. speak out the name! that, and thy repentance, may avail to take the scarlet letter off thy breast." "never," replied hester prynne, looking, not at mr. wilson, but into the deep and troubled eyes of the younger clergyman. "it is too deeply branded. ye cannot take it off. and would that i might endure his agony as well as mine!" "speak, woman!" said another voice, coldly and sternly, proceeding from the crowd about the scaffold, "speak; and give your child a father!" "i will not speak!" answered hester, turning pale as death, but responding to this voice, which she too surely recognised. "and my child must seek a heavenly father; she shall never know an earthly one!" "she will not speak!" murmured mr. dimmesdale, who, leaning over the balcony, with his hand upon his heart, had awaited the result of his appeal. he now drew back with a long respiration. "wondrous strength and generosity of a woman's heart! she will not speak!" discerning the impracticable state of the poor culprit's mind, the elder clergyman, who had carefully prepared himself for the occasion, addressed to the multitude a discourse on sin, in all its branches, but with continual reference to the ignominious letter. so forcibly did he dwell upon this symbol, for the hour or more during which his periods were rolling over the people's heads, that it assumed new terrors in their imagination, and seemed to derive its scarlet hue from the flames of the infernal pit. hester prynne, meanwhile, kept her place upon the pedestal of shame, with glazed eyes, and an air of weary indifference. she had borne that morning all that nature could endure; and as her temperament was not of the order that escapes from too intense suffering by a swoon, her spirit could only shelter itself beneath a stony crust of insensibility, while the faculties of animal life remained entire. in this state, the voice of the preacher thundered remorselessly, but unavailingly, upon her ears. the infant, during the latter portion of her ordeal, pierced the air with its wailings and screams; she strove to hush it mechanically, but seemed scarcely to sympathise with its trouble. with the same hard demeanour, she was led back to prison, and vanished from the public gaze within its iron-clamped portal. it was whispered by those who peered after her that the scarlet letter threw a lurid gleam along the dark passage-way of the interior. iv. the interview after her return to the prison, hester prynne was found to be in a state of nervous excitement, that demanded constant watchfulness, lest she should perpetrate violence on herself, or do some half-frenzied mischief to the poor babe. as night approached, it proving impossible to quell her insubordination by rebuke or threats of punishment, master brackett, the jailer, thought fit to introduce a physician. he described him as a man of skill in all christian modes of physical science, and likewise familiar with whatever the savage people could teach in respect to medicinal herbs and roots that grew in the forest. to say the truth, there was much need of professional assistance, not merely for hester herself, but still more urgently for the child--who, drawing its sustenance from the maternal bosom, seemed to have drank in with it all the turmoil, the anguish and despair, which pervaded the mother's system. it now writhed in convulsions of pain, and was a forcible type, in its little frame, of the moral agony which hester prynne had borne throughout the day. closely following the jailer into the dismal apartment, appeared that individual, of singular aspect whose presence in the crowd had been of such deep interest to the wearer of the scarlet letter. he was lodged in the prison, not as suspected of any offence, but as the most convenient and suitable mode of disposing of him, until the magistrates should have conferred with the indian sagamores respecting his ransom. his name was announced as roger chillingworth. the jailer, after ushering him into the room, remained a moment, marvelling at the comparative quiet that followed his entrance; for hester prynne had immediately become as still as death, although the child continued to moan. "prithee, friend, leave me alone with my patient," said the practitioner. "trust me, good jailer, you shall briefly have peace in your house; and, i promise you, mistress prynne shall hereafter be more amenable to just authority than you may have found her heretofore." "nay, if your worship can accomplish that," answered master brackett, "i shall own you for a man of skill, indeed! verily, the woman hath been like a possessed one; and there lacks little that i should take in hand, to drive satan out of her with stripes." the stranger had entered the room with the characteristic quietude of the profession to which he announced himself as belonging. nor did his demeanour change when the withdrawal of the prison keeper left him face to face with the woman, whose absorbed notice of him, in the crowd, had intimated so close a relation between himself and her. his first care was given to the child, whose cries, indeed, as she lay writhing on the trundle-bed, made it of peremptory necessity to postpone all other business to the task of soothing her. he examined the infant carefully, and then proceeded to unclasp a leathern case, which he took from beneath his dress. it appeared to contain medical preparations, one of which he mingled with a cup of water. "my old studies in alchemy," observed he, "and my sojourn, for above a year past, among a people well versed in the kindly properties of simples, have made a better physician of me than many that claim the medical degree. here, woman! the child is yours--she is none of mine--neither will she recognise my voice or aspect as a father's. administer this draught, therefore, with thine own hand." hester repelled the offered medicine, at the same time gazing with strongly marked apprehension into his face. "wouldst thou avenge thyself on the innocent babe?" whispered she. "foolish woman!" responded the physician, half coldly, half soothingly. "what should ail me to harm this misbegotten and miserable babe? the medicine is potent for good, and were it my child--yea, mine own, as well as thine! i could do no better for it." as she still hesitated, being, in fact, in no reasonable state of mind, he took the infant in his arms, and himself administered the draught. it soon proved its efficacy, and redeemed the leech's pledge. the moans of the little patient subsided; its convulsive tossings gradually ceased; and in a few moments, as is the custom of young children after relief from pain, it sank into a profound and dewy slumber. the physician, as he had a fair right to be termed, next bestowed his attention on the mother. with calm and intent scrutiny, he felt her pulse, looked into her eyes--a gaze that made her heart shrink and shudder, because so familiar, and yet so strange and cold--and, finally, satisfied with his investigation, proceeded to mingle another draught. "i know not lethe nor nepenthe," remarked he; "but i have learned many new secrets in the wilderness, and here is one of them--a recipe that an indian taught me, in requital of some lessons of my own, that were as old as paracelsus. drink it! it may be less soothing than a sinless conscience. that i cannot give thee. but it will calm the swell and heaving of thy passion, like oil thrown on the waves of a tempestuous sea." he presented the cup to hester, who received it with a slow, earnest look into his face; not precisely a look of fear, yet full of doubt and questioning as to what his purposes might be. she looked also at her slumbering child. "i have thought of death," said she--"have wished for it--would even have prayed for it, were it fit that such as i should pray for anything. yet, if death be in this cup, i bid thee think again, ere thou beholdest me quaff it. see! it is even now at my lips." "drink, then," replied he, still with the same cold composure. "dost thou know me so little, hester prynne? are my purposes wont to be so shallow? even if i imagine a scheme of vengeance, what could i do better for my object than to let thee live--than to give thee medicines against all harm and peril of life--so that this burning shame may still blaze upon thy bosom?" as he spoke, he laid his long fore-finger on the scarlet letter, which forthwith seemed to scorch into hester's breast, as if it had been red hot. he noticed her involuntary gesture, and smiled. "live, therefore, and bear about thy doom with thee, in the eyes of men and women--in the eyes of him whom thou didst call thy husband--in the eyes of yonder child! and, that thou mayest live, take off this draught." without further expostulation or delay, hester prynne drained the cup, and, at the motion of the man of skill, seated herself on the bed, where the child was sleeping; while he drew the only chair which the room afforded, and took his own seat beside her. she could not but tremble at these preparations; for she felt that--having now done all that humanity, or principle, or, if so it were, a refined cruelty, impelled him to do for the relief of physical suffering--he was next to treat with her as the man whom she had most deeply and irreparably injured. "hester," said he, "i ask not wherefore, nor how thou hast fallen into the pit, or say, rather, thou hast ascended to the pedestal of infamy on which i found thee. the reason is not far to seek. it was my folly, and thy weakness. i--a man of thought--the book-worm of great libraries--a man already in decay, having given my best years to feed the hungry dream of knowledge--what had i to do with youth and beauty like thine own? misshapen from my birth-hour, how could i delude myself with the idea that intellectual gifts might veil physical deformity in a young girl's fantasy? men call me wise. if sages were ever wise in their own behoof, i might have foreseen all this. i might have known that, as i came out of the vast and dismal forest, and entered this settlement of christian men, the very first object to meet my eyes would be thyself, hester prynne, standing up, a statue of ignominy, before the people. nay, from the moment when we came down the old church-steps together, a married pair, i might have beheld the bale-fire of that scarlet letter blazing at the end of our path!" "thou knowest," said hester--for, depressed as she was, she could not endure this last quiet stab at the token of her shame--"thou knowest that i was frank with thee. i felt no love, nor feigned any." "true," replied he. "it was my folly! i have said it. but, up to that epoch of my life, i had lived in vain. the world had been so cheerless! my heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and chill, and without a household fire. i longed to kindle one! it seemed not so wild a dream--old as i was, and sombre as i was, and misshapen as i was--that the simple bliss, which is scattered far and wide, for all mankind to gather up, might yet be mine. and so, hester, i drew thee into my heart, into its innermost chamber, and sought to warm thee by the warmth which thy presence made there!" "i have greatly wronged thee," murmured hester. "we have wronged each other," answered he. "mine was the first wrong, when i betrayed thy budding youth into a false and unnatural relation with my decay. therefore, as a man who has not thought and philosophised in vain, i seek no vengeance, plot no evil against thee. between thee and me, the scale hangs fairly balanced. but, hester, the man lives who has wronged us both! who is he?" "ask me not!" replied hester prynne, looking firmly into his face. "that thou shalt never know!" "never, sayest thou?" rejoined he, with a smile of dark and self-relying intelligence. "never know him! believe me, hester, there are few things whether in the outward world, or, to a certain depth, in the invisible sphere of thought--few things hidden from the man who devotes himself earnestly and unreservedly to the solution of a mystery. thou mayest cover up thy secret from the prying multitude. thou mayest conceal it, too, from the ministers and magistrates, even as thou didst this day, when they sought to wrench the name out of thy heart, and give thee a partner on thy pedestal. but, as for me, i come to the inquest with other senses than they possess. i shall seek this man, as i have sought truth in books: as i have sought gold in alchemy. there is a sympathy that will make me conscious of him. i shall see him tremble. i shall feel myself shudder, suddenly and unawares. sooner or later, he must needs be mine." the eyes of the wrinkled scholar glowed so intensely upon her, that hester prynne clasped her hand over her heart, dreading lest he should read the secret there at once. "thou wilt not reveal his name? not the less he is mine," resumed he, with a look of confidence, as if destiny were at one with him. "he bears no letter of infamy wrought into his garment, as thou dost, but i shall read it on his heart. yet fear not for him! think not that i shall interfere with heaven's own method of retribution, or, to my own loss, betray him to the gripe of human law. neither do thou imagine that i shall contrive aught against his life; no, nor against his fame, if as i judge, he be a man of fair repute. let him live! let him hide himself in outward honour, if he may! not the less he shall be mine!" "thy acts are like mercy," said hester, bewildered and appalled; "but thy words interpret thee as a terror!" "one thing, thou that wast my wife, i would enjoin upon thee," continued the scholar. "thou hast kept the secret of thy paramour. keep, likewise, mine! there are none in this land that know me. breathe not to any human soul that thou didst ever call me husband! here, on this wild outskirt of the earth, i shall pitch my tent; for, elsewhere a wanderer, and isolated from human interests, i find here a woman, a man, a child, amongst whom and myself there exist the closest ligaments. no matter whether of love or hate: no matter whether of right or wrong! thou and thine, hester prynne, belong to me. my home is where thou art and where he is. but betray me not!" "wherefore dost thou desire it?" inquired hester, shrinking, she hardly knew why, from this secret bond. "why not announce thyself openly, and cast me off at once?" "it may be," he replied, "because i will not encounter the dishonour that besmirches the husband of a faithless woman. it may be for other reasons. enough, it is my purpose to live and die unknown. let, therefore, thy husband be to the world as one already dead, and of whom no tidings shall ever come. recognise me not, by word, by sign, by look! breathe not the secret, above all, to the man thou wottest of. shouldst thou fail me in this, beware! his fame, his position, his life will be in my hands. beware!" "i will keep thy secret, as i have his," said hester. "swear it!" rejoined he. and she took the oath. "and now, mistress prynne," said old roger chillingworth, as he was hereafter to be named, "i leave thee alone: alone with thy infant and the scarlet letter! how is it, hester? doth thy sentence bind thee to wear the token in thy sleep? art thou not afraid of nightmares and hideous dreams?" "why dost thou smile so at me?" inquired hester, troubled at the expression of his eyes. "art thou like the black man that haunts the forest round about us? hast thou enticed me into a bond that will prove the ruin of my soul?" "not thy soul," he answered, with another smile. "no, not thine!" v. hester at her needle hester prynne's term of confinement was now at an end. her prison-door was thrown open, and she came forth into the sunshine, which, falling on all alike, seemed, to her sick and morbid heart, as if meant for no other purpose than to reveal the scarlet letter on her breast. perhaps there was a more real torture in her first unattended footsteps from the threshold of the prison than even in the procession and spectacle that have been described, where she was made the common infamy, at which all mankind was summoned to point its finger. then, she was supported by an unnatural tension of the nerves, and by all the combative energy of her character, which enabled her to convert the scene into a kind of lurid triumph. it was, moreover, a separate and insulated event, to occur but once in her lifetime, and to meet which, therefore, reckless of economy, she might call up the vital strength that would have sufficed for many quiet years. the very law that condemned her--a giant of stern features but with vigour to support, as well as to annihilate, in his iron arm--had held her up through the terrible ordeal of her ignominy. but now, with this unattended walk from her prison door, began the daily custom; and she must either sustain and carry it forward by the ordinary resources of her nature, or sink beneath it. she could no longer borrow from the future to help her through the present grief. tomorrow would bring its own trial with it; so would the next day, and so would the next: each its own trial, and yet the very same that was now so unutterably grievous to be borne. the days of the far-off future would toil onward, still with the same burden for her to take up, and bear along with her, but never to fling down; for the accumulating days and added years would pile up their misery upon the heap of shame. throughout them all, giving up her individuality, she would become the general symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point, and in which they might vivify and embody their images of woman's frailty and sinful passion. thus the young and pure would be taught to look at her, with the scarlet letter flaming on her breast--at her, the child of honourable parents--at her, the mother of a babe that would hereafter be a woman--at her, who had once been innocent--as the figure, the body, the reality of sin. and over her grave, the infamy that she must carry thither would be her only monument. it may seem marvellous that, with the world before her--kept by no restrictive clause of her condemnation within the limits of the puritan settlement, so remote and so obscure--free to return to her birth-place, or to any other european land, and there hide her character and identity under a new exterior, as completely as if emerging into another state of being--and having also the passes of the dark, inscrutable forest open to her, where the wildness of her nature might assimilate itself with a people whose customs and life were alien from the law that had condemned her--it may seem marvellous that this woman should still call that place her home, where, and where only, she must needs be the type of shame. but there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it. her sin, her ignominy, were the roots which she had struck into the soil. it was as if a new birth, with stronger assimilations than the first, had converted the forest-land, still so uncongenial to every other pilgrim and wanderer, into hester prynne's wild and dreary, but life-long home. all other scenes of earth--even that village of rural england, where happy infancy and stainless maidenhood seemed yet to be in her mother's keeping, like garments put off long ago--were foreign to her, in comparison. the chain that bound her here was of iron links, and galling to her inmost soul, but could never be broken. it might be, too--doubtless it was so, although she hid the secret from herself, and grew pale whenever it struggled out of her heart, like a serpent from its hole--it might be that another feeling kept her within the scene and pathway that had been so fatal. there dwelt, there trode, the feet of one with whom she deemed herself connected in a union that, unrecognised on earth, would bring them together before the bar of final judgment, and make that their marriage-altar, for a joint futurity of endless retribution. over and over again, the tempter of souls had thrust this idea upon hester's contemplation, and laughed at the passionate and desperate joy with which she seized, and then strove to cast it from her. she barely looked the idea in the face, and hastened to bar it in its dungeon. what she compelled herself to believe--what, finally, she reasoned upon as her motive for continuing a resident of new england--was half a truth, and half a self-delusion. here, she said to herself had been the scene of her guilt, and here should be the scene of her earthly punishment; and so, perchance, the torture of her daily shame would at length purge her soul, and work out another purity than that which she had lost: more saint-like, because the result of martyrdom. hester prynne, therefore, did not flee. on the outskirts of the town, within the verge of the peninsula, but not in close vicinity to any other habitation, there was a small thatched cottage. it had been built by an earlier settler, and abandoned, because the soil about it was too sterile for cultivation, while its comparative remoteness put it out of the sphere of that social activity which already marked the habits of the emigrants. it stood on the shore, looking across a basin of the sea at the forest-covered hills, towards the west. a clump of scrubby trees, such as alone grew on the peninsula, did not so much conceal the cottage from view, as seem to denote that here was some object which would fain have been, or at least ought to be, concealed. in this little lonesome dwelling, with some slender means that she possessed, and by the licence of the magistrates, who still kept an inquisitorial watch over her, hester established herself, with her infant child. a mystic shadow of suspicion immediately attached itself to the spot. children, too young to comprehend wherefore this woman should be shut out from the sphere of human charities, would creep nigh enough to behold her plying her needle at the cottage-window, or standing in the doorway, or labouring in her little garden, or coming forth along the pathway that led townward, and, discerning the scarlet letter on her breast, would scamper off with a strange contagious fear. lonely as was hester's situation, and without a friend on earth who dared to show himself, she, however, incurred no risk of want. she possessed an art that sufficed, even in a land that afforded comparatively little scope for its exercise, to supply food for her thriving infant and herself. it was the art, then, as now, almost the only one within a woman's grasp--of needle-work. she bore on her breast, in the curiously embroidered letter, a specimen of her delicate and imaginative skill, of which the dames of a court might gladly have availed themselves, to add the richer and more spiritual adornment of human ingenuity to their fabrics of silk and gold. here, indeed, in the sable simplicity that generally characterised the puritanic modes of dress, there might be an infrequent call for the finer productions of her handiwork. yet the taste of the age, demanding whatever was elaborate in compositions of this kind, did not fail to extend its influence over our stern progenitors, who had cast behind them so many fashions which it might seem harder to dispense with. public ceremonies, such as ordinations, the installation of magistrates, and all that could give majesty to the forms in which a new government manifested itself to the people, were, as a matter of policy, marked by a stately and well-conducted ceremonial, and a sombre, but yet a studied magnificence. deep ruffs, painfully wrought bands, and gorgeously embroidered gloves, were all deemed necessary to the official state of men assuming the reins of power, and were readily allowed to individuals dignified by rank or wealth, even while sumptuary laws forbade these and similar extravagances to the plebeian order. in the array of funerals, too--whether for the apparel of the dead body, or to typify, by manifold emblematic devices of sable cloth and snowy lawn, the sorrow of the survivors--there was a frequent and characteristic demand for such labour as hester prynne could supply. baby-linen--for babies then wore robes of state--afforded still another possibility of toil and emolument. by degrees, not very slowly, her handiwork became what would now be termed the fashion. whether from commiseration for a woman of so miserable a destiny; or from the morbid curiosity that gives a fictitious value even to common or worthless things; or by whatever other intangible circumstance was then, as now, sufficient to bestow, on some persons, what others might seek in vain; or because hester really filled a gap which must otherwise have remained vacant; it is certain that she had ready and fairly requited employment for as many hours as she saw fit to occupy with her needle. vanity, it may be, chose to mortify itself, by putting on, for ceremonials of pomp and state, the garments that had been wrought by her sinful hands. her needle-work was seen on the ruff of the governor; military men wore it on their scarfs, and the minister on his band; it decked the baby's little cap; it was shut up, to be mildewed and moulder away, in the coffins of the dead. but it is not recorded that, in a single instance, her skill was called in to embroider the white veil which was to cover the pure blushes of a bride. the exception indicated the ever relentless vigour with which society frowned upon her sin. hester sought not to acquire anything beyond a subsistence, of the plainest and most ascetic description, for herself, and a simple abundance for her child. her own dress was of the coarsest materials and the most sombre hue, with only that one ornament--the scarlet letter--which it was her doom to wear. the child's attire, on the other hand, was distinguished by a fanciful, or, we may rather say, a fantastic ingenuity, which served, indeed, to heighten the airy charm that early began to develop itself in the little girl, but which appeared to have also a deeper meaning. we may speak further of it hereafter. except for that small expenditure in the decoration of her infant, hester bestowed all her superfluous means in charity, on wretches less miserable than herself, and who not unfrequently insulted the hand that fed them. much of the time, which she might readily have applied to the better efforts of her art, she employed in making coarse garments for the poor. it is probable that there was an idea of penance in this mode of occupation, and that she offered up a real sacrifice of enjoyment in devoting so many hours to such rude handiwork. she had in her nature a rich, voluptuous, oriental characteristic--a taste for the gorgeously beautiful, which, save in the exquisite productions of her needle, found nothing else, in all the possibilities of her life, to exercise itself upon. women derive a pleasure, incomprehensible to the other sex, from the delicate toil of the needle. to hester prynne it might have been a mode of expressing, and therefore soothing, the passion of her life. like all other joys, she rejected it as sin. this morbid meddling of conscience with an immaterial matter betokened, it is to be feared, no genuine and steadfast penitence, but something doubtful, something that might be deeply wrong beneath. in this manner, hester prynne came to have a part to perform in the world. with her native energy of character and rare capacity, it could not entirely cast her off, although it had set a mark upon her, more intolerable to a woman's heart than that which branded the brow of cain. in all her intercourse with society, however, there was nothing that made her feel as if she belonged to it. every gesture, every word, and even the silence of those with whom she came in contact, implied, and often expressed, that she was banished, and as much alone as if she inhabited another sphere, or communicated with the common nature by other organs and senses than the rest of human kind. she stood apart from mortal interests, yet close beside them, like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside, and can no longer make itself seen or felt; no more smile with the household joy, nor mourn with the kindred sorrow; or, should it succeed in manifesting its forbidden sympathy, awakening only terror and horrible repugnance. these emotions, in fact, and its bitterest scorn besides, seemed to be the sole portion that she retained in the universal heart. it was not an age of delicacy; and her position, although she understood it well, and was in little danger of forgetting it, was often brought before her vivid self-perception, like a new anguish, by the rudest touch upon the tenderest spot. the poor, as we have already said, whom she sought out to be the objects of her bounty, often reviled the hand that was stretched forth to succour them. dames of elevated rank, likewise, whose doors she entered in the way of her occupation, were accustomed to distil drops of bitterness into her heart; sometimes through that alchemy of quiet malice, by which women can concoct a subtle poison from ordinary trifles; and sometimes, also, by a coarser expression, that fell upon the sufferer's defenceless breast like a rough blow upon an ulcerated wound. hester had schooled herself long and well; and she never responded to these attacks, save by a flush of crimson that rose irrepressibly over her pale cheek, and again subsided into the depths of her bosom. she was patient--a martyr, indeed--but she forebore to pray for enemies, lest, in spite of her forgiving aspirations, the words of the blessing should stubbornly twist themselves into a curse. continually, and in a thousand other ways, did she feel the innumerable throbs of anguish that had been so cunningly contrived for her by the undying, the ever-active sentence of the puritan tribunal. clergymen paused in the streets, to address words of exhortation, that brought a crowd, with its mingled grin and frown, around the poor, sinful woman. if she entered a church, trusting to share the sabbath smile of the universal father, it was often her mishap to find herself the text of the discourse. she grew to have a dread of children; for they had imbibed from their parents a vague idea of something horrible in this dreary woman gliding silently through the town, with never any companion but one only child. therefore, first allowing her to pass, they pursued her at a distance with shrill cries, and the utterances of a word that had no distinct purport to their own minds, but was none the less terrible to her, as proceeding from lips that babbled it unconsciously. it seemed to argue so wide a diffusion of her shame, that all nature knew of it; it could have caused her no deeper pang had the leaves of the trees whispered the dark story among themselves--had the summer breeze murmured about it--had the wintry blast shrieked it aloud! another peculiar torture was felt in the gaze of a new eye. when strangers looked curiously at the scarlet letter--and none ever failed to do so--they branded it afresh in hester's soul; so that, oftentimes, she could scarcely refrain, yet always did refrain, from covering the symbol with her hand. but then, again, an accustomed eye had likewise its own anguish to inflict. its cool stare of familiarity was intolerable. from first to last, in short, hester prynne had always this dreadful agony in feeling a human eye upon the token; the spot never grew callous; it seemed, on the contrary, to grow more sensitive with daily torture. but sometimes, once in many days, or perchance in many months, she felt an eye--a human eye--upon the ignominious brand, that seemed to give a momentary relief, as if half of her agony were shared. the next instant, back it all rushed again, with still a deeper throb of pain; for, in that brief interval, she had sinned anew. (had hester sinned alone?) her imagination was somewhat affected, and, had she been of a softer moral and intellectual fibre would have been still more so, by the strange and solitary anguish of her life. walking to and fro, with those lonely footsteps, in the little world with which she was outwardly connected, it now and then appeared to hester--if altogether fancy, it was nevertheless too potent to be resisted--she felt or fancied, then, that the scarlet letter had endowed her with a new sense. she shuddered to believe, yet could not help believing, that it gave her a sympathetic knowledge of the hidden sin in other hearts. she was terror-stricken by the revelations that were thus made. what were they? could they be other than the insidious whispers of the bad angel, who would fain have persuaded the struggling woman, as yet only half his victim, that the outward guise of purity was but a lie, and that, if truth were everywhere to be shown, a scarlet letter would blaze forth on many a bosom besides hester prynne's? or, must she receive those intimations--so obscure, yet so distinct--as truth? in all her miserable experience, there was nothing else so awful and so loathsome as this sense. it perplexed, as well as shocked her, by the irreverent inopportuneness of the occasions that brought it into vivid action. sometimes the red infamy upon her breast would give a sympathetic throb, as she passed near a venerable minister or magistrate, the model of piety and justice, to whom that age of antique reverence looked up, as to a mortal man in fellowship with angels. "what evil thing is at hand?" would hester say to herself. lifting her reluctant eyes, there would be nothing human within the scope of view, save the form of this earthly saint! again a mystic sisterhood would contumaciously assert itself, as she met the sanctified frown of some matron, who, according to the rumour of all tongues, had kept cold snow within her bosom throughout life. that unsunned snow in the matron's bosom, and the burning shame on hester prynne's--what had the two in common? or, once more, the electric thrill would give her warning--"behold hester, here is a companion!" and, looking up, she would detect the eyes of a young maiden glancing at the scarlet letter, shyly and aside, and quickly averted, with a faint, chill crimson in her cheeks as if her purity were somewhat sullied by that momentary glance. o fiend, whose talisman was that fatal symbol, wouldst thou leave nothing, whether in youth or age, for this poor sinner to revere?--such loss of faith is ever one of the saddest results of sin. be it accepted as a proof that all was not corrupt in this poor victim of her own frailty, and man's hard law, that hester prynne yet struggled to believe that no fellow-mortal was guilty like herself. the vulgar, who, in those dreary old times, were always contributing a grotesque horror to what interested their imaginations, had a story about the scarlet letter which we might readily work up into a terrific legend. they averred that the symbol was not mere scarlet cloth, tinged in an earthly dye-pot, but was red-hot with infernal fire, and could be seen glowing all alight whenever hester prynne walked abroad in the night-time. and we must needs say it seared hester's bosom so deeply, that perhaps there was more truth in the rumour than our modern incredulity may be inclined to admit. vi. pearl we have as yet hardly spoken of the infant; that little creature, whose innocent life had sprung, by the inscrutable decree of providence, a lovely and immortal flower, out of the rank luxuriance of a guilty passion. how strange it seemed to the sad woman, as she watched the growth, and the beauty that became every day more brilliant, and the intelligence that threw its quivering sunshine over the tiny features of this child! her pearl--for so had hester called her; not as a name expressive of her aspect, which had nothing of the calm, white, unimpassioned lustre that would be indicated by the comparison. but she named the infant "pearl," as being of great price--purchased with all she had--her mother's only treasure! how strange, indeed! man had marked this woman's sin by a scarlet letter, which had such potent and disastrous efficacy that no human sympathy could reach her, save it were sinful like herself. god, as a direct consequence of the sin which man thus punished, had given her a lovely child, whose place was on that same dishonoured bosom, to connect her parent for ever with the race and descent of mortals, and to be finally a blessed soul in heaven! yet these thoughts affected hester prynne less with hope than apprehension. she knew that her deed had been evil; she could have no faith, therefore, that its result would be good. day after day she looked fearfully into the child's expanding nature, ever dreading to detect some dark and wild peculiarity that should correspond with the guiltiness to which she owed her being. certainly there was no physical defect. by its perfect shape, its vigour, and its natural dexterity in the use of all its untried limbs, the infant was worthy to have been brought forth in eden: worthy to have been left there to be the plaything of the angels after the world's first parents were driven out. the child had a native grace which does not invariably co-exist with faultless beauty; its attire, however simple, always impressed the beholder as if it were the very garb that precisely became it best. but little pearl was not clad in rustic weeds. her mother, with a morbid purpose that may be better understood hereafter, had bought the richest tissues that could be procured, and allowed her imaginative faculty its full play in the arrangement and decoration of the dresses which the child wore before the public eye. so magnificent was the small figure when thus arrayed, and such was the splendour of pearl's own proper beauty, shining through the gorgeous robes which might have extinguished a paler loveliness, that there was an absolute circle of radiance around her on the darksome cottage floor. and yet a russet gown, torn and soiled with the child's rude play, made a picture of her just as perfect. pearl's aspect was imbued with a spell of infinite variety; in this one child there were many children, comprehending the full scope between the wild-flower prettiness of a peasant-baby, and the pomp, in little, of an infant princess. throughout all, however, there was a trait of passion, a certain depth of hue, which she never lost; and if in any of her changes, she had grown fainter or paler, she would have ceased to be herself--it would have been no longer pearl! this outward mutability indicated, and did not more than fairly express, the various properties of her inner life. her nature appeared to possess depth, too, as well as variety; but--or else hester's fears deceived her--it lacked reference and adaptation to the world into which she was born. the child could not be made amenable to rules. in giving her existence a great law had been broken; and the result was a being whose elements were perhaps beautiful and brilliant, but all in disorder, or with an order peculiar to themselves, amidst which the point of variety and arrangement was difficult or impossible to be discovered. hester could only account for the child's character--and even then most vaguely and imperfectly--by recalling what she herself had been during that momentous period while pearl was imbibing her soul from the spiritual world, and her bodily frame from its material of earth. the mother's impassioned state had been the medium through which were transmitted to the unborn infant the rays of its moral life; and, however white and clear originally, they had taken the deep stains of crimson and gold, the fiery lustre, the black shadow, and the untempered light of the intervening substance. above all, the warfare of hester's spirit at that epoch was perpetuated in pearl. she could recognize her wild, desperate, defiant mood, the flightiness of her temper, and even some of the very cloud-shapes of gloom and despondency that had brooded in her heart. they were now illuminated by the morning radiance of a young child's disposition, but, later in the day of earthly existence, might be prolific of the storm and whirlwind. the discipline of the family in those days was of a far more rigid kind than now. the frown, the harsh rebuke, the frequent application of the rod, enjoined by scriptural authority, were used, not merely in the way of punishment for actual offences, but as a wholesome regimen for the growth and promotion of all childish virtues. hester prynne, nevertheless, the loving mother of this one child, ran little risk of erring on the side of undue severity. mindful, however, of her own errors and misfortunes, she early sought to impose a tender but strict control over the infant immortality that was committed to her charge. but the task was beyond her skill. after testing both smiles and frowns, and proving that neither mode of treatment possessed any calculable influence, hester was ultimately compelled to stand aside and permit the child to be swayed by her own impulses. physical compulsion or restraint was effectual, of course, while it lasted. as to any other kind of discipline, whether addressed to her mind or heart, little pearl might or might not be within its reach, in accordance with the caprice that ruled the moment. her mother, while pearl was yet an infant, grew acquainted with a certain peculiar look, that warned her when it would be labour thrown away to insist, persuade or plead. it was a look so intelligent, yet inexplicable, perverse, sometimes so malicious, but generally accompanied by a wild flow of spirits, that hester could not help questioning at such moments whether pearl was a human child. she seemed rather an airy sprite, which, after playing its fantastic sports for a little while upon the cottage floor, would flit away with a mocking smile. whenever that look appeared in her wild, bright, deeply black eyes, it invested her with a strange remoteness and intangibility: it was as if she were hovering in the air, and might vanish, like a glimmering light that comes we know not whence and goes we know not whither. beholding it, hester was constrained to rush towards the child--to pursue the little elf in the flight which she invariably began--to snatch her to her bosom with a close pressure and earnest kisses--not so much from overflowing love as to assure herself that pearl was flesh and blood, and not utterly delusive. but pearl's laugh, when she was caught, though full of merriment and music, made her mother more doubtful than before. heart-smitten at this bewildering and baffling spell, that so often came between herself and her sole treasure, whom she had bought so dear, and who was all her world, hester sometimes burst into passionate tears. then, perhaps--for there was no foreseeing how it might affect her--pearl would frown, and clench her little fist, and harden her small features into a stern, unsympathising look of discontent. not seldom she would laugh anew, and louder than before, like a thing incapable and unintelligent of human sorrow. or--but this more rarely happened--she would be convulsed with rage of grief and sob out her love for her mother in broken words, and seem intent on proving that she had a heart by breaking it. yet hester was hardly safe in confiding herself to that gusty tenderness: it passed as suddenly as it came. brooding over all these matters, the mother felt like one who has evoked a spirit, but, by some irregularity in the process of conjuration, has failed to win the master-word that should control this new and incomprehensible intelligence. her only real comfort was when the child lay in the placidity of sleep. then she was sure of her, and tasted hours of quiet, sad, delicious happiness; until--perhaps with that perverse expression glimmering from beneath her opening lids--little pearl awoke! how soon--with what strange rapidity, indeed--did pearl arrive at an age that was capable of social intercourse beyond the mother's ever-ready smile and nonsense-words! and then what a happiness would it have been could hester prynne have heard her clear, bird-like voice mingling with the uproar of other childish voices, and have distinguished and unravelled her own darling's tones, amid all the entangled outcry of a group of sportive children. but this could never be. pearl was a born outcast of the infantile world. an imp of evil, emblem and product of sin, she had no right among christened infants. nothing was more remarkable than the instinct, as it seemed, with which the child comprehended her loneliness: the destiny that had drawn an inviolable circle round about her: the whole peculiarity, in short, of her position in respect to other children. never since her release from prison had hester met the public gaze without her. in all her walks about the town, pearl, too, was there: first as the babe in arms, and afterwards as the little girl, small companion of her mother, holding a forefinger with her whole grasp, and tripping along at the rate of three or four footsteps to one of hester's. she saw the children of the settlement on the grassy margin of the street, or at the domestic thresholds, disporting themselves in such grim fashions as the puritanic nurture would permit; playing at going to church, perchance, or at scourging quakers; or taking scalps in a sham fight with the indians, or scaring one another with freaks of imitative witchcraft. pearl saw, and gazed intently, but never sought to make acquaintance. if spoken to, she would not speak again. if the children gathered about her, as they sometimes did, pearl would grow positively terrible in her puny wrath, snatching up stones to fling at them, with shrill, incoherent exclamations, that made her mother tremble, because they had so much the sound of a witch's anathemas in some unknown tongue. the truth was, that the little puritans, being of the most intolerant brood that ever lived, had got a vague idea of something outlandish, unearthly, or at variance with ordinary fashions, in the mother and child, and therefore scorned them in their hearts, and not unfrequently reviled them with their tongues. pearl felt the sentiment, and requited it with the bitterest hatred that can be supposed to rankle in a childish bosom. these outbreaks of a fierce temper had a kind of value, and even comfort for the mother; because there was at least an intelligible earnestness in the mood, instead of the fitful caprice that so often thwarted her in the child's manifestations. it appalled her, nevertheless, to discern here, again, a shadowy reflection of the evil that had existed in herself. all this enmity and passion had pearl inherited, by inalienable right, out of hester's heart. mother and daughter stood together in the same circle of seclusion from human society; and in the nature of the child seemed to be perpetuated those unquiet elements that had distracted hester prynne before pearl's birth, but had since begun to be soothed away by the softening influences of maternity. at home, within and around her mother's cottage, pearl wanted not a wide and various circle of acquaintance. the spell of life went forth from her ever-creative spirit, and communicated itself to a thousand objects, as a torch kindles a flame wherever it may be applied. the unlikeliest materials--a stick, a bunch of rags, a flower--were the puppets of pearl's witchcraft, and, without undergoing any outward change, became spiritually adapted to whatever drama occupied the stage of her inner world. her one baby-voice served a multitude of imaginary personages, old and young, to talk withal. the pine-trees, aged, black, and solemn, and flinging groans and other melancholy utterances on the breeze, needed little transformation to figure as puritan elders; the ugliest weeds of the garden were their children, whom pearl smote down and uprooted most unmercifully. it was wonderful, the vast variety of forms into which she threw her intellect, with no continuity, indeed, but darting up and dancing, always in a state of preternatural activity--soon sinking down, as if exhausted by so rapid and feverish a tide of life--and succeeded by other shapes of a similar wild energy. it was like nothing so much as the phantasmagoric play of the northern lights. in the mere exercise of the fancy, however, and the sportiveness of a growing mind, there might be a little more than was observable in other children of bright faculties; except as pearl, in the dearth of human playmates, was thrown more upon the visionary throng which she created. the singularity lay in the hostile feelings with which the child regarded all these offsprings of her own heart and mind. she never created a friend, but seemed always to be sowing broadcast the dragon's teeth, whence sprung a harvest of armed enemies, against whom she rushed to battle. it was inexpressibly sad--then what depth of sorrow to a mother, who felt in her own heart the cause--to observe, in one so young, this constant recognition of an adverse world, and so fierce a training of the energies that were to make good her cause in the contest that must ensue. gazing at pearl, hester prynne often dropped her work upon her knees, and cried out with an agony which she would fain have hidden, but which made utterance for itself betwixt speech and a groan--"o father in heaven--if thou art still my father--what is this being which i have brought into the world?" and pearl, overhearing the ejaculation, or aware through some more subtile channel, of those throbs of anguish, would turn her vivid and beautiful little face upon her mother, smile with sprite-like intelligence, and resume her play. one peculiarity of the child's deportment remains yet to be told. the very first thing which she had noticed in her life, was--what?--not the mother's smile, responding to it, as other babies do, by that faint, embryo smile of the little mouth, remembered so doubtfully afterwards, and with such fond discussion whether it were indeed a smile. by no means! but that first object of which pearl seemed to become aware was--shall we say it?--the scarlet letter on hester's bosom! one day, as her mother stooped over the cradle, the infant's eyes had been caught by the glimmering of the gold embroidery about the letter; and putting up her little hand she grasped at it, smiling, not doubtfully, but with a decided gleam, that gave her face the look of a much older child. then, gasping for breath, did hester prynne clutch the fatal token, instinctively endeavouring to tear it away, so infinite was the torture inflicted by the intelligent touch of pearl's baby-hand. again, as if her mother's agonised gesture were meant only to make sport for her, did little pearl look into her eyes, and smile. from that epoch, except when the child was asleep, hester had never felt a moment's safety: not a moment's calm enjoyment of her. weeks, it is true, would sometimes elapse, during which pearl's gaze might never once be fixed upon the scarlet letter; but then, again, it would come at unawares, like the stroke of sudden death, and always with that peculiar smile and odd expression of the eyes. once this freakish, elvish cast came into the child's eyes while hester was looking at her own image in them, as mothers are fond of doing; and suddenly--for women in solitude, and with troubled hearts, are pestered with unaccountable delusions--she fancied that she beheld, not her own miniature portrait, but another face in the small black mirror of pearl's eye. it was a face, fiend-like, full of smiling malice, yet bearing the semblance of features that she had known full well, though seldom with a smile, and never with malice in them. it was as if an evil spirit possessed the child, and had just then peeped forth in mockery. many a time afterwards had hester been tortured, though less vividly, by the same illusion. in the afternoon of a certain summer's day, after pearl grew big enough to run about, she amused herself with gathering handfuls of wild flowers, and flinging them, one by one, at her mother's bosom; dancing up and down like a little elf whenever she hit the scarlet letter. hester's first motion had been to cover her bosom with her clasped hands. but whether from pride or resignation, or a feeling that her penance might best be wrought out by this unutterable pain, she resisted the impulse, and sat erect, pale as death, looking sadly into little pearl's wild eyes. still came the battery of flowers, almost invariably hitting the mark, and covering the mother's breast with hurts for which she could find no balm in this world, nor knew how to seek it in another. at last, her shot being all expended, the child stood still and gazed at hester, with that little laughing image of a fiend peeping out--or, whether it peeped or no, her mother so imagined it--from the unsearchable abyss of her black eyes. "child, what art thou?" cried the mother. "oh, i am your little pearl!" answered the child. but while she said it, pearl laughed, and began to dance up and down with the humoursome gesticulation of a little imp, whose next freak might be to fly up the chimney. "art thou my child, in very truth?" asked hester. nor did she put the question altogether idly, but, for the moment, with a portion of genuine earnestness; for, such was pearl's wonderful intelligence, that her mother half doubted whether she were not acquainted with the secret spell of her existence, and might not now reveal herself. "yes; i am little pearl!" repeated the child, continuing her antics. "thou art not my child! thou art no pearl of mine!" said the mother half playfully; for it was often the case that a sportive impulse came over her in the midst of her deepest suffering. "tell me, then, what thou art, and who sent thee hither?" "tell me, mother!" said the child, seriously, coming up to hester, and pressing herself close to her knees. "do thou tell me!" "thy heavenly father sent thee!" answered hester prynne. but she said it with a hesitation that did not escape the acuteness of the child. whether moved only by her ordinary freakishness, or because an evil spirit prompted her, she put up her small forefinger and touched the scarlet letter. "he did not send me!" cried she, positively. "i have no heavenly father!" "hush, pearl, hush! thou must not talk so!" answered the mother, suppressing a groan. "he sent us all into the world. he sent even me, thy mother. then, much more thee! or, if not, thou strange and elfish child, whence didst thou come?" "tell me! tell me!" repeated pearl, no longer seriously, but laughing and capering about the floor. "it is thou that must tell me!" but hester could not resolve the query, being herself in a dismal labyrinth of doubt. she remembered--betwixt a smile and a shudder--the talk of the neighbouring townspeople, who, seeking vainly elsewhere for the child's paternity, and observing some of her odd attributes, had given out that poor little pearl was a demon offspring: such as, ever since old catholic times, had occasionally been seen on earth, through the agency of their mother's sin, and to promote some foul and wicked purpose. luther, according to the scandal of his monkish enemies, was a brat of that hellish breed; nor was pearl the only child to whom this inauspicious origin was assigned among the new england puritans. vii. the governor's hall hester prynne went one day to the mansion of governor bellingham, with a pair of gloves which she had fringed and embroidered to his order, and which were to be worn on some great occasion of state; for, though the chances of a popular election had caused this former ruler to descend a step or two from the highest rank, he still held an honourable and influential place among the colonial magistracy. another and far more important reason than the delivery of a pair of embroidered gloves, impelled hester, at this time, to seek an interview with a personage of so much power and activity in the affairs of the settlement. it had reached her ears that there was a design on the part of some of the leading inhabitants, cherishing the more rigid order of principles in religion and government, to deprive her of her child. on the supposition that pearl, as already hinted, was of demon origin, these good people not unreasonably argued that a christian interest in the mother's soul required them to remove such a stumbling-block from her path. if the child, on the other hand, were really capable of moral and religious growth, and possessed the elements of ultimate salvation, then, surely, it would enjoy all the fairer prospect of these advantages by being transferred to wiser and better guardianship than hester prynne's. among those who promoted the design, governor bellingham was said to be one of the most busy. it may appear singular, and, indeed, not a little ludicrous, that an affair of this kind, which in later days would have been referred to no higher jurisdiction than that of the select men of the town, should then have been a question publicly discussed, and on which statesmen of eminence took sides. at that epoch of pristine simplicity, however, matters of even slighter public interest, and of far less intrinsic weight than the welfare of hester and her child, were strangely mixed up with the deliberations of legislators and acts of state. the period was hardly, if at all, earlier than that of our story, when a dispute concerning the right of property in a pig not only caused a fierce and bitter contest in the legislative body of the colony, but resulted in an important modification of the framework itself of the legislature. full of concern, therefore--but so conscious of her own right that it seemed scarcely an unequal match between the public on the one side, and a lonely woman, backed by the sympathies of nature, on the other--hester prynne set forth from her solitary cottage. little pearl, of course, was her companion. she was now of an age to run lightly along by her mother's side, and, constantly in motion from morn till sunset, could have accomplished a much longer journey than that before her. often, nevertheless, more from caprice than necessity, she demanded to be taken up in arms; but was soon as imperious to be let down again, and frisked onward before hester on the grassy pathway, with many a harmless trip and tumble. we have spoken of pearl's rich and luxuriant beauty--a beauty that shone with deep and vivid tints, a bright complexion, eyes possessing intensity both of depth and glow, and hair already of a deep, glossy brown, and which, in after years, would be nearly akin to black. there was fire in her and throughout her: she seemed the unpremeditated offshoot of a passionate moment. her mother, in contriving the child's garb, had allowed the gorgeous tendencies of her imagination their full play, arraying her in a crimson velvet tunic of a peculiar cut, abundantly embroidered in fantasies and flourishes of gold thread. so much strength of colouring, which must have given a wan and pallid aspect to cheeks of a fainter bloom, was admirably adapted to pearl's beauty, and made her the very brightest little jet of flame that ever danced upon the earth. but it was a remarkable attribute of this garb, and indeed, of the child's whole appearance, that it irresistibly and inevitably reminded the beholder of the token which hester prynne was doomed to wear upon her bosom. it was the scarlet letter in another form: the scarlet letter endowed with life! the mother herself--as if the red ignominy were so deeply scorched into her brain that all her conceptions assumed its form--had carefully wrought out the similitude, lavishing many hours of morbid ingenuity to create an analogy between the object of her affection and the emblem of her guilt and torture. but, in truth, pearl was the one as well as the other; and only in consequence of that identity had hester contrived so perfectly to represent the scarlet letter in her appearance. as the two wayfarers came within the precincts of the town, the children of the puritans looked up from their play,--or what passed for play with those sombre little urchins--and spoke gravely one to another. "behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter: and of a truth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter running along by her side! come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!" but pearl, who was a dauntless child, after frowning, stamping her foot, and shaking her little hand with a variety of threatening gestures, suddenly made a rush at the knot of her enemies, and put them all to flight. she resembled, in her fierce pursuit of them, an infant pestilence--the scarlet fever, or some such half-fledged angel of judgment--whose mission was to punish the sins of the rising generation. she screamed and shouted, too, with a terrific volume of sound, which, doubtless, caused the hearts of the fugitives to quake within them. the victory accomplished, pearl returned quietly to her mother, and looked up, smiling, into her face. without further adventure, they reached the dwelling of governor bellingham. this was a large wooden house, built in a fashion of which there are specimens still extant in the streets of our older towns now moss-grown, crumbling to decay, and melancholy at heart with the many sorrowful or joyful occurrences, remembered or forgotten, that have happened and passed away within their dusky chambers. then, however, there was the freshness of the passing year on its exterior, and the cheerfulness, gleaming forth from the sunny windows, of a human habitation, into which death had never entered. it had, indeed, a very cheery aspect, the walls being overspread with a kind of stucco, in which fragments of broken glass were plentifully intermixed; so that, when the sunshine fell aslant-wise over the front of the edifice, it glittered and sparkled as if diamonds had been flung against it by the double handful. the brilliancy might have be fitted aladdin's palace rather than the mansion of a grave old puritan ruler. it was further decorated with strange and seemingly cabalistic figures and diagrams, suitable to the quaint taste of the age which had been drawn in the stucco, when newly laid on, and had now grown hard and durable, for the admiration of after times. pearl, looking at this bright wonder of a house began to caper and dance, and imperatively required that the whole breadth of sunshine should be stripped off its front, and given her to play with. "no, my little pearl!" said her mother; "thou must gather thine own sunshine. i have none to give thee!" they approached the door, which was of an arched form, and flanked on each side by a narrow tower or projection of the edifice, in both of which were lattice-windows, the wooden shutters to close over them at need. lifting the iron hammer that hung at the portal, hester prynne gave a summons, which was answered by one of the governor's bond servant--a free-born englishman, but now a seven years' slave. during that term he was to be the property of his master, and as much a commodity of bargain and sale as an ox, or a joint-stool. the serf wore the customary garb of serving-men at that period, and long before, in the old hereditary halls of england. "is the worshipful governor bellingham within?" inquired hester. "yea, forsooth," replied the bond-servant, staring with wide-open eyes at the scarlet letter, which, being a new-comer in the country, he had never before seen. "yea, his honourable worship is within. but he hath a godly minister or two with him, and likewise a leech. ye may not see his worship now." "nevertheless, i will enter," answered hester prynne; and the bond-servant, perhaps judging from the decision of her air, and the glittering symbol in her bosom, that she was a great lady in the land, offered no opposition. so the mother and little pearl were admitted into the hall of entrance. with many variations, suggested by the nature of his building materials, diversity of climate, and a different mode of social life, governor bellingham had planned his new habitation after the residences of gentlemen of fair estate in his native land. here, then, was a wide and reasonably lofty hall, extending through the whole depth of the house, and forming a medium of general communication, more or less directly, with all the other apartments. at one extremity, this spacious room was lighted by the windows of the two towers, which formed a small recess on either side of the portal. at the other end, though partly muffled by a curtain, it was more powerfully illuminated by one of those embowed hall windows which we read of in old books, and which was provided with a deep and cushioned seat. here, on the cushion, lay a folio tome, probably of the chronicles of england, or other such substantial literature; even as, in our own days, we scatter gilded volumes on the centre table, to be turned over by the casual guest. the furniture of the hall consisted of some ponderous chairs, the backs of which were elaborately carved with wreaths of oaken flowers; and likewise a table in the same taste, the whole being of the elizabethan age, or perhaps earlier, and heirlooms, transferred hither from the governor's paternal home. on the table--in token that the sentiment of old english hospitality had not been left behind--stood a large pewter tankard, at the bottom of which, had hester or pearl peeped into it, they might have seen the frothy remnant of a recent draught of ale. on the wall hung a row of portraits, representing the forefathers of the bellingham lineage, some with armour on their breasts, and others with stately ruffs and robes of peace. all were characterised by the sternness and severity which old portraits so invariably put on, as if they were the ghosts, rather than the pictures, of departed worthies, and were gazing with harsh and intolerant criticism at the pursuits and enjoyments of living men. at about the centre of the oaken panels that lined the hall was suspended a suit of mail, not, like the pictures, an ancestral relic, but of the most modern date; for it had been manufactured by a skilful armourer in london, the same year in which governor bellingham came over to new england. there was a steel head-piece, a cuirass, a gorget and greaves, with a pair of gauntlets and a sword hanging beneath; all, and especially the helmet and breastplate, so highly burnished as to glow with white radiance, and scatter an illumination everywhere about upon the floor. this bright panoply was not meant for mere idle show, but had been worn by the governor on many a solemn muster and training field, and had glittered, moreover, at the head of a regiment in the pequod war. for, though bred a lawyer, and accustomed to speak of bacon, coke, noye, and finch, as his professional associates, the exigencies of this new country had transformed governor bellingham into a soldier, as well as a statesman and ruler. little pearl, who was as greatly pleased with the gleaming armour as she had been with the glittering frontispiece of the house, spent some time looking into the polished mirror of the breastplate. "mother," cried she, "i see you here. look! look!" hester looked by way of humouring the child; and she saw that, owing to the peculiar effect of this convex mirror, the scarlet letter was represented in exaggerated and gigantic proportions, so as to be greatly the most prominent feature of her appearance. in truth, she seemed absolutely hidden behind it. pearl pointed upwards also, at a similar picture in the head-piece; smiling at her mother, with the elfish intelligence that was so familiar an expression on her small physiognomy. that look of naughty merriment was likewise reflected in the mirror, with so much breadth and intensity of effect, that it made hester prynne feel as if it could not be the image of her own child, but of an imp who was seeking to mould itself into pearl's shape. "come along, pearl," said she, drawing her away, "come and look into this fair garden. it may be we shall see flowers there; more beautiful ones than we find in the woods." pearl accordingly ran to the bow-window, at the further end of the hall, and looked along the vista of a garden walk, carpeted with closely-shaven grass, and bordered with some rude and immature attempt at shrubbery. but the proprietor appeared already to have relinquished as hopeless, the effort to perpetuate on this side of the atlantic, in a hard soil, and amid the close struggle for subsistence, the native english taste for ornamental gardening. cabbages grew in plain sight; and a pumpkin-vine, rooted at some distance, had run across the intervening space, and deposited one of its gigantic products directly beneath the hall window, as if to warn the governor that this great lump of vegetable gold was as rich an ornament as new england earth would offer him. there were a few rose-bushes, however, and a number of apple-trees, probably the descendants of those planted by the reverend mr. blackstone, the first settler of the peninsula; that half mythological personage who rides through our early annals, seated on the back of a bull. pearl, seeing the rose-bushes, began to cry for a red rose, and would not be pacified. "hush, child--hush!" said her mother, earnestly. "do not cry, dear little pearl! i hear voices in the garden. the governor is coming, and gentlemen along with him." in fact, adown the vista of the garden avenue, a number of persons were seen approaching towards the house. pearl, in utter scorn of her mother's attempt to quiet her, gave an eldritch scream, and then became silent, not from any notion of obedience, but because the quick and mobile curiosity of her disposition was excited by the appearance of those new personages. viii. the elf-child and the minister governor bellingham, in a loose gown and easy cap--such as elderly gentlemen loved to endue themselves with, in their domestic privacy--walked foremost, and appeared to be showing off his estate, and expatiating on his projected improvements. the wide circumference of an elaborate ruff, beneath his grey beard, in the antiquated fashion of king james's reign, caused his head to look not a little like that of john the baptist in a charger. the impression made by his aspect, so rigid and severe, and frost-bitten with more than autumnal age, was hardly in keeping with the appliances of worldly enjoyment wherewith he had evidently done his utmost to surround himself. but it is an error to suppose that our great forefathers--though accustomed to speak and think of human existence as a state merely of trial and warfare, and though unfeignedly prepared to sacrifice goods and life at the behest of duty--made it a matter of conscience to reject such means of comfort, or even luxury, as lay fairly within their grasp. this creed was never taught, for instance, by the venerable pastor, john wilson, whose beard, white as a snow-drift, was seen over governor bellingham's shoulders, while its wearer suggested that pears and peaches might yet be naturalised in the new england climate, and that purple grapes might possibly be compelled to flourish against the sunny garden-wall. the old clergyman, nurtured at the rich bosom of the english church, had a long established and legitimate taste for all good and comfortable things, and however stern he might show himself in the pulpit, or in his public reproof of such transgressions as that of hester prynne, still, the genial benevolence of his private life had won him warmer affection than was accorded to any of his professional contemporaries. behind the governor and mr. wilson came two other guests--one, the reverend arthur dimmesdale, whom the reader may remember as having taken a brief and reluctant part in the scene of hester prynne's disgrace; and, in close companionship with him, old roger chillingworth, a person of great skill in physic, who for two or three years past had been settled in the town. it was understood that this learned man was the physician as well as friend of the young minister, whose health had severely suffered of late by his too unreserved self-sacrifice to the labours and duties of the pastoral relation. the governor, in advance of his visitors, ascended one or two steps, and, throwing open the leaves of the great hall window, found himself close to little pearl. the shadow of the curtain fell on hester prynne, and partially concealed her. "what have we here?" said governor bellingham, looking with surprise at the scarlet little figure before him. "i profess, i have never seen the like since my days of vanity, in old king james's time, when i was wont to esteem it a high favour to be admitted to a court mask! there used to be a swarm of these small apparitions in holiday time, and we called them children of the lord of misrule. but how gat such a guest into my hall?" "ay, indeed!" cried good old mr. wilson. "what little bird of scarlet plumage may this be? methinks i have seen just such figures when the sun has been shining through a richly painted window, and tracing out the golden and crimson images across the floor. but that was in the old land. prithee, young one, who art thou, and what has ailed thy mother to bedizen thee in this strange fashion? art thou a christian child--ha? dost know thy catechism? or art thou one of those naughty elfs or fairies whom we thought to have left behind us, with other relics of papistry, in merry old england?" "i am mother's child," answered the scarlet vision, "and my name is pearl!" "pearl?--ruby, rather--or coral!--or red rose, at the very least, judging from thy hue!" responded the old minister, putting forth his hand in a vain attempt to pat little pearl on the cheek. "but where is this mother of thine? ah! i see," he added; and, turning to governor bellingham, whispered, "this is the selfsame child of whom we have held speech together; and behold here the unhappy woman, hester prynne, her mother!" "sayest thou so?" cried the governor. "nay, we might have judged that such a child's mother must needs be a scarlet woman, and a worthy type of her of babylon! but she comes at a good time, and we will look into this matter forthwith." governor bellingham stepped through the window into the hall, followed by his three guests. "hester prynne," said he, fixing his naturally stern regard on the wearer of the scarlet letter, "there hath been much question concerning thee of late. the point hath been weightily discussed, whether we, that are of authority and influence, do well discharge our consciences by trusting an immortal soul, such as there is in yonder child, to the guidance of one who hath stumbled and fallen amid the pitfalls of this world. speak thou, the child's own mother! were it not, thinkest thou, for thy little one's temporal and eternal welfare that she be taken out of thy charge, and clad soberly, and disciplined strictly, and instructed in the truths of heaven and earth? what canst thou do for the child in this kind?" "i can teach my little pearl what i have learned from this!" answered hester prynne, laying her finger on the red token. "woman, it is thy badge of shame!" replied the stern magistrate. "it is because of the stain which that letter indicates that we would transfer thy child to other hands." "nevertheless," said the mother, calmly, though growing more pale, "this badge hath taught me--it daily teaches me--it is teaching me at this moment--lessons whereof my child may be the wiser and better, albeit they can profit nothing to myself." "we will judge warily," said bellingham, "and look well what we are about to do. good master wilson, i pray you, examine this pearl--since that is her name--and see whether she hath had such christian nurture as befits a child of her age." the old minister seated himself in an arm-chair and made an effort to draw pearl betwixt his knees. but the child, unaccustomed to the touch or familiarity of any but her mother, escaped through the open window, and stood on the upper step, looking like a wild tropical bird of rich plumage, ready to take flight into the upper air. mr. wilson, not a little astonished at this outbreak--for he was a grandfatherly sort of personage, and usually a vast favourite with children--essayed, however, to proceed with the examination. "pearl," said he, with great solemnity, "thou must take heed to instruction, that so, in due season, thou mayest wear in thy bosom the pearl of great price. canst thou tell me, my child, who made thee?" now pearl knew well enough who made her, for hester prynne, the daughter of a pious home, very soon after her talk with the child about her heavenly father, had begun to inform her of those truths which the human spirit, at whatever stage of immaturity, imbibes with such eager interest. pearl, therefore--so large were the attainments of her three years' lifetime--could have borne a fair examination in the new england primer, or the first column of the westminster catechisms, although unacquainted with the outward form of either of those celebrated works. but that perversity, which all children have more or less of, and of which little pearl had a tenfold portion, now, at the most inopportune moment, took thorough possession of her, and closed her lips, or impelled her to speak words amiss. after putting her finger in her mouth, with many ungracious refusals to answer good mr. wilson's question, the child finally announced that she had not been made at all, but had been plucked by her mother off the bush of wild roses that grew by the prison-door. this phantasy was probably suggested by the near proximity of the governor's red roses, as pearl stood outside of the window, together with her recollection of the prison rose-bush, which she had passed in coming hither. old roger chillingworth, with a smile on his face, whispered something in the young clergyman's ear. hester prynne looked at the man of skill, and even then, with her fate hanging in the balance, was startled to perceive what a change had come over his features--how much uglier they were, how his dark complexion seemed to have grown duskier, and his figure more misshapen--since the days when she had familiarly known him. she met his eyes for an instant, but was immediately constrained to give all her attention to the scene now going forward. "this is awful!" cried the governor, slowly recovering from the astonishment into which pearl's response had thrown him. "here is a child of three years old, and she cannot tell who made her! without question, she is equally in the dark as to her soul, its present depravity, and future destiny! methinks, gentlemen, we need inquire no further." hester caught hold of pearl, and drew her forcibly into her arms, confronting the old puritan magistrate with almost a fierce expression. alone in the world, cast off by it, and with this sole treasure to keep her heart alive, she felt that she possessed indefeasible rights against the world, and was ready to defend them to the death. "god gave me the child!" cried she. "he gave her in requital of all things else which ye had taken from me. she is my happiness--she is my torture, none the less! pearl keeps me here in life! pearl punishes me, too! see ye not, she is the scarlet letter, only capable of being loved, and so endowed with a millionfold the power of retribution for my sin? ye shall not take her! i will die first!" "my poor woman," said the not unkind old minister, "the child shall be well cared for--far better than thou canst do for it." "god gave her into my keeping!" repeated hester prynne, raising her voice almost to a shriek. "i will not give her up!" and here by a sudden impulse, she turned to the young clergyman, mr. dimmesdale, at whom, up to this moment, she had seemed hardly so much as once to direct her eyes. "speak thou for me!" cried she. "thou wast my pastor, and hadst charge of my soul, and knowest me better than these men can. i will not lose the child! speak for me! thou knowest--for thou hast sympathies which these men lack--thou knowest what is in my heart, and what are a mother's rights, and how much the stronger they are when that mother has but her child and the scarlet letter! look thou to it! i will not lose the child! look to it!" at this wild and singular appeal, which indicated that hester prynne's situation had provoked her to little less than madness, the young minister at once came forward, pale, and holding his hand over his heart, as was his custom whenever his peculiarly nervous temperament was thrown into agitation. he looked now more careworn and emaciated than as we described him at the scene of hester's public ignominy; and whether it were his failing health, or whatever the cause might be, his large dark eyes had a world of pain in their troubled and melancholy depth. "there is truth in what she says," began the minister, with a voice sweet, tremulous, but powerful, insomuch that the hall re-echoed and the hollow armour rang with it--"truth in what hester says, and in the feeling which inspires her! god gave her the child, and gave her, too, an instinctive knowledge of its nature and requirements--both seemingly so peculiar--which no other mortal being can possess. and, moreover, is there not a quality of awful sacredness in the relation between this mother and this child?" "ay--how is that, good master dimmesdale?" interrupted the governor. "make that plain, i pray you!" "it must be even so," resumed the minister. "for, if we deem it otherwise, do we not thereby say that the heavenly father, the creator of all flesh, hath lightly recognised a deed of sin, and made of no account the distinction between unhallowed lust and holy love? this child of its father's guilt and its mother's shame has come from the hand of god, to work in many ways upon her heart, who pleads so earnestly and with such bitterness of spirit the right to keep her. it was meant for a blessing--for the one blessing of her life! it was meant, doubtless, the mother herself hath told us, for a retribution, too; a torture to be felt at many an unthought-of moment; a pang, a sting, an ever-recurring agony, in the midst of a troubled joy! hath she not expressed this thought in the garb of the poor child, so forcibly reminding us of that red symbol which sears her bosom?" "well said again!" cried good mr. wilson. "i feared the woman had no better thought than to make a mountebank of her child!" "oh, not so!--not so!" continued mr. dimmesdale. "she recognises, believe me, the solemn miracle which god hath wrought in the existence of that child. and may she feel, too--what, methinks, is the very truth--that this boon was meant, above all things else, to keep the mother's soul alive, and to preserve her from blacker depths of sin into which satan might else have sought to plunge her! therefore it is good for this poor, sinful woman, that she hath an infant immortality, a being capable of eternal joy or sorrow, confided to her care--to be trained up by her to righteousness, to remind her, at every moment, of her fall, but yet to teach her, as if it were by the creator's sacred pledge, that, if she bring the child to heaven, the child also will bring its parents thither! herein is the sinful mother happier than the sinful father. for hester prynne's sake, then, and no less for the poor child's sake, let us leave them as providence hath seen fit to place them!" "you speak, my friend, with a strange earnestness," said old roger chillingworth, smiling at him. "and there is a weighty import in what my young brother hath spoken," added the rev. mr. wilson. "what say you, worshipful master bellingham? hath he not pleaded well for the poor woman?" "indeed hath he," answered the magistrate; "and hath adduced such arguments, that we will even leave the matter as it now stands; so long, at least, as there shall be no further scandal in the woman. care must be had nevertheless, to put the child to due and stated examination in the catechism, at thy hands or master dimmesdale's. moreover, at a proper season, the tithing-men must take heed that she go both to school and to meeting." the young minister, on ceasing to speak had withdrawn a few steps from the group, and stood with his face partially concealed in the heavy folds of the window-curtain; while the shadow of his figure, which the sunlight cast upon the floor, was tremulous with the vehemence of his appeal. pearl, that wild and flighty little elf stole softly towards him, and taking his hand in the grasp of both her own, laid her cheek against it; a caress so tender, and withal so unobtrusive, that her mother, who was looking on, asked herself--"is that my pearl?" yet she knew that there was love in the child's heart, although it mostly revealed itself in passion, and hardly twice in her lifetime had been softened by such gentleness as now. the minister--for, save the long-sought regards of woman, nothing is sweeter than these marks of childish preference, accorded spontaneously by a spiritual instinct, and therefore seeming to imply in us something truly worthy to be loved--the minister looked round, laid his hand on the child's head, hesitated an instant, and then kissed her brow. little pearl's unwonted mood of sentiment lasted no longer; she laughed, and went capering down the hall so airily, that old mr. wilson raised a question whether even her tiptoes touched the floor. "the little baggage hath witchcraft in her, i profess," said he to mr. dimmesdale. "she needs no old woman's broomstick to fly withal!" "a strange child!" remarked old roger chillingworth. "it is easy to see the mother's part in her. would it be beyond a philosopher's research, think ye, gentlemen, to analyse that child's nature, and, from it make a mould, to give a shrewd guess at the father?" "nay; it would be sinful, in such a question, to follow the clue of profane philosophy," said mr. wilson. "better to fast and pray upon it; and still better, it may be, to leave the mystery as we find it, unless providence reveal it of its own accord. thereby, every good christian man hath a title to show a father's kindness towards the poor, deserted babe." the affair being so satisfactorily concluded, hester prynne, with pearl, departed from the house. as they descended the steps, it is averred that the lattice of a chamber-window was thrown open, and forth into the sunny day was thrust the face of mistress hibbins, governor bellingham's bitter-tempered sister, and the same who, a few years later, was executed as a witch. "hist, hist!" said she, while her ill-omened physiognomy seemed to cast a shadow over the cheerful newness of the house. "wilt thou go with us to-night? there will be a merry company in the forest; and i well-nigh promised the black man that comely hester prynne should make one." "make my excuse to him, so please you!" answered hester, with a triumphant smile. "i must tarry at home, and keep watch over my little pearl. had they taken her from me, i would willingly have gone with thee into the forest, and signed my name in the black man's book too, and that with mine own blood!" "we shall have thee there anon!" said the witch-lady, frowning, as she drew back her head. but here--if we suppose this interview betwixt mistress hibbins and hester prynne to be authentic, and not a parable--was already an illustration of the young minister's argument against sundering the relation of a fallen mother to the offspring of her frailty. even thus early had the child saved her from satan's snare. ix. the leech under the appellation of roger chillingworth, the reader will remember, was hidden another name, which its former wearer had resolved should never more be spoken. it has been related, how, in the crowd that witnessed hester prynne's ignominious exposure, stood a man, elderly, travel-worn, who, just emerging from the perilous wilderness, beheld the woman, in whom he hoped to find embodied the warmth and cheerfulness of home, set up as a type of sin before the people. her matronly fame was trodden under all men's feet. infamy was babbling around her in the public market-place. for her kindred, should the tidings ever reach them, and for the companions of her unspotted life, there remained nothing but the contagion of her dishonour; which would not fail to be distributed in strict accordance and proportion with the intimacy and sacredness of their previous relationship. then why--since the choice was with himself--should the individual, whose connexion with the fallen woman had been the most intimate and sacred of them all, come forward to vindicate his claim to an inheritance so little desirable? he resolved not to be pilloried beside her on her pedestal of shame. unknown to all but hester prynne, and possessing the lock and key of her silence, he chose to withdraw his name from the roll of mankind, and, as regarded his former ties and interest, to vanish out of life as completely as if he indeed lay at the bottom of the ocean, whither rumour had long ago consigned him. this purpose once effected, new interests would immediately spring up, and likewise a new purpose; dark, it is true, if not guilty, but of force enough to engage the full strength of his faculties. in pursuance of this resolve, he took up his residence in the puritan town as roger chillingworth, without other introduction than the learning and intelligence of which he possessed more than a common measure. as his studies, at a previous period of his life, had made him extensively acquainted with the medical science of the day, it was as a physician that he presented himself and as such was cordially received. skilful men, of the medical and chirurgical profession, were of rare occurrence in the colony. they seldom, it would appear, partook of the religious zeal that brought other emigrants across the atlantic. in their researches into the human frame, it may be that the higher and more subtle faculties of such men were materialised, and that they lost the spiritual view of existence amid the intricacies of that wondrous mechanism, which seemed to involve art enough to comprise all of life within itself. at all events, the health of the good town of boston, so far as medicine had aught to do with it, had hitherto lain in the guardianship of an aged deacon and apothecary, whose piety and godly deportment were stronger testimonials in his favour than any that he could have produced in the shape of a diploma. the only surgeon was one who combined the occasional exercise of that noble art with the daily and habitual flourish of a razor. to such a professional body roger chillingworth was a brilliant acquisition. he soon manifested his familiarity with the ponderous and imposing machinery of antique physic; in which every remedy contained a multitude of far-fetched and heterogeneous ingredients, as elaborately compounded as if the proposed result had been the elixir of life. in his indian captivity, moreover, he had gained much knowledge of the properties of native herbs and roots; nor did he conceal from his patients that these simple medicines, nature's boon to the untutored savage, had quite as large a share of his own confidence as the european pharmacopoeia, which so many learned doctors had spent centuries in elaborating. this learned stranger was exemplary as regarded at least the outward forms of a religious life; and early after his arrival, had chosen for his spiritual guide the reverend mr. dimmesdale. the young divine, whose scholar-like renown still lived in oxford, was considered by his more fervent admirers as little less than a heavenly ordained apostle, destined, should he live and labour for the ordinary term of life, to do as great deeds, for the now feeble new england church, as the early fathers had achieved for the infancy of the christian faith. about this period, however, the health of mr. dimmesdale had evidently begun to fail. by those best acquainted with his habits, the paleness of the young minister's cheek was accounted for by his too earnest devotion to study, his scrupulous fulfilment of parochial duty, and more than all, to the fasts and vigils of which he made a frequent practice, in order to keep the grossness of this earthly state from clogging and obscuring his spiritual lamp. some declared, that if mr. dimmesdale were really going to die, it was cause enough that the world was not worthy to be any longer trodden by his feet. he himself, on the other hand, with characteristic humility, avowed his belief that if providence should see fit to remove him, it would be because of his own unworthiness to perform its humblest mission here on earth. with all this difference of opinion as to the cause of his decline, there could be no question of the fact. his form grew emaciated; his voice, though still rich and sweet, had a certain melancholy prophecy of decay in it; he was often observed, on any slight alarm or other sudden accident, to put his hand over his heart with first a flush and then a paleness, indicative of pain. such was the young clergyman's condition, and so imminent the prospect that his dawning light would be extinguished, all untimely, when roger chillingworth made his advent to the town. his first entry on the scene, few people could tell whence, dropping down as it were out of the sky or starting from the nether earth, had an aspect of mystery, which was easily heightened to the miraculous. he was now known to be a man of skill; it was observed that he gathered herbs and the blossoms of wild-flowers, and dug up roots and plucked off twigs from the forest-trees like one acquainted with hidden virtues in what was valueless to common eyes. he was heard to speak of sir kenelm digby and other famous men--whose scientific attainments were esteemed hardly less than supernatural--as having been his correspondents or associates. why, with such rank in the learned world, had he come hither? what, could he, whose sphere was in great cities, be seeking in the wilderness? in answer to this query, a rumour gained ground--and however absurd, was entertained by some very sensible people--that heaven had wrought an absolute miracle, by transporting an eminent doctor of physic from a german university bodily through the air and setting him down at the door of mr. dimmesdale's study! individuals of wiser faith, indeed, who knew that heaven promotes its purposes without aiming at the stage-effect of what is called miraculous interposition, were inclined to see a providential hand in roger chillingworth's so opportune arrival. this idea was countenanced by the strong interest which the physician ever manifested in the young clergyman; he attached himself to him as a parishioner, and sought to win a friendly regard and confidence from his naturally reserved sensibility. he expressed great alarm at his pastor's state of health, but was anxious to attempt the cure, and, if early undertaken, seemed not despondent of a favourable result. the elders, the deacons, the motherly dames, and the young and fair maidens of mr. dimmesdale's flock, were alike importunate that he should make trial of the physician's frankly offered skill. mr. dimmesdale gently repelled their entreaties. "i need no medicine," said he. but how could the young minister say so, when, with every successive sabbath, his cheek was paler and thinner, and his voice more tremulous than before--when it had now become a constant habit, rather than a casual gesture, to press his hand over his heart? was he weary of his labours? did he wish to die? these questions were solemnly propounded to mr. dimmesdale by the elder ministers of boston, and the deacons of his church, who, to use their own phrase, "dealt with him," on the sin of rejecting the aid which providence so manifestly held out. he listened in silence, and finally promised to confer with the physician. "were it god's will," said the reverend mr. dimmesdale, when, in fulfilment of this pledge, he requested old roger chillingworth's professional advice, "i could be well content that my labours, and my sorrows, and my sins, and my pains, should shortly end with me, and what is earthly of them be buried in my grave, and the spiritual go with me to my eternal state, rather than that you should put your skill to the proof in my behalf." "ah," replied roger chillingworth, with that quietness, which, whether imposed or natural, marked all his deportment, "it is thus that a young clergyman is apt to speak. youthful men, not having taken a deep root, give up their hold of life so easily! and saintly men, who walk with god on earth, would fain be away, to walk with him on the golden pavements of the new jerusalem." "nay," rejoined the young minister, putting his hand to his heart, with a flush of pain flitting over his brow, "were i worthier to walk there, i could be better content to toil here." "good men ever interpret themselves too meanly," said the physician. in this manner, the mysterious old roger chillingworth became the medical adviser of the reverend mr. dimmesdale. as not only the disease interested the physician, but he was strongly moved to look into the character and qualities of the patient, these two men, so different in age, came gradually to spend much time together. for the sake of the minister's health, and to enable the leech to gather plants with healing balm in them, they took long walks on the sea-shore, or in the forest; mingling various walks with the splash and murmur of the waves, and the solemn wind-anthem among the tree-tops. often, likewise, one was the guest of the other in his place of study and retirement. there was a fascination for the minister in the company of the man of science, in whom he recognised an intellectual cultivation of no moderate depth or scope; together with a range and freedom of ideas, that he would have vainly looked for among the members of his own profession. in truth, he was startled, if not shocked, to find this attribute in the physician. mr. dimmesdale was a true priest, a true religionist, with the reverential sentiment largely developed, and an order of mind that impelled itself powerfully along the track of a creed, and wore its passage continually deeper with the lapse of time. in no state of society would he have been what is called a man of liberal views; it would always be essential to his peace to feel the pressure of a faith about him, supporting, while it confined him within its iron framework. not the less, however, though with a tremulous enjoyment, did he feel the occasional relief of looking at the universe through the medium of another kind of intellect than those with which he habitually held converse. it was as if a window were thrown open, admitting a freer atmosphere into the close and stifled study, where his life was wasting itself away, amid lamp-light, or obstructed day-beams, and the musty fragrance, be it sensual or moral, that exhales from books. but the air was too fresh and chill to be long breathed with comfort. so the minister, and the physician with him, withdrew again within the limits of what their church defined as orthodox. thus roger chillingworth scrutinised his patient carefully, both as he saw him in his ordinary life, keeping an accustomed pathway in the range of thoughts familiar to him, and as he appeared when thrown amidst other moral scenery, the novelty of which might call out something new to the surface of his character. he deemed it essential, it would seem, to know the man, before attempting to do him good. wherever there is a heart and an intellect, the diseases of the physical frame are tinged with the peculiarities of these. in arthur dimmesdale, thought and imagination were so active, and sensibility so intense, that the bodily infirmity would be likely to have its groundwork there. so roger chillingworth--the man of skill, the kind and friendly physician--strove to go deep into his patient's bosom, delving among his principles, prying into his recollections, and probing everything with a cautious touch, like a treasure-seeker in a dark cavern. few secrets can escape an investigator, who has opportunity and licence to undertake such a quest, and skill to follow it up. a man burdened with a secret should especially avoid the intimacy of his physician. if the latter possess native sagacity, and a nameless something more,--let us call it intuition; if he show no intrusive egotism, nor disagreeable prominent characteristics of his own; if he have the power, which must be born with him, to bring his mind into such affinity with his patient's, that this last shall unawares have spoken what he imagines himself only to have thought; if such revelations be received without tumult, and acknowledged not so often by an uttered sympathy as by silence, an inarticulate breath, and here and there a word to indicate that all is understood; if to these qualifications of a confidant be joined the advantages afforded by his recognised character as a physician;--then, at some inevitable moment, will the soul of the sufferer be dissolved, and flow forth in a dark but transparent stream, bringing all its mysteries into the daylight. roger chillingworth possessed all, or most, of the attributes above enumerated. nevertheless, time went on; a kind of intimacy, as we have said, grew up between these two cultivated minds, which had as wide a field as the whole sphere of human thought and study to meet upon; they discussed every topic of ethics and religion, of public affairs, and private character; they talked much, on both sides, of matters that seemed personal to themselves; and yet no secret, such as the physician fancied must exist there, ever stole out of the minister's consciousness into his companion's ear. the latter had his suspicions, indeed, that even the nature of mr. dimmesdale's bodily disease had never fairly been revealed to him. it was a strange reserve! after a time, at a hint from roger chillingworth, the friends of mr. dimmesdale effected an arrangement by which the two were lodged in the same house; so that every ebb and flow of the minister's life-tide might pass under the eye of his anxious and attached physician. there was much joy throughout the town when this greatly desirable object was attained. it was held to be the best possible measure for the young clergyman's welfare; unless, indeed, as often urged by such as felt authorised to do so, he had selected some one of the many blooming damsels, spiritually devoted to him, to become his devoted wife. this latter step, however, there was no present prospect that arthur dimmesdale would be prevailed upon to take; he rejected all suggestions of the kind, as if priestly celibacy were one of his articles of church discipline. doomed by his own choice, therefore, as mr. dimmesdale so evidently was, to eat his unsavoury morsel always at another's board, and endure the life-long chill which must be his lot who seeks to warm himself only at another's fireside, it truly seemed that this sagacious, experienced, benevolent old physician, with his concord of paternal and reverential love for the young pastor, was the very man, of all mankind, to be constantly within reach of his voice. the new abode of the two friends was with a pious widow, of good social rank, who dwelt in a house covering pretty nearly the site on which the venerable structure of king's chapel has since been built. it had the graveyard, originally isaac johnson's home-field, on one side, and so was well adapted to call up serious reflections, suited to their respective employments, in both minister and man of physic. the motherly care of the good widow assigned to mr. dimmesdale a front apartment, with a sunny exposure, and heavy window-curtains, to create a noontide shadow when desirable. the walls were hung round with tapestry, said to be from the gobelin looms, and, at all events, representing the scriptural story of david and bathsheba, and nathan the prophet, in colours still unfaded, but which made the fair woman of the scene almost as grimly picturesque as the woe-denouncing seer. here the pale clergyman piled up his library, rich with parchment-bound folios of the fathers, and the lore of rabbis, and monkish erudition, of which the protestant divines, even while they vilified and decried that class of writers, were yet constrained often to avail themselves. on the other side of the house, old roger chillingworth arranged his study and laboratory: not such as a modern man of science would reckon even tolerably complete, but provided with a distilling apparatus and the means of compounding drugs and chemicals, which the practised alchemist knew well how to turn to purpose. with such commodiousness of situation, these two learned persons sat themselves down, each in his own domain, yet familiarly passing from one apartment to the other, and bestowing a mutual and not incurious inspection into one another's business. and the reverend arthur dimmesdale's best discerning friends, as we have intimated, very reasonably imagined that the hand of providence had done all this for the purpose--besought in so many public and domestic and secret prayers--of restoring the young minister to health. but, it must now be said, another portion of the community had latterly begun to take its own view of the relation betwixt mr. dimmesdale and the mysterious old physician. when an uninstructed multitude attempts to see with its eyes, it is exceedingly apt to be deceived. when, however, it forms its judgment, as it usually does, on the intuitions of its great and warm heart, the conclusions thus attained are often so profound and so unerring as to possess the character of truth supernaturally revealed. the people, in the case of which we speak, could justify its prejudice against roger chillingworth by no fact or argument worthy of serious refutation. there was an aged handicraftsman, it is true, who had been a citizen of london at the period of sir thomas overbury's murder, now some thirty years agone; he testified to having seen the physician, under some other name, which the narrator of the story had now forgotten, in company with dr. forman, the famous old conjurer, who was implicated in the affair of overbury. two or three individuals hinted that the man of skill, during his indian captivity, had enlarged his medical attainments by joining in the incantations of the savage priests, who were universally acknowledged to be powerful enchanters, often performing seemingly miraculous cures by their skill in the black art. a large number--and many of these were persons of such sober sense and practical observation that their opinions would have been valuable in other matters--affirmed that roger chillingworth's aspect had undergone a remarkable change while he had dwelt in town, and especially since his abode with mr. dimmesdale. at first, his expression had been calm, meditative, scholar-like. now there was something ugly and evil in his face, which they had not previously noticed, and which grew still the more obvious to sight the oftener they looked upon him. according to the vulgar idea, the fire in his laboratory had been brought from the lower regions, and was fed with infernal fuel; and so, as might be expected, his visage was getting sooty with the smoke. to sum up the matter, it grew to be a widely diffused opinion that the rev. arthur dimmesdale, like many other personages of special sanctity, in all ages of the christian world, was haunted either by satan himself or satan's emissary, in the guise of old roger chillingworth. this diabolical agent had the divine permission, for a season, to burrow into the clergyman's intimacy, and plot against his soul. no sensible man, it was confessed, could doubt on which side the victory would turn. the people looked, with an unshaken hope, to see the minister come forth out of the conflict transfigured with the glory which he would unquestionably win. meanwhile, nevertheless, it was sad to think of the perchance mortal agony through which he must struggle towards his triumph. alas! to judge from the gloom and terror in the depth of the poor minister's eyes, the battle was a sore one, and the victory anything but secure. x. the leech and his patient old roger chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm in temperament, kindly, though not of warm affections, but ever, and in all his relations with the world, a pure and upright man. he had begun an investigation, as he imagined, with the severe and equal integrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even as if the question involved no more than the air-drawn lines and figures of a geometrical problem, instead of human passions, and wrongs inflicted on himself. but, as he proceeded, a terrible fascination, a kind of fierce, though still calm, necessity, seized the old man within its gripe, and never set him free again until he had done all its bidding. he now dug into the poor clergyman's heart, like a miner searching for gold; or, rather, like a sexton delving into a grave, possibly in quest of a jewel that had been buried on the dead man's bosom, but likely to find nothing save mortality and corruption. alas, for his own soul, if these were what he sought! sometimes a light glimmered out of the physician's eyes, burning blue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us say, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from bunyan's awful doorway in the hillside, and quivered on the pilgrim's face. the soil where this dark miner was working had perchance shown indications that encouraged him. "this man," said he, at one such moment, to himself, "pure as they deem him--all spiritual as he seems--hath inherited a strong animal nature from his father or his mother. let us dig a little further in the direction of this vein!" then after long search into the minister's dim interior, and turning over many precious materials, in the shape of high aspirations for the welfare of his race, warm love of souls, pure sentiments, natural piety, strengthened by thought and study, and illuminated by revelation--all of which invaluable gold was perhaps no better than rubbish to the seeker--he would turn back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards another point. he groped along as stealthily, with as cautious a tread, and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a chamber where a man lies only half asleep--or, it may be, broad awake--with purpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as the apple of his eye. in spite of his premeditated carefulness, the floor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; the shadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would be thrown across his victim. in other words, mr. dimmesdale, whose sensibility of nerve often produced the effect of spiritual intuition, would become vaguely aware that something inimical to his peace had thrust itself into relation with him. but old roger chillingworth, too, had perceptions that were almost intuitive; and when the minister threw his startled eyes towards him, there the physician sat; his kind, watchful, sympathising, but never intrusive friend. yet mr. dimmesdale would perhaps have seen this individual's character more perfectly, if a certain morbidness, to which sick hearts are liable, had not rendered him suspicious of all mankind. trusting no man as his friend, he could not recognize his enemy when the latter actually appeared. he therefore still kept up a familiar intercourse with him, daily receiving the old physician in his study, or visiting the laboratory, and, for recreation's sake, watching the processes by which weeds were converted into drugs of potency. one day, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on the sill of the open window, that looked towards the grave-yard, he talked with roger chillingworth, while the old man was examining a bundle of unsightly plants. "where," asked he, with a look askance at them--for it was the clergyman's peculiarity that he seldom, now-a-days, looked straight forth at any object, whether human or inanimate, "where, my kind doctor, did you gather those herbs, with such a dark, flabby leaf?" "even in the graveyard here at hand," answered the physician, continuing his employment. "they are new to me. i found them growing on a grave, which bore no tombstone, no other memorial of the dead man, save these ugly weeds, that have taken upon themselves to keep him in remembrance. they grew out of his heart, and typify, it may be, some hideous secret that was buried with him, and which he had done better to confess during his lifetime." "perchance," said mr. dimmesdale, "he earnestly desired it, but could not." "and wherefore?" rejoined the physician. "wherefore not; since all the powers of nature call so earnestly for the confession of sin, that these black weeds have sprung up out of a buried heart, to make manifest, an outspoken crime?" "that, good sir, is but a phantasy of yours," replied the minister. "there can be, if i forbode aright, no power, short of the divine mercy, to disclose, whether by uttered words, or by type or emblem, the secrets that may be buried in the human heart. the heart, making itself guilty of such secrets, must perforce hold them, until the day when all hidden things shall be revealed. nor have i so read or interpreted holy writ, as to understand that the disclosure of human thoughts and deeds, then to be made, is intended as a part of the retribution. that, surely, were a shallow view of it. no; these revelations, unless i greatly err, are meant merely to promote the intellectual satisfaction of all intelligent beings, who will stand waiting, on that day, to see the dark problem of this life made plain. a knowledge of men's hearts will be needful to the completest solution of that problem. and, i conceive moreover, that the hearts holding such miserable secrets as you speak of, will yield them up, at that last day, not with reluctance, but with a joy unutterable." "then why not reveal it here?" asked roger chillingworth, glancing quietly aside at the minister. "why should not the guilty ones sooner avail themselves of this unutterable solace?" "they mostly do," said the clergyman, griping hard at his breast, as if afflicted with an importunate throb of pain. "many, many a poor soul hath given its confidence to me, not only on the death-bed, but while strong in life, and fair in reputation. and ever, after such an outpouring, oh, what a relief have i witnessed in those sinful brethren! even as in one who at last draws free air, after a long stifling with his own polluted breath. how can it be otherwise? why should a wretched man--guilty, we will say, of murder--prefer to keep the dead corpse buried in his own heart, rather than fling it forth at once, and let the universe take care of it!" "yet some men bury their secrets thus," observed the calm physician. "true; there are such men," answered mr. dimmesdale. "but not to suggest more obvious reasons, it may be that they are kept silent by the very constitution of their nature. or--can we not suppose it?--guilty as they may be, retaining, nevertheless, a zeal for god's glory and man's welfare, they shrink from displaying themselves black and filthy in the view of men; because, thenceforward, no good can be achieved by them; no evil of the past be redeemed by better service. so, to their own unutterable torment, they go about among their fellow-creatures, looking pure as new-fallen snow, while their hearts are all speckled and spotted with iniquity of which they cannot rid themselves." "these men deceive themselves," said roger chillingworth, with somewhat more emphasis than usual, and making a slight gesture with his forefinger. "they fear to take up the shame that rightfully belongs to them. their love for man, their zeal for god's service--these holy impulses may or may not coexist in their hearts with the evil inmates to which their guilt has unbarred the door, and which must needs propagate a hellish breed within them. but, if they seek to glorify god, let them not lift heavenward their unclean hands! if they would serve their fellowmen, let them do it by making manifest the power and reality of conscience, in constraining them to penitential self-abasement! would thou have me to believe, o wise and pious friend, that a false show can be better--can be more for god's glory, or man' welfare--than god's own truth? trust me, such men deceive themselves!" "it may be so," said the young clergyman, indifferently, as waiving a discussion that he considered irrelevant or unseasonable. he had a ready faculty, indeed, of escaping from any topic that agitated his too sensitive and nervous temperament.--"but, now, i would ask of my well-skilled physician, whether, in good sooth, he deems me to have profited by his kindly care of this weak frame of mine?" before roger chillingworth could answer, they heard the clear, wild laughter of a young child's voice, proceeding from the adjacent burial-ground. looking instinctively from the open window--for it was summer-time--the minister beheld hester prynne and little pearl passing along the footpath that traversed the enclosure. pearl looked as beautiful as the day, but was in one of those moods of perverse merriment which, whenever they occurred, seemed to remove her entirely out of the sphere of sympathy or human contact. she now skipped irreverently from one grave to another; until coming to the broad, flat, armorial tombstone of a departed worthy--perhaps of isaac johnson himself--she began to dance upon it. in reply to her mother's command and entreaty that she would behave more decorously, little pearl paused to gather the prickly burrs from a tall burdock which grew beside the tomb. taking a handful of these, she arranged them along the lines of the scarlet letter that decorated the maternal bosom, to which the burrs, as their nature was, tenaciously adhered. hester did not pluck them off. roger chillingworth had by this time approached the window and smiled grimly down. "there is no law, nor reverence for authority, no regard for human ordinances or opinions, right or wrong, mixed up with that child's composition," remarked he, as much to himself as to his companion. "i saw her, the other day, bespatter the governor himself with water at the cattle-trough in spring lane. what, in heaven's name, is she? is the imp altogether evil? hath she affections? hath she any discoverable principle of being?" "none, save the freedom of a broken law," answered mr. dimmesdale, in a quiet way, as if he had been discussing the point within himself, "whether capable of good, i know not." the child probably overheard their voices, for, looking up to the window with a bright, but naughty smile of mirth and intelligence, she threw one of the prickly burrs at the rev. mr. dimmesdale. the sensitive clergyman shrank, with nervous dread, from the light missile. detecting his emotion, pearl clapped her little hands in the most extravagant ecstacy. hester prynne, likewise, had involuntarily looked up, and all these four persons, old and young, regarded one another in silence, till the child laughed aloud, and shouted--"come away, mother! come away, or yonder old black man will catch you! he hath got hold of the minister already. come away, mother or he will catch you! but he cannot catch little pearl!" so she drew her mother away, skipping, dancing, and frisking fantastically among the hillocks of the dead people, like a creature that had nothing in common with a bygone and buried generation, nor owned herself akin to it. it was as if she had been made afresh out of new elements, and must perforce be permitted to live her own life, and be a law unto herself without her eccentricities being reckoned to her for a crime. "there goes a woman," resumed roger chillingworth, after a pause, "who, be her demerits what they may, hath none of that mystery of hidden sinfulness which you deem so grievous to be borne. is hester prynne the less miserable, think you, for that scarlet letter on her breast?" "i do verily believe it," answered the clergyman. "nevertheless, i cannot answer for her. there was a look of pain in her face which i would gladly have been spared the sight of. but still, methinks, it must needs be better for the sufferer to be free to show his pain, as this poor woman hester is, than to cover it up in his heart." there was another pause, and the physician began anew to examine and arrange the plants which he had gathered. "you inquired of me, a little time agone," said he, at length, "my judgment as touching your health." "i did," answered the clergyman, "and would gladly learn it. speak frankly, i pray you, be it for life or death." "freely then, and plainly," said the physician, still busy with his plants, but keeping a wary eye on mr. dimmesdale, "the disorder is a strange one; not so much in itself nor as outwardly manifested,--in so far, at least as the symptoms have been laid open to my observation. looking daily at you, my good sir, and watching the tokens of your aspect now for months gone by, i should deem you a man sore sick, it may be, yet not so sick but that an instructed and watchful physician might well hope to cure you. but i know not what to say, the disease is what i seem to know, yet know it not." "you speak in riddles, learned sir," said the pale minister, glancing aside out of the window. "then, to speak more plainly," continued the physician, "and i crave pardon, sir, should it seem to require pardon, for this needful plainness of my speech. let me ask as your friend, as one having charge, under providence, of your life and physical well being, hath all the operations of this disorder been fairly laid open and recounted to me?" "how can you question it?" asked the minister. "surely it were child's play to call in a physician and then hide the sore!" "you would tell me, then, that i know all?" said roger chillingworth, deliberately, and fixing an eye, bright with intense and concentrated intelligence, on the minister's face. "be it so! but again! he to whom only the outward and physical evil is laid open, knoweth, oftentimes, but half the evil which he is called upon to cure. a bodily disease, which we look upon as whole and entire within itself, may, after all, be but a symptom of some ailment in the spiritual part. your pardon once again, good sir, if my speech give the shadow of offence. you, sir, of all men whom i have known, are he whose body is the closest conjoined, and imbued, and identified, so to speak, with the spirit whereof it is the instrument." "then i need ask no further," said the clergyman, somewhat hastily rising from his chair. "you deal not, i take it, in medicine for the soul!" "thus, a sickness," continued roger chillingworth, going on, in an unaltered tone, without heeding the interruption, but standing up and confronting the emaciated and white-cheeked minister, with his low, dark, and misshapen figure,--"a sickness, a sore place, if we may so call it, in your spirit hath immediately its appropriate manifestation in your bodily frame. would you, therefore, that your physician heal the bodily evil? how may this be unless you first lay open to him the wound or trouble in your soul?" "no, not to thee! not to an earthly physician!" cried mr. dimmesdale, passionately, and turning his eyes, full and bright, and with a kind of fierceness, on old roger chillingworth. "not to thee! but, if it be the soul's disease, then do i commit myself to the one physician of the soul! he, if it stand with his good pleasure, can cure, or he can kill. let him do with me as, in his justice and wisdom, he shall see good. but who art thou, that meddlest in this matter? that dares thrust himself between the sufferer and his god?" with a frantic gesture he rushed out of the room. "it is as well to have made this step," said roger chillingworth to himself, looking after the minister, with a grave smile. "there is nothing lost. we shall be friends again anon. but see, now, how passion takes hold upon this man, and hurrieth him out of himself! as with one passion so with another. he hath done a wild thing ere now, this pious master dimmesdale, in the hot passion of his heart." it proved not difficult to re-establish the intimacy of the two companions, on the same footing and in the same degree as heretofore. the young clergyman, after a few hours of privacy, was sensible that the disorder of his nerves had hurried him into an unseemly outbreak of temper, which there had been nothing in the physician's words to excuse or palliate. he marvelled, indeed, at the violence with which he had thrust back the kind old man, when merely proffering the advice which it was his duty to bestow, and which the minister himself had expressly sought. with these remorseful feelings, he lost no time in making the amplest apologies, and besought his friend still to continue the care which, if not successful in restoring him to health, had, in all probability, been the means of prolonging his feeble existence to that hour. roger chillingworth readily assented, and went on with his medical supervision of the minister; doing his best for him, in all good faith, but always quitting the patient's apartment, at the close of the professional interview, with a mysterious and puzzled smile upon his lips. this expression was invisible in mr. dimmesdale's presence, but grew strongly evident as the physician crossed the threshold. "a rare case," he muttered. "i must needs look deeper into it. a strange sympathy betwixt soul and body! were it only for the art's sake, i must search this matter to the bottom." it came to pass, not long after the scene above recorded, that the reverend mr. dimmesdale, noon-day, and entirely unawares, fell into a deep, deep slumber, sitting in his chair, with a large black-letter volume open before him on the table. it must have been a work of vast ability in the somniferous school of literature. the profound depth of the minister's repose was the more remarkable, inasmuch as he was one of those persons whose sleep ordinarily is as light as fitful, and as easily scared away, as a small bird hopping on a twig. to such an unwonted remoteness, however, had his spirit now withdrawn into itself that he stirred not in his chair when old roger chillingworth, without any extraordinary precaution, came into the room. the physician advanced directly in front of his patient, laid his hand upon his bosom, and thrust aside the vestment, that hitherto had always covered it even from the professional eye. then, indeed, mr. dimmesdale shuddered, and slightly stirred. after a brief pause, the physician turned away. but with what a wild look of wonder, joy, and horror! with what a ghastly rapture, as it were, too mighty to be expressed only by the eye and features, and therefore bursting forth through the whole ugliness of his figure, and making itself even riotously manifest by the extravagant gestures with which he threw up his arms towards the ceiling, and stamped his foot upon the floor! had a man seen old roger chillingworth, at that moment of his ecstasy, he would have had no need to ask how satan comports himself when a precious human soul is lost to heaven, and won into his kingdom. but what distinguished the physician's ecstasy from satan's was the trait of wonder in it! xi. the interior of a heart after the incident last described, the intercourse between the clergyman and the physician, though externally the same, was really of another character than it had previously been. the intellect of roger chillingworth had now a sufficiently plain path before it. it was not, indeed, precisely that which he had laid out for himself to tread. calm, gentle, passionless, as he appeared, there was yet, we fear, a quiet depth of malice, hitherto latent, but active now, in this unfortunate old man, which led him to imagine a more intimate revenge than any mortal had ever wreaked upon an enemy. to make himself the one trusted friend, to whom should be confided all the fear, the remorse, the agony, the ineffectual repentance, the backward rush of sinful thoughts, expelled in vain! all that guilty sorrow, hidden from the world, whose great heart would have pitied and forgiven, to be revealed to him, the pitiless--to him, the unforgiving! all that dark treasure to be lavished on the very man, to whom nothing else could so adequately pay the debt of vengeance! the clergyman's shy and sensitive reserve had balked this scheme. roger chillingworth, however, was inclined to be hardly, if at all, less satisfied with the aspect of affairs, which providence--using the avenger and his victim for its own purposes, and, perchance, pardoning, where it seemed most to punish--had substituted for his black devices. a revelation, he could almost say, had been granted to him. it mattered little for his object, whether celestial or from what other region. by its aid, in all the subsequent relations betwixt him and mr. dimmesdale, not merely the external presence, but the very inmost soul of the latter, seemed to be brought out before his eyes, so that he could see and comprehend its every movement. he became, thenceforth, not a spectator only, but a chief actor in the poor minister's interior world. he could play upon him as he chose. would he arouse him with a throb of agony? the victim was for ever on the rack; it needed only to know the spring that controlled the engine: and the physician knew it well. would he startle him with sudden fear? as at the waving of a magician's wand, up rose a grisly phantom--up rose a thousand phantoms--in many shapes, of death, or more awful shame, all flocking round about the clergyman, and pointing with their fingers at his breast! all this was accomplished with a subtlety so perfect, that the minister, though he had constantly a dim perception of some evil influence watching over him, could never gain a knowledge of its actual nature. true, he looked doubtfully, fearfully--even, at times, with horror and the bitterness of hatred--at the deformed figure of the old physician. his gestures, his gait, his grizzled beard, his slightest and most indifferent acts, the very fashion of his garments, were odious in the clergyman's sight; a token implicitly to be relied on of a deeper antipathy in the breast of the latter than he was willing to acknowledge to himself. for, as it was impossible to assign a reason for such distrust and abhorrence, so mr. dimmesdale, conscious that the poison of one morbid spot was infecting his heart's entire substance, attributed all his presentiments to no other cause. he took himself to task for his bad sympathies in reference to roger chillingworth, disregarded the lesson that he should have drawn from them, and did his best to root them out. unable to accomplish this, he nevertheless, as a matter of principle, continued his habits of social familiarity with the old man, and thus gave him constant opportunities for perfecting the purpose to which--poor forlorn creature that he was, and more wretched than his victim--the avenger had devoted himself. while thus suffering under bodily disease, and gnawed and tortured by some black trouble of the soul, and given over to the machinations of his deadliest enemy, the reverend mr. dimmesdale had achieved a brilliant popularity in his sacred office. he won it indeed, in great part, by his sorrows. his intellectual gifts, his moral perceptions, his power of experiencing and communicating emotion, were kept in a state of preternatural activity by the prick and anguish of his daily life. his fame, though still on its upward slope, already overshadowed the soberer reputations of his fellow-clergymen, eminent as several of them were. there are scholars among them, who had spent more years in acquiring abstruse lore, connected with the divine profession, than mr. dimmesdale had lived; and who might well, therefore, be more profoundly versed in such solid and valuable attainments than their youthful brother. there were men, too, of a sturdier texture of mind than his, and endowed with a far greater share of shrewd, hard iron, or granite understanding; which, duly mingled with a fair proportion of doctrinal ingredient, constitutes a highly respectable, efficacious, and unamiable variety of the clerical species. there were others again, true saintly fathers, whose faculties had been elaborated by weary toil among their books, and by patient thought, and etherealised, moreover, by spiritual communications with the better world, into which their purity of life had almost introduced these holy personages, with their garments of mortality still clinging to them. all that they lacked was, the gift that descended upon the chosen disciples at pentecost, in tongues of flame; symbolising, it would seem, not the power of speech in foreign and unknown languages, but that of addressing the whole human brotherhood in the heart's native language. these fathers, otherwise so apostolic, lacked heaven's last and rarest attestation of their office, the tongue of flame. they would have vainly sought--had they ever dreamed of seeking--to express the highest truths through the humblest medium of familiar words and images. their voices came down, afar and indistinctly, from the upper heights where they habitually dwelt. not improbably, it was to this latter class of men that mr. dimmesdale, by many of his traits of character, naturally belonged. to the high mountain peaks of faith and sanctity he would have climbed, had not the tendency been thwarted by the burden, whatever it might be, of crime or anguish, beneath which it was his doom to totter. it kept him down on a level with the lowest; him, the man of ethereal attributes, whose voice the angels might else have listened to and answered! but this very burden it was that gave him sympathies so intimate with the sinful brotherhood of mankind; so that his heart vibrated in unison with theirs, and received their pain into itself and sent its own throb of pain through a thousand other hearts, in gushes of sad, persuasive eloquence. oftenest persuasive, but sometimes terrible! the people knew not the power that moved them thus. they deemed the young clergyman a miracle of holiness. they fancied him the mouth-piece of heaven's messages of wisdom, and rebuke, and love. in their eyes, the very ground on which he trod was sanctified. the virgins of his church grew pale around him, victims of a passion so imbued with religious sentiment, that they imagined it to be all religion, and brought it openly, in their white bosoms, as their most acceptable sacrifice before the altar. the aged members of his flock, beholding mr. dimmesdale's frame so feeble, while they were themselves so rugged in their infirmity, believed that he would go heavenward before them, and enjoined it upon their children that their old bones should be buried close to their young pastor's holy grave. and all this time, perchance, when poor mr. dimmesdale was thinking of his grave, he questioned with himself whether the grass would ever grow on it, because an accursed thing must there be buried! it is inconceivable, the agony with which this public veneration tortured him. it was his genuine impulse to adore the truth, and to reckon all things shadow-like, and utterly devoid of weight or value, that had not its divine essence as the life within their life. then what was he?--a substance?--or the dimmest of all shadows? he longed to speak out from his own pulpit at the full height of his voice, and tell the people what he was. "i, whom you behold in these black garments of the priesthood--i, who ascend the sacred desk, and turn my pale face heavenward, taking upon myself to hold communion in your behalf with the most high omniscience--i, in whose daily life you discern the sanctity of enoch--i, whose footsteps, as you suppose, leave a gleam along my earthly track, whereby the pilgrims that shall come after me may be guided to the regions of the blest--i, who have laid the hand of baptism upon your children--i, who have breathed the parting prayer over your dying friends, to whom the amen sounded faintly from a world which they had quitted--i, your pastor, whom you so reverence and trust, am utterly a pollution and a lie!" more than once, mr. dimmesdale had gone into the pulpit, with a purpose never to come down its steps until he should have spoken words like the above. more than once he had cleared his throat, and drawn in the long, deep, and tremulous breath, which, when sent forth again, would come burdened with the black secret of his soul. more than once--nay, more than a hundred times--he had actually spoken! spoken! but how? he had told his hearers that he was altogether vile, a viler companion of the vilest, the worst of sinners, an abomination, a thing of unimaginable iniquity, and that the only wonder was that they did not see his wretched body shrivelled up before their eyes by the burning wrath of the almighty! could there be plainer speech than this? would not the people start up in their seats, by a simultaneous impulse, and tear him down out of the pulpit which he defiled? not so, indeed! they heard it all, and did but reverence him the more. they little guessed what deadly purport lurked in those self-condemning words. "the godly youth!" said they among themselves. "the saint on earth! alas! if he discern such sinfulness in his own white soul, what horrid spectacle would he behold in thine or mine!" the minister well knew--subtle, but remorseful hypocrite that he was!--the light in which his vague confession would be viewed. he had striven to put a cheat upon himself by making the avowal of a guilty conscience, but had gained only one other sin, and a self-acknowledged shame, without the momentary relief of being self-deceived. he had spoken the very truth, and transformed it into the veriest falsehood. and yet, by the constitution of his nature, he loved the truth, and loathed the lie, as few men ever did. therefore, above all things else, he loathed his miserable self! his inward trouble drove him to practices more in accordance with the old, corrupted faith of rome than with the better light of the church in which he had been born and bred. in mr. dimmesdale's secret closet, under lock and key, there was a bloody scourge. oftentimes, this protestant and puritan divine had plied it on his own shoulders, laughing bitterly at himself the while, and smiting so much the more pitilessly because of that bitter laugh. it was his custom, too, as it has been that of many other pious puritans, to fast--not however, like them, in order to purify the body, and render it the fitter medium of celestial illumination--but rigorously, and until his knees trembled beneath him, as an act of penance. he kept vigils, likewise, night after night, sometimes in utter darkness, sometimes with a glimmering lamp, and sometimes, viewing his own face in a looking-glass, by the most powerful light which he could throw upon it. he thus typified the constant introspection wherewith he tortured, but could not purify himself. in these lengthened vigils, his brain often reeled, and visions seemed to flit before him; perhaps seen doubtfully, and by a faint light of their own, in the remote dimness of the chamber, or more vividly and close beside him, within the looking-glass. now it was a herd of diabolic shapes, that grinned and mocked at the pale minister, and beckoned him away with them; now a group of shining angels, who flew upward heavily, as sorrow-laden, but grew more ethereal as they rose. now came the dead friends of his youth, and his white-bearded father, with a saint-like frown, and his mother turning her face away as she passed by. ghost of a mother--thinnest fantasy of a mother--methinks she might yet have thrown a pitying glance towards her son! and now, through the chamber which these spectral thoughts had made so ghastly, glided hester prynne leading along little pearl, in her scarlet garb, and pointing her forefinger, first at the scarlet letter on her bosom, and then at the clergyman's own breast. none of these visions ever quite deluded him. at any moment, by an effort of his will, he could discern substances through their misty lack of substance, and convince himself that they were not solid in their nature, like yonder table of carved oak, or that big, square, leather-bound and brazen-clasped volume of divinity. but, for all that, they were, in one sense, the truest and most substantial things which the poor minister now dealt with. it is the unspeakable misery of a life so false as his, that it steals the pith and substance out of whatever realities there are around us, and which were meant by heaven to be the spirit's joy and nutriment. to the untrue man, the whole universe is false--it is impalpable--it shrinks to nothing within his grasp. and he himself in so far as he shows himself in a false light, becomes a shadow, or, indeed, ceases to exist. the only truth that continued to give mr. dimmesdale a real existence on this earth was the anguish in his inmost soul, and the undissembled expression of it in his aspect. had he once found power to smile, and wear a face of gaiety, there would have been no such man! on one of those ugly nights, which we have faintly hinted at, but forborne to picture forth, the minister started from his chair. a new thought had struck him. there might be a moment's peace in it. attiring himself with as much care as if it had been for public worship, and precisely in the same manner, he stole softly down the staircase, undid the door, and issued forth. xii. the minister's vigil walking in the shadow of a dream, as it were, and perhaps actually under the influence of a species of somnambulism, mr. dimmesdale reached the spot where, now so long since, hester prynne had lived through her first hours of public ignominy. the same platform or scaffold, black and weather-stained with the storm or sunshine of seven long years, and foot-worn, too, with the tread of many culprits who had since ascended it, remained standing beneath the balcony of the meeting-house. the minister went up the steps. it was an obscure night in early may. an unvaried pall of cloud muffled the whole expanse of sky from zenith to horizon. if the same multitude which had stood as eye-witnesses while hester prynne sustained her punishment could now have been summoned forth, they would have discerned no face above the platform nor hardly the outline of a human shape, in the dark grey of the midnight. but the town was all asleep. there was no peril of discovery. the minister might stand there, if it so pleased him, until morning should redden in the east, without other risk than that the dank and chill night air would creep into his frame, and stiffen his joints with rheumatism, and clog his throat with catarrh and cough; thereby defrauding the expectant audience of to-morrow's prayer and sermon. no eye could see him, save that ever-wakeful one which had seen him in his closet, wielding the bloody scourge. why, then, had he come hither? was it but the mockery of penitence? a mockery, indeed, but in which his soul trifled with itself! a mockery at which angels blushed and wept, while fiends rejoiced with jeering laughter! he had been driven hither by the impulse of that remorse which dogged him everywhere, and whose own sister and closely linked companion was that cowardice which invariably drew him back, with her tremulous gripe, just when the other impulse had hurried him to the verge of a disclosure. poor, miserable man! what right had infirmity like his to burden itself with crime? crime is for the iron-nerved, who have their choice either to endure it, or, if it press too hard, to exert their fierce and savage strength for a good purpose, and fling it off at once! this feeble and most sensitive of spirits could do neither, yet continually did one thing or another, which intertwined, in the same inextricable knot, the agony of heaven-defying guilt and vain repentance. and thus, while standing on the scaffold, in this vain show of expiation, mr. dimmesdale was overcome with a great horror of mind, as if the universe were gazing at a scarlet token on his naked breast, right over his heart. on that spot, in very truth, there was, and there had long been, the gnawing and poisonous tooth of bodily pain. without any effort of his will, or power to restrain himself, he shrieked aloud: an outcry that went pealing through the night, and was beaten back from one house to another, and reverberated from the hills in the background; as if a company of devils, detecting so much misery and terror in it, had made a plaything of the sound, and were bandying it to and fro. "it is done!" muttered the minister, covering his face with his hands. "the whole town will awake and hurry forth, and find me here!" but it was not so. the shriek had perhaps sounded with a far greater power, to his own startled ears, than it actually possessed. the town did not awake; or, if it did, the drowsy slumberers mistook the cry either for something frightful in a dream, or for the noise of witches, whose voices, at that period, were often heard to pass over the settlements or lonely cottages, as they rode with satan through the air. the clergyman, therefore, hearing no symptoms of disturbance, uncovered his eyes and looked about him. at one of the chamber-windows of governor bellingham's mansion, which stood at some distance, on the line of another street, he beheld the appearance of the old magistrate himself with a lamp in his hand a white night-cap on his head, and a long white gown enveloping his figure. he looked like a ghost evoked unseasonably from the grave. the cry had evidently startled him. at another window of the same house, moreover appeared old mistress hibbins, the governor's sister, also with a lamp, which even thus far off revealed the expression of her sour and discontented face. she thrust forth her head from the lattice, and looked anxiously upward. beyond the shadow of a doubt, this venerable witch-lady had heard mr. dimmesdale's outcry, and interpreted it, with its multitudinous echoes and reverberations, as the clamour of the fiends and night-hags, with whom she was well known to make excursions in the forest. detecting the gleam of governor bellingham's lamp, the old lady quickly extinguished her own, and vanished. possibly, she went up among the clouds. the minister saw nothing further of her motions. the magistrate, after a wary observation of the darkness--into which, nevertheless, he could see but little further than he might into a mill-stone--retired from the window. the minister grew comparatively calm. his eyes, however, were soon greeted by a little glimmering light, which, at first a long way off was approaching up the street. it threw a gleam of recognition, on here a post, and there a garden fence, and here a latticed window-pane, and there a pump, with its full trough of water, and here again an arched door of oak, with an iron knocker, and a rough log for the door-step. the reverend mr. dimmesdale noted all these minute particulars, even while firmly convinced that the doom of his existence was stealing onward, in the footsteps which he now heard; and that the gleam of the lantern would fall upon him in a few moments more, and reveal his long-hidden secret. as the light drew nearer, he beheld, within its illuminated circle, his brother clergyman--or, to speak more accurately, his professional father, as well as highly valued friend--the reverend mr. wilson, who, as mr. dimmesdale now conjectured, had been praying at the bedside of some dying man. and so he had. the good old minister came freshly from the death-chamber of governor winthrop, who had passed from earth to heaven within that very hour. and now surrounded, like the saint-like personage of olden times, with a radiant halo, that glorified him amid this gloomy night of sin--as if the departed governor had left him an inheritance of his glory, or as if he had caught upon himself the distant shine of the celestial city, while looking thitherward to see the triumphant pilgrim pass within its gates--now, in short, good father wilson was moving homeward, aiding his footsteps with a lighted lantern! the glimmer of this luminary suggested the above conceits to mr. dimmesdale, who smiled--nay, almost laughed at them--and then wondered if he was going mad. as the reverend mr. wilson passed beside the scaffold, closely muffling his geneva cloak about him with one arm, and holding the lantern before his breast with the other, the minister could hardly restrain himself from speaking-- "a good evening to you, venerable father wilson. come up hither, i pray you, and pass a pleasant hour with me!" good heavens! had mr. dimmesdale actually spoken? for one instant he believed that these words had passed his lips. but they were uttered only within his imagination. the venerable father wilson continued to step slowly onward, looking carefully at the muddy pathway before his feet, and never once turning his head towards the guilty platform. when the light of the glimmering lantern had faded quite away, the minister discovered, by the faintness which came over him, that the last few moments had been a crisis of terrible anxiety, although his mind had made an involuntary effort to relieve itself by a kind of lurid playfulness. shortly afterwards, the like grisly sense of the humorous again stole in among the solemn phantoms of his thought. he felt his limbs growing stiff with the unaccustomed chilliness of the night, and doubted whether he should be able to descend the steps of the scaffold. morning would break and find him there. the neighbourhood would begin to rouse itself. the earliest riser, coming forth in the dim twilight, would perceive a vaguely-defined figure aloft on the place of shame; and half-crazed betwixt alarm and curiosity, would go knocking from door to door, summoning all the people to behold the ghost--as he needs must think it--of some defunct transgressor. a dusky tumult would flap its wings from one house to another. then--the morning light still waxing stronger--old patriarchs would rise up in great haste, each in his flannel gown, and matronly dames, without pausing to put off their night-gear. the whole tribe of decorous personages, who had never heretofore been seen with a single hair of their heads awry, would start into public view with the disorder of a nightmare in their aspects. old governor bellingham would come grimly forth, with his king james' ruff fastened askew, and mistress hibbins, with some twigs of the forest clinging to her skirts, and looking sourer than ever, as having hardly got a wink of sleep after her night ride; and good father wilson too, after spending half the night at a death-bed, and liking ill to be disturbed, thus early, out of his dreams about the glorified saints. hither, likewise, would come the elders and deacons of mr. dimmesdale's church, and the young virgins who so idolized their minister, and had made a shrine for him in their white bosoms, which now, by-the-bye, in their hurry and confusion, they would scantly have given themselves time to cover with their kerchiefs. all people, in a word, would come stumbling over their thresholds, and turning up their amazed and horror-stricken visages around the scaffold. whom would they discern there, with the red eastern light upon his brow? whom, but the reverend arthur dimmesdale, half-frozen to death, overwhelmed with shame, and standing where hester prynne had stood! carried away by the grotesque horror of this picture, the minister, unawares, and to his own infinite alarm, burst into a great peal of laughter. it was immediately responded to by a light, airy, childish laugh, in which, with a thrill of the heart--but he knew not whether of exquisite pain, or pleasure as acute--he recognised the tones of little pearl. "pearl! little pearl!" cried he, after a moment's pause; then, suppressing his voice--"hester! hester prynne! are you there?" "yes; it is hester prynne!" she replied, in a tone of surprise; and the minister heard her footsteps approaching from the side-walk, along which she had been passing. "it is i, and my little pearl." "whence come you, hester?" asked the minister. "what sent you hither?" "i have been watching at a death-bed," answered hester prynne "at governor winthrop's death-bed, and have taken his measure for a robe, and am now going homeward to my dwelling." "come up hither, hester, thou and little pearl," said the reverend mr. dimmesdale. "ye have both been here before, but i was not with you. come up hither once again, and we will stand all three together." she silently ascended the steps, and stood on the platform, holding little pearl by the hand. the minister felt for the child's other hand, and took it. the moment that he did so, there came what seemed a tumultuous rush of new life, other life than his own pouring like a torrent into his heart, and hurrying through all his veins, as if the mother and the child were communicating their vital warmth to his half-torpid system. the three formed an electric chain. "minister!" whispered little pearl. "what wouldst thou say, child?" asked mr. dimmesdale. "wilt thou stand here with mother and me, to-morrow noontide?" inquired pearl. "nay; not so, my little pearl," answered the minister; for, with the new energy of the moment, all the dread of public exposure, that had so long been the anguish of his life, had returned upon him; and he was already trembling at the conjunction in which--with a strange joy, nevertheless--he now found himself--"not so, my child. i shall, indeed, stand with thy mother and thee one other day, but not to-morrow." pearl laughed, and attempted to pull away her hand. but the minister held it fast. "a moment longer, my child!" said he. "but wilt thou promise," asked pearl, "to take my hand, and mother's hand, to-morrow noontide?" "not then, pearl," said the minister; "but another time." "and what other time?" persisted the child. "at the great judgment day," whispered the minister; and, strangely enough, the sense that he was a professional teacher of the truth impelled him to answer the child so. "then, and there, before the judgment-seat, thy mother, and thou, and i must stand together. but the daylight of this world shall not see our meeting!" pearl laughed again. but before mr. dimmesdale had done speaking, a light gleamed far and wide over all the muffled sky. it was doubtless caused by one of those meteors, which the night-watcher may so often observe burning out to waste, in the vacant regions of the atmosphere. so powerful was its radiance, that it thoroughly illuminated the dense medium of cloud betwixt the sky and earth. the great vault brightened, like the dome of an immense lamp. it showed the familiar scene of the street with the distinctness of mid-day, but also with the awfulness that is always imparted to familiar objects by an unaccustomed light. the wooden houses, with their jutting storeys and quaint gable-peaks; the doorsteps and thresholds with the early grass springing up about them; the garden-plots, black with freshly-turned earth; the wheel-track, little worn, and even in the market-place margined with green on either side--all were visible, but with a singularity of aspect that seemed to give another moral interpretation to the things of this world than they had ever borne before. and there stood the minister, with his hand over his heart; and hester prynne, with the embroidered letter glimmering on her bosom; and little pearl, herself a symbol, and the connecting link between those two. they stood in the noon of that strange and solemn splendour, as if it were the light that is to reveal all secrets, and the daybreak that shall unite all who belong to one another. there was witchcraft in little pearl's eyes; and her face, as she glanced upward at the minister, wore that naughty smile which made its expression frequently so elvish. she withdrew her hand from mr. dimmesdale's, and pointed across the street. but he clasped both his hands over his breast, and cast his eyes towards the zenith. nothing was more common, in those days, than to interpret all meteoric appearances, and other natural phenomena that occurred with less regularity than the rise and set of sun and moon, as so many revelations from a supernatural source. thus, a blazing spear, a sword of flame, a bow, or a sheaf of arrows seen in the midnight sky, prefigured indian warfare. pestilence was known to have been foreboded by a shower of crimson light. we doubt whether any marked event, for good or evil, ever befell new england, from its settlement down to revolutionary times, of which the inhabitants had not been previously warned by some spectacle of its nature. not seldom, it had been seen by multitudes. oftener, however, its credibility rested on the faith of some lonely eye-witness, who beheld the wonder through the coloured, magnifying, and distorted medium of his imagination, and shaped it more distinctly in his after-thought. it was, indeed, a majestic idea that the destiny of nations should be revealed, in these awful hieroglyphics, on the cope of heaven. a scroll so wide might not be deemed too expensive for providence to write a people's doom upon. the belief was a favourite one with our forefathers, as betokening that their infant commonwealth was under a celestial guardianship of peculiar intimacy and strictness. but what shall we say, when an individual discovers a revelation addressed to himself alone, on the same vast sheet of record. in such a case, it could only be the symptom of a highly disordered mental state, when a man, rendered morbidly self-contemplative by long, intense, and secret pain, had extended his egotism over the whole expanse of nature, until the firmament itself should appear no more than a fitting page for his soul's history and fate. we impute it, therefore, solely to the disease in his own eye and heart that the minister, looking upward to the zenith, beheld there the appearance of an immense letter--the letter a--marked out in lines of dull red light. not but the meteor may have shown itself at that point, burning duskily through a veil of cloud, but with no such shape as his guilty imagination gave it, or, at least, with so little definiteness, that another's guilt might have seen another symbol in it. there was a singular circumstance that characterised mr. dimmesdale's psychological state at this moment. all the time that he gazed upward to the zenith, he was, nevertheless, perfectly aware that little pearl was pointing her finger towards old roger chillingworth, who stood at no great distance from the scaffold. the minister appeared to see him, with the same glance that discerned the miraculous letter. to his feature as to all other objects, the meteoric light imparted a new expression; or it might well be that the physician was not careful then, as at all other times, to hide the malevolence with which he looked upon his victim. certainly, if the meteor kindled up the sky, and disclosed the earth, with an awfulness that admonished hester prynne and the clergyman of the day of judgment, then might roger chillingworth have passed with them for the arch-fiend, standing there with a smile and scowl, to claim his own. so vivid was the expression, or so intense the minister's perception of it, that it seemed still to remain painted on the darkness after the meteor had vanished, with an effect as if the street and all things else were at once annihilated. "who is that man, hester?" gasped mr. dimmesdale, overcome with terror. "i shiver at him! dost thou know the man? i hate him, hester!" she remembered her oath, and was silent. "i tell thee, my soul shivers at him!" muttered the minister again. "who is he? who is he? canst thou do nothing for me? i have a nameless horror of the man!" "minister," said little pearl, "i can tell thee who he is!" "quickly, then, child!" said the minister, bending his ear close to her lips. "quickly, and as low as thou canst whisper." pearl mumbled something into his ear that sounded, indeed, like human language, but was only such gibberish as children may be heard amusing themselves with by the hour together. at all events, if it involved any secret information in regard to old roger chillingworth, it was in a tongue unknown to the erudite clergyman, and did but increase the bewilderment of his mind. the elvish child then laughed aloud. "dost thou mock me now?" said the minister. "thou wast not bold!--thou wast not true!" answered the child. "thou wouldst not promise to take my hand, and mother's hand, to-morrow noon-tide!" "worthy sir," answered the physician, who had now advanced to the foot of the platform--"pious master dimmesdale! can this be you? well, well, indeed! we men of study, whose heads are in our books, have need to be straitly looked after! we dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep. come, good sir, and my dear friend, i pray you let me lead you home!" "how knewest thou that i was here?" asked the minister, fearfully. "verily, and in good faith," answered roger chillingworth, "i knew nothing of the matter. i had spent the better part of the night at the bedside of the worshipful governor winthrop, doing what my poor skill might to give him ease. he, going home to a better world, i, likewise, was on my way homeward, when this light shone out. come with me, i beseech you, reverend sir, else you will be poorly able to do sabbath duty to-morrow. aha! see now how they trouble the brain--these books!--these books! you should study less, good sir, and take a little pastime, or these night whimsies will grow upon you." "i will go home with you," said mr. dimmesdale. with a chill despondency, like one awakening, all nerveless, from an ugly dream, he yielded himself to the physician, and was led away. the next day, however, being the sabbath, he preached a discourse which was held to be the richest and most powerful, and the most replete with heavenly influences, that had ever proceeded from his lips. souls, it is said, more souls than one, were brought to the truth by the efficacy of that sermon, and vowed within themselves to cherish a holy gratitude towards mr. dimmesdale throughout the long hereafter. but as he came down the pulpit steps, the grey-bearded sexton met him, holding up a black glove, which the minister recognised as his own. "it was found," said the sexton, "this morning on the scaffold where evil-doers are set up to public shame. satan dropped it there, i take it, intending a scurrilous jest against your reverence. but, indeed, he was blind and foolish, as he ever and always is. a pure hand needs no glove to cover it!" "thank you, my good friend," said the minister, gravely, but startled at heart; for so confused was his remembrance, that he had almost brought himself to look at the events of the past night as visionary. "yes, it seems to be my glove, indeed!" "and, since satan saw fit to steal it, your reverence must needs handle him without gloves henceforward," remarked the old sexton, grimly smiling. "but did your reverence hear of the portent that was seen last night? a great red letter in the sky--the letter a, which we interpret to stand for angel. for, as our good governor winthrop was made an angel this past night, it was doubtless held fit that there should be some notice thereof!" "no," answered the minister; "i had not heard of it." xiii. another view of hester in her late singular interview with mr. dimmesdale, hester prynne was shocked at the condition to which she found the clergyman reduced. his nerve seemed absolutely destroyed. his moral force was abased into more than childish weakness. it grovelled helpless on the ground, even while his intellectual faculties retained their pristine strength, or had perhaps acquired a morbid energy, which disease only could have given them. with her knowledge of a train of circumstances hidden from all others, she could readily infer that, besides the legitimate action of his own conscience, a terrible machinery had been brought to bear, and was still operating, on mr. dimmesdale's well-being and repose. knowing what this poor fallen man had once been, her whole soul was moved by the shuddering terror with which he had appealed to her--the outcast woman--for support against his instinctively discovered enemy. she decided, moreover, that he had a right to her utmost aid. little accustomed, in her long seclusion from society, to measure her ideas of right and wrong by any standard external to herself, hester saw--or seemed to see--that there lay a responsibility upon her in reference to the clergyman, which she owned to no other, nor to the whole world besides. the links that united her to the rest of humankind--links of flowers, or silk, or gold, or whatever the material--had all been broken. here was the iron link of mutual crime, which neither he nor she could break. like all other ties, it brought along with it its obligations. hester prynne did not now occupy precisely the same position in which we beheld her during the earlier periods of her ignominy. years had come and gone. pearl was now seven years old. her mother, with the scarlet letter on her breast, glittering in its fantastic embroidery, had long been a familiar object to the townspeople. as is apt to be the case when a person stands out in any prominence before the community, and, at the same time, interferes neither with public nor individual interests and convenience, a species of general regard had ultimately grown up in reference to hester prynne. it is to the credit of human nature that, except where its selfishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates. hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility. in this matter of hester prynne there was neither irritation nor irksomeness. she never battled with the public, but submitted uncomplainingly to its worst usage; she made no claim upon it in requital for what she suffered; she did not weigh upon its sympathies. then, also, the blameless purity of her life during all these years in which she had been set apart to infamy was reckoned largely in her favour. with nothing now to lose, in the sight of mankind, and with no hope, and seemingly no wish, of gaining anything, it could only be a genuine regard for virtue that had brought back the poor wanderer to its paths. it was perceived, too, that while hester never put forward even the humblest title to share in the world's privileges--further than to breathe the common air and earn daily bread for little pearl and herself by the faithful labour of her hands--she was quick to acknowledge her sisterhood with the race of man whenever benefits were to be conferred. none so ready as she to give of her little substance to every demand of poverty, even though the bitter-hearted pauper threw back a gibe in requital of the food brought regularly to his door, or the garments wrought for him by the fingers that could have embroidered a monarch's robe. none so self-devoted as hester when pestilence stalked through the town. in all seasons of calamity, indeed, whether general or of individuals, the outcast of society at once found her place. she came, not as a guest, but as a rightful inmate, into the household that was darkened by trouble, as if its gloomy twilight were a medium in which she was entitled to hold intercourse with her fellow-creature. there glimmered the embroidered letter, with comfort in its unearthly ray. elsewhere the token of sin, it was the taper of the sick chamber. it had even thrown its gleam, in the sufferer's hard extremity, across the verge of time. it had shown him where to set his foot, while the light of earth was fast becoming dim, and ere the light of futurity could reach him. in such emergencies hester's nature showed itself warm and rich--a well-spring of human tenderness, unfailing to every real demand, and inexhaustible by the largest. her breast, with its badge of shame, was but the softer pillow for the head that needed one. she was self-ordained a sister of mercy, or, we may rather say, the world's heavy hand had so ordained her, when neither the world nor she looked forward to this result. the letter was the symbol of her calling. such helpfulness was found in her--so much power to do, and power to sympathise--that many people refused to interpret the scarlet a by its original signification. they said that it meant able, so strong was hester prynne, with a woman's strength. it was only the darkened house that could contain her. when sunshine came again, she was not there. her shadow had faded across the threshold. the helpful inmate had departed, without one backward glance to gather up the meed of gratitude, if any were in the hearts of those whom she had served so zealously. meeting them in the street, she never raised her head to receive their greeting. if they were resolute to accost her, she laid her finger on the scarlet letter, and passed on. this might be pride, but was so like humility, that it produced all the softening influence of the latter quality on the public mind. the public is despotic in its temper; it is capable of denying common justice when too strenuously demanded as a right; but quite as frequently it awards more than justice, when the appeal is made, as despots love to have it made, entirely to its generosity. interpreting hester prynne's deportment as an appeal of this nature, society was inclined to show its former victim a more benign countenance than she cared to be favoured with, or, perchance, than she deserved. the rulers, and the wise and learned men of the community, were longer in acknowledging the influence of hester's good qualities than the people. the prejudices which they shared in common with the latter were fortified in themselves by an iron frame-work of reasoning, that made it a far tougher labour to expel them. day by day, nevertheless, their sour and rigid wrinkles were relaxing into something which, in the due course of years, might grow to be an expression of almost benevolence. thus it was with the men of rank, on whom their eminent position imposed the guardianship of the public morals. individuals in private life, meanwhile, had quite forgiven hester prynne for her frailty; nay, more, they had begun to look upon the scarlet letter as the token, not of that one sin for which she had borne so long and dreary a penance, but of her many good deeds since. "do you see that woman with the embroidered badge?" they would say to strangers. "it is our hester--the town's own hester--who is so kind to the poor, so helpful to the sick, so comfortable to the afflicted!" then, it is true, the propensity of human nature to tell the very worst of itself, when embodied in the person of another, would constrain them to whisper the black scandal of bygone years. it was none the less a fact, however, that in the eyes of the very men who spoke thus, the scarlet letter had the effect of the cross on a nun's bosom. it imparted to the wearer a kind of sacredness, which enabled her to walk securely amid all peril. had she fallen among thieves, it would have kept her safe. it was reported, and believed by many, that an indian had drawn his arrow against the badge, and that the missile struck it, and fell harmless to the ground. the effect of the symbol--or rather, of the position in respect to society that was indicated by it--on the mind of hester prynne herself was powerful and peculiar. all the light and graceful foliage of her character had been withered up by this red-hot brand, and had long ago fallen away, leaving a bare and harsh outline, which might have been repulsive had she possessed friends or companions to be repelled by it. even the attractiveness of her person had undergone a similar change. it might be partly owing to the studied austerity of her dress, and partly to the lack of demonstration in her manners. it was a sad transformation, too, that her rich and luxuriant hair had either been cut off, or was so completely hidden by a cap, that not a shining lock of it ever once gushed into the sunshine. it was due in part to all these causes, but still more to something else, that there seemed to be no longer anything in hester's face for love to dwell upon; nothing in hester's form, though majestic and statue like, that passion would ever dream of clasping in its embrace; nothing in hester's bosom to make it ever again the pillow of affection. some attribute had departed from her, the permanence of which had been essential to keep her a woman. such is frequently the fate, and such the stern development, of the feminine character and person, when the woman has encountered, and lived through, an experience of peculiar severity. if she be all tenderness, she will die. if she survive, the tenderness will either be crushed out of her, or--and the outward semblance is the same--crushed so deeply into her heart that it can never show itself more. the latter is perhaps the truest theory. she who has once been a woman, and ceased to be so, might at any moment become a woman again, if there were only the magic touch to effect the transformation. we shall see whether hester prynne were ever afterwards so touched and so transfigured. much of the marble coldness of hester's impression was to be attributed to the circumstance that her life had turned, in a great measure, from passion and feeling to thought. standing alone in the world--alone, as to any dependence on society, and with little pearl to be guided and protected--alone, and hopeless of retrieving her position, even had she not scorned to consider it desirable--she cast away the fragment of a broken chain. the world's law was no law for her mind. it was an age in which the human intellect, newly emancipated, had taken a more active and a wider range than for many centuries before. men of the sword had overthrown nobles and kings. men bolder than these had overthrown and rearranged--not actually, but within the sphere of theory, which was their most real abode--the whole system of ancient prejudice, wherewith was linked much of ancient principle. hester prynne imbibed this spirit. she assumed a freedom of speculation, then common enough on the other side of the atlantic, but which our forefathers, had they known it, would have held to be a deadlier crime than that stigmatised by the scarlet letter. in her lonesome cottage, by the seashore, thoughts visited her such as dared to enter no other dwelling in new england; shadowy guests, that would have been as perilous as demons to their entertainer, could they have been seen so much as knocking at her door. it is remarkable that persons who speculate the most boldly often conform with the most perfect quietude to the external regulations of society. the thought suffices them, without investing itself in the flesh and blood of action. so it seemed to be with hester. yet, had little pearl never come to her from the spiritual world, it might have been far otherwise. then she might have come down to us in history, hand in hand with ann hutchinson, as the foundress of a religious sect. she might, in one of her phases, have been a prophetess. she might, and not improbably would, have suffered death from the stern tribunals of the period, for attempting to undermine the foundations of the puritan establishment. but, in the education of her child, the mother's enthusiasm of thought had something to wreak itself upon. providence, in the person of this little girl, had assigned to hester's charge, the germ and blossom of womanhood, to be cherished and developed amid a host of difficulties. everything was against her. the world was hostile. the child's own nature had something wrong in it which continually betokened that she had been born amiss--the effluence of her mother's lawless passion--and often impelled hester to ask, in bitterness of heart, whether it were for ill or good that the poor little creature had been born at all. indeed, the same dark question often rose into her mind with reference to the whole race of womanhood. was existence worth accepting even to the happiest among them? as concerned her own individual existence, she had long ago decided in the negative, and dismissed the point as settled. a tendency to speculation, though it may keep women quiet, as it does man, yet makes her sad. she discerns, it may be, such a hopeless task before her. as a first step, the whole system of society is to be torn down and built up anew. then the very nature of the opposite sex, or its long hereditary habit, which has become like nature, is to be essentially modified before woman can be allowed to assume what seems a fair and suitable position. finally, all other difficulties being obviated, woman cannot take advantage of these preliminary reforms until she herself shall have undergone a still mightier change, in which, perhaps, the ethereal essence, wherein she has her truest life, will be found to have evaporated. a woman never overcomes these problems by any exercise of thought. they are not to be solved, or only in one way. if her heart chance to come uppermost, they vanish. thus hester prynne, whose heart had lost its regular and healthy throb, wandered without a clue in the dark labyrinth of mind; now turned aside by an insurmountable precipice; now starting back from a deep chasm. there was wild and ghastly scenery all around her, and a home and comfort nowhere. at times a fearful doubt strove to possess her soul, whether it were not better to send pearl at once to heaven, and go herself to such futurity as eternal justice should provide. the scarlet letter had not done its office. now, however, her interview with the reverend mr. dimmesdale, on the night of his vigil, had given her a new theme of reflection, and held up to her an object that appeared worthy of any exertion and sacrifice for its attainment. she had witnessed the intense misery beneath which the minister struggled, or, to speak more accurately, had ceased to struggle. she saw that he stood on the verge of lunacy, if he had not already stepped across it. it was impossible to doubt that, whatever painful efficacy there might be in the secret sting of remorse, a deadlier venom had been infused into it by the hand that proffered relief. a secret enemy had been continually by his side, under the semblance of a friend and helper, and had availed himself of the opportunities thus afforded for tampering with the delicate springs of mr. dimmesdale's nature. hester could not but ask herself whether there had not originally been a defect of truth, courage, and loyalty on her own part, in allowing the minister to be thrown into a position where so much evil was to be foreboded and nothing auspicious to be hoped. her only justification lay in the fact that she had been able to discern no method of rescuing him from a blacker ruin than had overwhelmed herself except by acquiescing in roger chillingworth's scheme of disguise. under that impulse she had made her choice, and had chosen, as it now appeared, the more wretched alternative of the two. she determined to redeem her error so far as it might yet be possible. strengthened by years of hard and solemn trial, she felt herself no longer so inadequate to cope with roger chillingworth as on that night, abased by sin and half-maddened by the ignominy that was still new, when they had talked together in the prison-chamber. she had climbed her way since then to a higher point. the old man, on the other hand, had brought himself nearer to her level, or, perhaps, below it, by the revenge which he had stooped for. in fine, hester prynne resolved to meet her former husband, and do what might be in her power for the rescue of the victim on whom he had so evidently set his gripe. the occasion was not long to seek. one afternoon, walking with pearl in a retired part of the peninsula, she beheld the old physician with a basket on one arm and a staff in the other hand, stooping along the ground in quest of roots and herbs to concoct his medicine withal. xiv. hester and the physician hester bade little pearl run down to the margin of the water, and play with the shells and tangled sea-weed, until she should have talked awhile with yonder gatherer of herbs. so the child flew away like a bird, and, making bare her small white feet went pattering along the moist margin of the sea. here and there she came to a full stop, and peeped curiously into a pool, left by the retiring tide as a mirror for pearl to see her face in. forth peeped at her, out of the pool, with dark, glistening curls around her head, and an elf-smile in her eyes, the image of a little maid whom pearl, having no other playmate, invited to take her hand and run a race with her. but the visionary little maid on her part, beckoned likewise, as if to say--"this is a better place; come thou into the pool." and pearl, stepping in mid-leg deep, beheld her own white feet at the bottom; while, out of a still lower depth, came the gleam of a kind of fragmentary smile, floating to and fro in the agitated water. meanwhile her mother had accosted the physician. "i would speak a word with you," said she--"a word that concerns us much." "aha! and is it mistress hester that has a word for old roger chillingworth?" answered he, raising himself from his stooping posture. "with all my heart! why, mistress, i hear good tidings of you on all hands! no longer ago than yester-eve, a magistrate, a wise and godly man, was discoursing of your affairs, mistress hester, and whispered me that there had been question concerning you in the council. it was debated whether or no, with safety to the commonweal, yonder scarlet letter might be taken off your bosom. on my life, hester, i made my intreaty to the worshipful magistrate that it might be done forthwith." "it lies not in the pleasure of the magistrates to take off the badge," calmly replied hester. "were i worthy to be quit of it, it would fall away of its own nature, or be transformed into something that should speak a different purport." "nay, then, wear it, if it suit you better," rejoined he, "a woman must needs follow her own fancy touching the adornment of her person. the letter is gaily embroidered, and shows right bravely on your bosom!" all this while hester had been looking steadily at the old man, and was shocked, as well as wonder-smitten, to discern what a change had been wrought upon him within the past seven years. it was not so much that he had grown older; for though the traces of advancing life were visible he bore his age well, and seemed to retain a wiry vigour and alertness. but the former aspect of an intellectual and studious man, calm and quiet, which was what she best remembered in him, had altogether vanished, and been succeeded by an eager, searching, almost fierce, yet carefully guarded look. it seemed to be his wish and purpose to mask this expression with a smile, but the latter played him false, and flickered over his visage so derisively that the spectator could see his blackness all the better for it. ever and anon, too, there came a glare of red light out of his eyes, as if the old man's soul were on fire and kept on smouldering duskily within his breast, until by some casual puff of passion it was blown into a momentary flame. this he repressed as speedily as possible, and strove to look as if nothing of the kind had happened. in a word, old roger chillingworth was a striking evidence of man's faculty of transforming himself into a devil, if he will only, for a reasonable space of time, undertake a devil's office. this unhappy person had effected such a transformation by devoting himself for seven years to the constant analysis of a heart full of torture, and deriving his enjoyment thence, and adding fuel to those fiery tortures which he analysed and gloated over. the scarlet letter burned on hester prynne's bosom. here was another ruin, the responsibility of which came partly home to her. "what see you in my face," asked the physician, "that you look at it so earnestly?" "something that would make me weep, if there were any tears bitter enough for it," answered she. "but let it pass! it is of yonder miserable man that i would speak." "and what of him?" cried roger chillingworth, eagerly, as if he loved the topic, and were glad of an opportunity to discuss it with the only person of whom he could make a confidant. "not to hide the truth, mistress hester, my thoughts happen just now to be busy with the gentleman. so speak freely and i will make answer." "when we last spake together," said hester, "now seven years ago, it was your pleasure to extort a promise of secrecy as touching the former relation betwixt yourself and me. as the life and good fame of yonder man were in your hands there seemed no choice to me, save to be silent in accordance with your behest. yet it was not without heavy misgivings that i thus bound myself, for, having cast off all duty towards other human beings, there remained a duty towards him, and something whispered me that i was betraying it in pledging myself to keep your counsel. since that day no man is so near to him as you. you tread behind his every footstep. you are beside him, sleeping and waking. you search his thoughts. you burrow and rankle in his heart! your clutch is on his life, and you cause him to die daily a living death, and still he knows you not. in permitting this i have surely acted a false part by the only man to whom the power was left me to be true!" "what choice had you?" asked roger chillingworth. "my finger, pointed at this man, would have hurled him from his pulpit into a dungeon, thence, peradventure, to the gallows!" "it had been better so!" said hester prynne. "what evil have i done the man?" asked roger chillingworth again. "i tell thee, hester prynne, the richest fee that ever physician earned from monarch could not have bought such care as i have wasted on this miserable priest! but for my aid his life would have burned away in torments within the first two years after the perpetration of his crime and thine. for, hester, his spirit lacked the strength that could have borne up, as thine has, beneath a burden like thy scarlet letter. oh, i could reveal a goodly secret! but enough. what art can do, i have exhausted on him. that he now breathes and creeps about on earth is owing all to me!" "better he had died at once!" said hester prynne. "yea, woman, thou sayest truly!" cried old roger chillingworth, letting the lurid fire of his heart blaze out before her eyes. "better had he died at once! never did mortal suffer what this man has suffered. and all, all, in the sight of his worst enemy! he has been conscious of me. he has felt an influence dwelling always upon him like a curse. he knew, by some spiritual sense--for the creator never made another being so sensitive as this--he knew that no friendly hand was pulling at his heartstrings, and that an eye was looking curiously into him, which sought only evil, and found it. but he knew not that the eye and hand were mine! with the superstition common to his brotherhood, he fancied himself given over to a fiend, to be tortured with frightful dreams and desperate thoughts, the sting of remorse and despair of pardon, as a foretaste of what awaits him beyond the grave. but it was the constant shadow of my presence, the closest propinquity of the man whom he had most vilely wronged, and who had grown to exist only by this perpetual poison of the direst revenge! yea, indeed, he did not err, there was a fiend at his elbow! a mortal man, with once a human heart, has become a fiend for his especial torment." the unfortunate physician, while uttering these words, lifted his hands with a look of horror, as if he had beheld some frightful shape, which he could not recognise, usurping the place of his own image in a glass. it was one of those moments--which sometimes occur only at the interval of years--when a man's moral aspect is faithfully revealed to his mind's eye. not improbably he had never before viewed himself as he did now. "hast thou not tortured him enough?" said hester, noticing the old man's look. "has he not paid thee all?" "no, no! he has but increased the debt!" answered the physician, and as he proceeded, his manner lost its fiercer characteristics, and subsided into gloom. "dost thou remember me, hester, as i was nine years agone? even then i was in the autumn of my days, nor was it the early autumn. but all my life had been made up of earnest, studious, thoughtful, quiet years, bestowed faithfully for the increase of mine own knowledge, and faithfully, too, though this latter object was but casual to the other--faithfully for the advancement of human welfare. no life had been more peaceful and innocent than mine; few lives so rich with benefits conferred. dost thou remember me? was i not, though you might deem me cold, nevertheless a man thoughtful for others, craving little for himself--kind, true, just and of constant, if not warm affections? was i not all this?" "all this, and more," said hester. "and what am i now?" demanded he, looking into her face, and permitting the whole evil within him to be written on his features. "i have already told thee what i am--a fiend! who made me so?" "it was myself," cried hester, shuddering. "it was i, not less than he. why hast thou not avenged thyself on me?" "i have left thee to the scarlet letter," replied roger chillingworth. "if that has not avenged me, i can do no more!" he laid his finger on it with a smile. "it has avenged thee," answered hester prynne. "i judged no less," said the physician. "and now what wouldst thou with me touching this man?" "i must reveal the secret," answered hester, firmly. "he must discern thee in thy true character. what may be the result i know not. but this long debt of confidence, due from me to him, whose bane and ruin i have been, shall at length be paid. so far as concerns the overthrow or preservation of his fair fame and his earthly state, and perchance his life, he is in my hands. nor do i--whom the scarlet letter has disciplined to truth, though it be the truth of red-hot iron entering into the soul--nor do i perceive such advantage in his living any longer a life of ghastly emptiness, that i shall stoop to implore thy mercy. do with him as thou wilt! there is no good for him, no good for me, no good for thee. there is no good for little pearl. there is no path to guide us out of this dismal maze." "woman, i could well-nigh pity thee," said roger chillingworth, unable to restrain a thrill of admiration too, for there was a quality almost majestic in the despair which she expressed. "thou hadst great elements. peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a better love than mine, this evil had not been. i pity thee, for the good that has been wasted in thy nature." "and i thee," answered hester prynne, "for the hatred that has transformed a wise and just man to a fiend! wilt thou yet purge it out of thee, and be once more human? if not for his sake, then doubly for thine own! forgive, and leave his further retribution to the power that claims it! i said, but now, that there could be no good event for him, or thee, or me, who are here wandering together in this gloomy maze of evil, and stumbling at every step over the guilt wherewith we have strewn our path. it is not so! there might be good for thee, and thee alone, since thou hast been deeply wronged and hast it at thy will to pardon. wilt thou give up that only privilege? wilt thou reject that priceless benefit?" "peace, hester--peace!" replied the old man, with gloomy sternness--"it is not granted me to pardon. i have no such power as thou tellest me of. my old faith, long forgotten, comes back to me, and explains all that we do, and all we suffer. by thy first step awry, thou didst plant the germ of evil; but since that moment it has all been a dark necessity. ye that have wronged me are not sinful, save in a kind of typical illusion; neither am i fiend-like, who have snatched a fiend's office from his hands. it is our fate. let the black flower blossom as it may! now, go thy ways, and deal as thou wilt with yonder man." he waved his hand, and betook himself again to his employment of gathering herbs. xv. hester and pearl so roger chillingworth--a deformed old figure with a face that haunted men's memories longer than they liked--took leave of hester prynne, and went stooping away along the earth. he gathered here and there a herb, or grubbed up a root and put it into the basket on his arm. his gray beard almost touched the ground as he crept onward. hester gazed after him a little while, looking with a half fantastic curiosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not be blighted beneath him and show the wavering track of his footsteps, sere and brown, across its cheerful verdure. she wondered what sort of herbs they were which the old man was so sedulous to gather. would not the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by the sympathy of his eye, greet him with poisonous shrubs of species hitherto unknown, that would start up under his fingers? or might it suffice him that every wholesome growth should be converted into something deleterious and malignant at his touch? did the sun, which shone so brightly everywhere else, really fall upon him? or was there, as it rather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity whichever way he turned himself? and whither was he now going? would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade, dogwood, henbane, and whatever else of vegetable wickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? or would he spread bat's wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier the higher he rose towards heaven? "be it sin or no," said hester prynne, bitterly, as still she gazed after him, "i hate the man!" she upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or lessen it. attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the seclusion of his study and sit down in the firelight of their home, and in the light of her nuptial smile. he needed to bask himself in that smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hours among his books might be taken off the scholar's heart. such scenes had once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed through the dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselves among her ugliest remembrances. she marvelled how such scenes could have been! she marvelled how she could ever have been wrought upon to marry him! she deemed it her crime most to be repented of, that she had ever endured and reciprocated the lukewarm grasp of his hand, and had suffered the smile of her lips and eyes to mingle and melt into his own. and it seemed a fouler offence committed by roger chillingworth than any which had since been done him, that, in the time when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded her to fancy herself happy by his side. "yes, i hate him!" repeated hester more bitterly than before. "he betrayed me! he has done me worse wrong than i did him!" let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart! else it may be their miserable fortune, as it was roger chillingworth's, when some mightier touch than their own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to be reproached even for the calm content, the marble image of happiness, which they will have imposed upon her as the warm reality. but hester ought long ago to have done with this injustice. what did it betoken? had seven long years, under the torture of the scarlet letter, inflicted so much of misery and wrought out no repentance? the emotion of that brief space, while she stood gazing after the crooked figure of old roger chillingworth, threw a dark light on hester's state of mind, revealing much that she might not otherwise have acknowledged to herself. he being gone, she summoned back her child. "pearl! little pearl! where are you?" pearl, whose activity of spirit never flagged, had been at no loss for amusement while her mother talked with the old gatherer of herbs. at first, as already told, she had flirted fancifully with her own image in a pool of water, beckoning the phantom forth, and--as it declined to venture--seeking a passage for herself into its sphere of impalpable earth and unattainable sky. soon finding, however, that either she or the image was unreal, she turned elsewhere for better pastime. she made little boats out of birch-bark, and freighted them with snailshells, and sent out more ventures on the mighty deep than any merchant in new england; but the larger part of them foundered near the shore. she seized a live horse-shoe by the tail, and made prize of several five-fingers, and laid out a jelly-fish to melt in the warm sun. then she took up the white foam that streaked the line of the advancing tide, and threw it upon the breeze, scampering after it with winged footsteps to catch the great snowflakes ere they fell. perceiving a flock of beach-birds that fed and fluttered along the shore, the naughty child picked up her apron full of pebbles, and, creeping from rock to rock after these small sea-fowl, displayed remarkable dexterity in pelting them. one little gray bird, with a white breast, pearl was almost sure had been hit by a pebble, and fluttered away with a broken wing. but then the elf-child sighed, and gave up her sport, because it grieved her to have done harm to a little being that was as wild as the sea-breeze, or as wild as pearl herself. her final employment was to gather seaweed of various kinds, and make herself a scarf or mantle, and a head-dress, and thus assume the aspect of a little mermaid. she inherited her mother's gift for devising drapery and costume. as the last touch to her mermaid's garb, pearl took some eel-grass and imitated, as best she could, on her own bosom the decoration with which she was so familiar on her mother's. a letter--the letter a--but freshly green instead of scarlet. the child bent her chin upon her breast, and contemplated this device with strange interest, even as if the one only thing for which she had been sent into the world was to make out its hidden import. "i wonder if mother will ask me what it means?" thought pearl. just then she heard her mother's voice, and, flitting along as lightly as one of the little sea-birds, appeared before hester prynne dancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon her bosom. "my little pearl," said hester, after a moment's silence, "the green letter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. but dost thou know, my child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?" "yes, mother," said the child. "it is the great letter a. thou hast taught me in the horn-book." hester looked steadily into her little face; but though there was that singular expression which she had so often remarked in her black eyes, she could not satisfy herself whether pearl really attached any meaning to the symbol. she felt a morbid desire to ascertain the point. "dost thou know, child, wherefore thy mother wears this letter?" "truly do i!" answered pearl, looking brightly into her mother's face. "it is for the same reason that the minister keeps his hand over his heart!" "and what reason is that?" asked hester, half smiling at the absurd incongruity of the child's observation; but on second thoughts turning pale. "what has the letter to do with any heart save mine?" "nay, mother, i have told all i know," said pearl, more seriously than she was wont to speak. "ask yonder old man whom thou hast been talking with,--it may be he can tell. but in good earnest now, mother dear, what does this scarlet letter mean?--and why dost thou wear it on thy bosom?--and why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?" she took her mother's hand in both her own, and gazed into her eyes with an earnestness that was seldom seen in her wild and capricious character. the thought occurred to hester, that the child might really be seeking to approach her with childlike confidence, and doing what she could, and as intelligently as she knew how, to establish a meeting-point of sympathy. it showed pearl in an unwonted aspect. heretofore, the mother, while loving her child with the intensity of a sole affection, had schooled herself to hope for little other return than the waywardness of an april breeze, which spends its time in airy sport, and has its gusts of inexplicable passion, and is petulant in its best of moods, and chills oftener than caresses you, when you take it to your bosom; in requital of which misdemeanours it will sometimes, of its own vague purpose, kiss your cheek with a kind of doubtful tenderness, and play gently with your hair, and then be gone about its other idle business, leaving a dreamy pleasure at your heart. and this, moreover, was a mother's estimate of the child's disposition. any other observer might have seen few but unamiable traits, and have given them a far darker colouring. but now the idea came strongly into hester's mind, that pearl, with her remarkable precocity and acuteness, might already have approached the age when she could have been made a friend, and intrusted with as much of her mother's sorrows as could be imparted, without irreverence either to the parent or the child. in the little chaos of pearl's character there might be seen emerging and could have been from the very first--the steadfast principles of an unflinching courage--an uncontrollable will--sturdy pride, which might be disciplined into self-respect--and a bitter scorn of many things which, when examined, might be found to have the taint of falsehood in them. she possessed affections, too, though hitherto acrid and disagreeable, as are the richest flavours of unripe fruit. with all these sterling attributes, thought hester, the evil which she inherited from her mother must be great indeed, if a noble woman do not grow out of this elfish child. pearl's inevitable tendency to hover about the enigma of the scarlet letter seemed an innate quality of her being. from the earliest epoch of her conscious life, she had entered upon this as her appointed mission. hester had often fancied that providence had a design of justice and retribution, in endowing the child with this marked propensity; but never, until now, had she bethought herself to ask, whether, linked with that design, there might not likewise be a purpose of mercy and beneficence. if little pearl were entertained with faith and trust, as a spirit messenger no less than an earthly child, might it not be her errand to soothe away the sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart, and converted it into a tomb?--and to help her to overcome the passion, once so wild, and even yet neither dead nor asleep, but only imprisoned within the same tomb-like heart? such were some of the thoughts that now stirred in hester's mind, with as much vivacity of impression as if they had actually been whispered into her ear. and there was little pearl, all this while, holding her mother's hand in both her own, and turning her face upward, while she put these searching questions, once and again, and still a third time. "what does the letter mean, mother? and why dost thou wear it? and why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?" "what shall i say?" thought hester to herself. "no! if this be the price of the child's sympathy, i cannot pay it." then she spoke aloud-- "silly pearl," said she, "what questions are these? there are many things in this world that a child must not ask about. what know i of the minister's heart? and as for the scarlet letter, i wear it for the sake of its gold thread." in all the seven bygone years, hester prynne had never before been false to the symbol on her bosom. it may be that it was the talisman of a stern and severe, but yet a guardian spirit, who now forsook her; as recognising that, in spite of his strict watch over her heart, some new evil had crept into it, or some old one had never been expelled. as for little pearl, the earnestness soon passed out of her face. but the child did not see fit to let the matter drop. two or three times, as her mother and she went homeward, and as often at supper-time, and while hester was putting her to bed, and once after she seemed to be fairly asleep, pearl looked up, with mischief gleaming in her black eyes. "mother," said she, "what does the scarlet letter mean?" and the next morning, the first indication the child gave of being awake was by popping up her head from the pillow, and making that other enquiry, which she had so unaccountably connected with her investigations about the scarlet letter-- "mother!--mother!--why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?" "hold thy tongue, naughty child!" answered her mother, with an asperity that she had never permitted to herself before. "do not tease me; else i shall put thee into the dark closet!" xvi. a forest walk hester prynne remained constant in her resolve to make known to mr. dimmesdale, at whatever risk of present pain or ulterior consequences, the true character of the man who had crept into his intimacy. for several days, however, she vainly sought an opportunity of addressing him in some of the meditative walks which she knew him to be in the habit of taking along the shores of the peninsula, or on the wooded hills of the neighbouring country. there would have been no scandal, indeed, nor peril to the holy whiteness of the clergyman's good fame, had she visited him in his own study, where many a penitent, ere now, had confessed sins of perhaps as deep a dye as the one betokened by the scarlet letter. but, partly that she dreaded the secret or undisguised interference of old roger chillingworth, and partly that her conscious heart imparted suspicion where none could have been felt, and partly that both the minister and she would need the whole wide world to breathe in, while they talked together--for all these reasons hester never thought of meeting him in any narrower privacy than beneath the open sky. at last, while attending a sick chamber, whither the rev. mr. dimmesdale had been summoned to make a prayer, she learnt that he had gone, the day before, to visit the apostle eliot, among his indian converts. he would probably return by a certain hour in the afternoon of the morrow. betimes, therefore, the next day, hester took little pearl--who was necessarily the companion of all her mother's expeditions, however inconvenient her presence--and set forth. the road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from the peninsula to the mainland, was no other than a foot-path. it straggled onward into the mystery of the primeval forest. this hemmed it in so narrowly, and stood so black and dense on either side, and disclosed such imperfect glimpses of the sky above, that, to hester's mind, it imaged not amiss the moral wilderness in which she had so long been wandering. the day was chill and sombre. overhead was a gray expanse of cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze; so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might now and then be seen at its solitary play along the path. this flitting cheerfulness was always at the further extremity of some long vista through the forest. the sportive sunlight--feebly sportive, at best, in the predominant pensiveness of the day and scene--withdrew itself as they came nigh, and left the spots where it had danced the drearier, because they had hoped to find them bright. "mother," said little pearl, "the sunshine does not love you. it runs away and hides itself, because it is afraid of something on your bosom. now, see! there it is, playing a good way off. stand you here, and let me run and catch it. i am but a child. it will not flee from me--for i wear nothing on my bosom yet!" "nor ever will, my child, i hope," said hester. "and why not, mother?" asked pearl, stopping short, just at the beginning of her race. "will not it come of its own accord when i am a woman grown?" "run away, child," answered her mother, "and catch the sunshine. it will soon be gone." pearl set forth at a great pace, and as hester smiled to perceive, did actually catch the sunshine, and stood laughing in the midst of it, all brightened by its splendour, and scintillating with the vivacity excited by rapid motion. the light lingered about the lonely child, as if glad of such a playmate, until her mother had drawn almost nigh enough to step into the magic circle too. "it will go now," said pearl, shaking her head. "see!" answered hester, smiling; "now i can stretch out my hand and grasp some of it." as she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished; or, to judge from the bright expression that was dancing on pearl's features, her mother could have fancied that the child had absorbed it into herself, and would give it forth again, with a gleam about her path, as they should plunge into some gloomier shade. there was no other attribute that so much impressed her with a sense of new and untransmitted vigour in pearl's nature, as this never failing vivacity of spirits: she had not the disease of sadness, which almost all children, in these latter days, inherit, with the scrofula, from the troubles of their ancestors. perhaps this, too, was a disease, and but the reflex of the wild energy with which hester had fought against her sorrows before pearl's birth. it was certainly a doubtful charm, imparting a hard, metallic lustre to the child's character. she wanted--what some people want throughout life--a grief that should deeply touch her, and thus humanise and make her capable of sympathy. but there was time enough yet for little pearl. "come, my child!" said hester, looking about her from the spot where pearl had stood still in the sunshine--"we will sit down a little way within the wood, and rest ourselves." "i am not aweary, mother," replied the little girl. "but you may sit down, if you will tell me a story meanwhile." "a story, child!" said hester. "and about what?" "oh, a story about the black man," answered pearl, taking hold of her mother's gown, and looking up, half earnestly, half mischievously, into her face. "how he haunts this forest, and carries a book with him a big, heavy book, with iron clasps; and how this ugly black man offers his book and an iron pen to everybody that meets him here among the trees; and they are to write their names with their own blood; and then he sets his mark on their bosoms. didst thou ever meet the black man, mother?" "and who told you this story, pearl," asked her mother, recognising a common superstition of the period. "it was the old dame in the chimney corner, at the house where you watched last night," said the child. "but she fancied me asleep while she was talking of it. she said that a thousand and a thousand people had met him here, and had written in his book, and have his mark on them. and that ugly tempered lady, old mistress hibbins, was one. and, mother, the old dame said that this scarlet letter was the black man's mark on thee, and that it glows like a red flame when thou meetest him at midnight, here in the dark wood. is it true, mother? and dost thou go to meet him in the nighttime?" "didst thou ever awake and find thy mother gone?" asked hester. "not that i remember," said the child. "if thou fearest to leave me in our cottage, thou mightest take me along with thee. i would very gladly go! but, mother, tell me now! is there such a black man? and didst thou ever meet him? and is this his mark?" "wilt thou let me be at peace, if i once tell thee?" asked her mother. "yes, if thou tellest me all," answered pearl. "once in my life i met the black man!" said her mother. "this scarlet letter is his mark!" thus conversing, they entered sufficiently deep into the wood to secure themselves from the observation of any casual passenger along the forest track. here they sat down on a luxuriant heap of moss; which at some epoch of the preceding century, had been a gigantic pine, with its roots and trunk in the darksome shade, and its head aloft in the upper atmosphere. it was a little dell where they had seated themselves, with a leaf-strewn bank rising gently on either side, and a brook flowing through the midst, over a bed of fallen and drowned leaves. the trees impending over it had flung down great branches from time to time, which choked up the current, and compelled it to form eddies and black depths at some points; while, in its swifter and livelier passages there appeared a channel-way of pebbles, and brown, sparkling sand. letting the eyes follow along the course of the stream, they could catch the reflected light from its water, at some short distance within the forest, but soon lost all traces of it amid the bewilderment of tree-trunks and underbrush, and here and there a huge rock covered over with gray lichens. all these giant trees and boulders of granite seemed intent on making a mystery of the course of this small brook; fearing, perhaps, that, with its never-ceasing loquacity, it should whisper tales out of the heart of the old forest whence it flowed, or mirror its revelations on the smooth surface of a pool. continually, indeed, as it stole onward, the streamlet kept up a babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy, like the voice of a young child that was spending its infancy without playfulness, and knew not how to be merry among sad acquaintance and events of sombre hue. "oh, brook! oh, foolish and tiresome little brook!" cried pearl, after listening awhile to its talk, "why art thou so sad? pluck up a spirit, and do not be all the time sighing and murmuring!" but the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among the forest trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that it could not help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing else to say. pearl resembled the brook, inasmuch as the current of her life gushed from a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowed through scenes shadowed as heavily with gloom. but, unlike the little stream, she danced and sparkled, and prattled airily along her course. "what does this sad little brook say, mother?" inquired she. "if thou hadst a sorrow of thine own, the brook might tell thee of it," answered her mother, "even as it is telling me of mine. but now, pearl, i hear a footstep along the path, and the noise of one putting aside the branches. i would have thee betake thyself to play, and leave me to speak with him that comes yonder." "is it the black man?" asked pearl. "wilt thou go and play, child?" repeated her mother, "but do not stray far into the wood. and take heed that thou come at my first call." "yes, mother," answered pearl, "but if it be the black man, wilt thou not let me stay a moment, and look at him, with his big book under his arm?" "go, silly child!" said her mother impatiently. "it is no black man! thou canst see him now, through the trees. it is the minister!" "and so it is!" said the child. "and, mother, he has his hand over his heart! is it because, when the minister wrote his name in the book, the black man set his mark in that place? but why does he not wear it outside his bosom, as thou dost, mother?" "go now, child, and thou shalt tease me as thou wilt another time," cried hester prynne. "but do not stray far. keep where thou canst hear the babble of the brook." the child went singing away, following up the current of the brook, and striving to mingle a more lightsome cadence with its melancholy voice. but the little stream would not be comforted, and still kept telling its unintelligible secret of some very mournful mystery that had happened--or making a prophetic lamentation about something that was yet to happen--within the verge of the dismal forest. so pearl, who had enough of shadow in her own little life, chose to break off all acquaintance with this repining brook. she set herself, therefore, to gathering violets and wood-anemones, and some scarlet columbines that she found growing in the crevice of a high rock. when her elf-child had departed, hester prynne made a step or two towards the track that led through the forest, but still remained under the deep shadow of the trees. she beheld the minister advancing along the path entirely alone, and leaning on a staff which he had cut by the wayside. he looked haggard and feeble, and betrayed a nerveless despondency in his air, which had never so remarkably characterised him in his walks about the settlement, nor in any other situation where he deemed himself liable to notice. here it was wofully visible, in this intense seclusion of the forest, which of itself would have been a heavy trial to the spirits. there was a listlessness in his gait, as if he saw no reason for taking one step further, nor felt any desire to do so, but would have been glad, could he be glad of anything, to fling himself down at the root of the nearest tree, and lie there passive for evermore. the leaves might bestrew him, and the soil gradually accumulate and form a little hillock over his frame, no matter whether there were life in it or no. death was too definite an object to be wished for or avoided. to hester's eye, the reverend mr. dimmesdale exhibited no symptom of positive and vivacious suffering, except that, as little pearl had remarked, he kept his hand over his heart. xvii. the pastor and his parishioner slowly as the minister walked, he had almost gone by before hester prynne could gather voice enough to attract his observation. at length she succeeded. "arthur dimmesdale!" she said, faintly at first, then louder, but hoarsely--"arthur dimmesdale!" "who speaks?" answered the minister. gathering himself quickly up, he stood more erect, like a man taken by surprise in a mood to which he was reluctant to have witnesses. throwing his eyes anxiously in the direction of the voice, he indistinctly beheld a form under the trees, clad in garments so sombre, and so little relieved from the gray twilight into which the clouded sky and the heavy foliage had darkened the noontide, that he knew not whether it were a woman or a shadow. it may be that his pathway through life was haunted thus by a spectre that had stolen out from among his thoughts. he made a step nigher, and discovered the scarlet letter. "hester! hester prynne!", said he; "is it thou? art thou in life?" "even so." she answered. "in such life as has been mine these seven years past! and thou, arthur dimmesdale, dost thou yet live?" it was no wonder that they thus questioned one another's actual and bodily existence, and even doubted of their own. so strangely did they meet in the dim wood that it was like the first encounter in the world beyond the grave of two spirits who had been intimately connected in their former life, but now stood coldly shuddering in mutual dread, as not yet familiar with their state, nor wonted to the companionship of disembodied beings. each a ghost, and awe-stricken at the other ghost. they were awe-stricken likewise at themselves, because the crisis flung back to them their consciousness, and revealed to each heart its history and experience, as life never does, except at such breathless epochs. the soul beheld its features in the mirror of the passing moment. it was with fear, and tremulously, and, as it were, by a slow, reluctant necessity, that arthur dimmesdale put forth his hand, chill as death, and touched the chill hand of hester prynne. the grasp, cold as it was, took away what was dreariest in the interview. they now felt themselves, at least, inhabitants of the same sphere. without a word more spoken--neither he nor she assuming the guidance, but with an unexpressed consent--they glided back into the shadow of the woods whence hester had emerged, and sat down on the heap of moss where she and pearl had before been sitting. when they found voice to speak, it was at first only to utter remarks and inquiries such as any two acquaintances might have made, about the gloomy sky, the threatening storm, and, next, the health of each. thus they went onward, not boldly, but step by step, into the themes that were brooding deepest in their hearts. so long estranged by fate and circumstances, they needed something slight and casual to run before and throw open the doors of intercourse, so that their real thoughts might be led across the threshold. after awhile, the minister fixed his eyes on hester prynne's. "hester," said he, "hast thou found peace?" she smiled drearily, looking down upon her bosom. "hast thou?" she asked. "none--nothing but despair!" he answered. "what else could i look for, being what i am, and leading such a life as mine? were i an atheist--a man devoid of conscience--a wretch with coarse and brutal instincts--i might have found peace long ere now. nay, i never should have lost it. but, as matters stand with my soul, whatever of good capacity there originally was in me, all of god's gifts that were the choicest have become the ministers of spiritual torment. hester, i am most miserable!" "the people reverence thee," said hester. "and surely thou workest good among them! doth this bring thee no comfort?" "more misery, hester!--only the more misery!" answered the clergyman with a bitter smile. "as concerns the good which i may appear to do, i have no faith in it. it must needs be a delusion. what can a ruined soul like mine effect towards the redemption of other souls?--or a polluted soul towards their purification? and as for the people's reverence, would that it were turned to scorn and hatred! canst thou deem it, hester, a consolation that i must stand up in my pulpit, and meet so many eyes turned upward to my face, as if the light of heaven were beaming from it!--must see my flock hungry for the truth, and listening to my words as if a tongue of pentecost were speaking!--and then look inward, and discern the black reality of what they idolise? i have laughed, in bitterness and agony of heart, at the contrast between what i seem and what i am! and satan laughs at it!" "you wrong yourself in this," said hester gently. "you have deeply and sorely repented. your sin is left behind you in the days long past. your present life is not less holy, in very truth, than it seems in people's eyes. is there no reality in the penitence thus sealed and witnessed by good works? and wherefore should it not bring you peace?" "no, hester--no!" replied the clergyman. "there is no substance in it! it is cold and dead, and can do nothing for me! of penance, i have had enough! of penitence, there has been none! else, i should long ago have thrown off these garments of mock holiness, and have shown myself to mankind as they will see me at the judgment-seat. happy are you, hester, that wear the scarlet letter openly upon your bosom! mine burns in secret! thou little knowest what a relief it is, after the torment of a seven years' cheat, to look into an eye that recognises me for what i am! had i one friend--or were it my worst enemy!--to whom, when sickened with the praises of all other men, i could daily betake myself, and be known as the vilest of all sinners, methinks my soul might keep itself alive thereby. even thus much of truth would save me! but now, it is all falsehood!--all emptiness!--all death!" hester prynne looked into his face, but hesitated to speak. yet, uttering his long-restrained emotions so vehemently as he did, his words here offered her the very point of circumstances in which to interpose what she came to say. she conquered her fears, and spoke: "such a friend as thou hast even now wished for," said she, "with whom to weep over thy sin, thou hast in me, the partner of it!" again she hesitated, but brought out the words with an effort.--"thou hast long had such an enemy, and dwellest with him, under the same roof!" the minister started to his feet, gasping for breath, and clutching at his heart, as if he would have torn it out of his bosom. "ha! what sayest thou?" cried he. "an enemy! and under mine own roof! what mean you?" hester prynne was now fully sensible of the deep injury for which she was responsible to this unhappy man, in permitting him to lie for so many years, or, indeed, for a single moment, at the mercy of one whose purposes could not be other than malevolent. the very contiguity of his enemy, beneath whatever mask the latter might conceal himself, was enough to disturb the magnetic sphere of a being so sensitive as arthur dimmesdale. there had been a period when hester was less alive to this consideration; or, perhaps, in the misanthropy of her own trouble, she left the minister to bear what she might picture to herself as a more tolerable doom. but of late, since the night of his vigil, all her sympathies towards him had been both softened and invigorated. she now read his heart more accurately. she doubted not that the continual presence of roger chillingworth--the secret poison of his malignity, infecting all the air about him--and his authorised interference, as a physician, with the minister's physical and spiritual infirmities--that these bad opportunities had been turned to a cruel purpose. by means of them, the sufferer's conscience had been kept in an irritated state, the tendency of which was, not to cure by wholesome pain, but to disorganize and corrupt his spiritual being. its result, on earth, could hardly fail to be insanity, and hereafter, that eternal alienation from the good and true, of which madness is perhaps the earthly type. such was the ruin to which she had brought the man, once--nay, why should we not speak it?--still so passionately loved! hester felt that the sacrifice of the clergyman's good name, and death itself, as she had already told roger chillingworth, would have been infinitely preferable to the alternative which she had taken upon herself to choose. and now, rather than have had this grievous wrong to confess, she would gladly have laid down on the forest leaves, and died there, at arthur dimmesdale's feet. "oh, arthur!" cried she, "forgive me! in all things else, i have striven to be true! truth was the one virtue which i might have held fast, and did hold fast, through all extremity; save when thy good--thy life--thy fame--were put in question! then i consented to a deception. but a lie is never good, even though death threaten on the other side! dost thou not see what i would say? that old man!--the physician!--he whom they call roger chillingworth!--he was my husband!" the minister looked at her for an instant, with all that violence of passion, which--intermixed in more shapes than one with his higher, purer, softer qualities--was, in fact, the portion of him which the devil claimed, and through which he sought to win the rest. never was there a blacker or a fiercer frown than hester now encountered. for the brief space that it lasted, it was a dark transfiguration. but his character had been so much enfeebled by suffering, that even its lower energies were incapable of more than a temporary struggle. he sank down on the ground, and buried his face in his hands. "i might have known it," murmured he--"i did know it! was not the secret told me, in the natural recoil of my heart at the first sight of him, and as often as i have seen him since? why did i not understand? oh, hester prynne, thou little, little knowest all the horror of this thing! and the shame!--the indelicacy!--the horrible ugliness of this exposure of a sick and guilty heart to the very eye that would gloat over it! woman, woman, thou art accountable for this!--i cannot forgive thee!" "thou shalt forgive me!" cried hester, flinging herself on the fallen leaves beside him. "let god punish! thou shalt forgive!" with sudden and desperate tenderness she threw her arms around him, and pressed his head against her bosom, little caring though his cheek rested on the scarlet letter. he would have released himself, but strove in vain to do so. hester would not set him free, lest he should look her sternly in the face. all the world had frowned on her--for seven long years had it frowned upon this lonely woman--and still she bore it all, nor ever once turned away her firm, sad eyes. heaven, likewise, had frowned upon her, and she had not died. but the frown of this pale, weak, sinful, and sorrow-stricken man was what hester could not bear, and live! "wilt thou yet forgive me?" she repeated, over and over again. "wilt thou not frown? wilt thou forgive?" "i do forgive you, hester," replied the minister at length, with a deep utterance, out of an abyss of sadness, but no anger. "i freely forgive you now. may god forgive us both. we are not, hester, the worst sinners in the world. there is one worse than even the polluted priest! that old man's revenge has been blacker than my sin. he has violated, in cold blood, the sanctity of a human heart. thou and i, hester, never did so!" "never, never!" whispered she. "what we did had a consecration of its own. we felt it so! we said so to each other. hast thou forgotten it?" "hush, hester!" said arthur dimmesdale, rising from the ground. "no; i have not forgotten!" they sat down again, side by side, and hand clasped in hand, on the mossy trunk of the fallen tree. life had never brought them a gloomier hour; it was the point whither their pathway had so long been tending, and darkening ever, as it stole along--and yet it unclosed a charm that made them linger upon it, and claim another, and another, and, after all, another moment. the forest was obscure around them, and creaked with a blast that was passing through it. the boughs were tossing heavily above their heads; while one solemn old tree groaned dolefully to another, as if telling the sad story of the pair that sat beneath, or constrained to forbode evil to come. and yet they lingered. how dreary looked the forest-track that led backward to the settlement, where hester prynne must take up again the burden of her ignominy and the minister the hollow mockery of his good name! so they lingered an instant longer. no golden light had ever been so precious as the gloom of this dark forest. here seen only by his eyes, the scarlet letter need not burn into the bosom of the fallen woman! here seen only by her eyes, arthur dimmesdale, false to god and man, might be, for one moment true! he started at a thought that suddenly occurred to him. "hester!" cried he, "here is a new horror! roger chillingworth knows your purpose to reveal his true character. will he continue, then, to keep our secret? what will now be the course of his revenge?" "there is a strange secrecy in his nature," replied hester, thoughtfully; "and it has grown upon him by the hidden practices of his revenge. i deem it not likely that he will betray the secret. he will doubtless seek other means of satiating his dark passion." "and i!--how am i to live longer, breathing the same air with this deadly enemy?" exclaimed arthur dimmesdale, shrinking within himself, and pressing his hand nervously against his heart--a gesture that had grown involuntary with him. "think for me, hester! thou art strong. resolve for me!" "thou must dwell no longer with this man," said hester, slowly and firmly. "thy heart must be no longer under his evil eye!" "it were far worse than death!" replied the minister. "but how to avoid it? what choice remains to me? shall i lie down again on these withered leaves, where i cast myself when thou didst tell me what he was? must i sink down there, and die at once?" "alas! what a ruin has befallen thee!" said hester, with the tears gushing into her eyes. "wilt thou die for very weakness? there is no other cause!" "the judgment of god is on me," answered the conscience-stricken priest. "it is too mighty for me to struggle with!" "heaven would show mercy," rejoined hester, "hadst thou but the strength to take advantage of it." "be thou strong for me!" answered he. "advise me what to do." "is the world, then, so narrow?" exclaimed hester prynne, fixing her deep eyes on the minister's, and instinctively exercising a magnetic power over a spirit so shattered and subdued that it could hardly hold itself erect. "doth the universe lie within the compass of yonder town, which only a little time ago was but a leaf-strewn desert, as lonely as this around us? whither leads yonder forest-track? backward to the settlement, thou sayest! yes; but, onward, too! deeper it goes, and deeper into the wilderness, less plainly to be seen at every step; until some few miles hence the yellow leaves will show no vestige of the white man's tread. there thou art free! so brief a journey would bring thee from a world where thou hast been most wretched, to one where thou mayest still be happy! is there not shade enough in all this boundless forest to hide thy heart from the gaze of roger chillingworth?" "yes, hester; but only under the fallen leaves!" replied the minister, with a sad smile. "then there is the broad pathway of the sea!" continued hester. "it brought thee hither. if thou so choose, it will bear thee back again. in our native land, whether in some remote rural village, or in vast london--or, surely, in germany, in france, in pleasant italy--thou wouldst be beyond his power and knowledge! and what hast thou to do with all these iron men, and their opinions? they have kept thy better part in bondage too long already!" "it cannot be!" answered the minister, listening as if he were called upon to realise a dream. "i am powerless to go. wretched and sinful as i am, i have had no other thought than to drag on my earthly existence in the sphere where providence hath placed me. lost as my own soul is, i would still do what i may for other human souls! i dare not quit my post, though an unfaithful sentinel, whose sure reward is death and dishonour, when his dreary watch shall come to an end!" "thou art crushed under this seven years' weight of misery," replied hester, fervently resolved to buoy him up with her own energy. "but thou shalt leave it all behind thee! it shall not cumber thy steps, as thou treadest along the forest-path: neither shalt thou freight the ship with it, if thou prefer to cross the sea. leave this wreck and ruin here where it hath happened. meddle no more with it! begin all anew! hast thou exhausted possibility in the failure of this one trial? not so! the future is yet full of trial and success. there is happiness to be enjoyed! there is good to be done! exchange this false life of thine for a true one. be, if thy spirit summon thee to such a mission, the teacher and apostle of the red men. or, as is more thy nature, be a scholar and a sage among the wisest and the most renowned of the cultivated world. preach! write! act! do anything, save to lie down and die! give up this name of arthur dimmesdale, and make thyself another, and a high one, such as thou canst wear without fear or shame. why shouldst thou tarry so much as one other day in the torments that have so gnawed into thy life? that have made thee feeble to will and to do? that will leave thee powerless even to repent? up, and away!" "oh, hester!" cried arthur dimmesdale, in whose eyes a fitful light, kindled by her enthusiasm, flashed up and died away, "thou tellest of running a race to a man whose knees are tottering beneath him! i must die here! there is not the strength or courage left me to venture into the wide, strange, difficult world alone!" it was the last expression of the despondency of a broken spirit. he lacked energy to grasp the better fortune that seemed within his reach. he repeated the word--"alone, hester!" "thou shall not go alone!" answered she, in a deep whisper. then, all was spoken! xviii. a flood of sunshine arthur dimmesdale gazed into hester's face with a look in which hope and joy shone out, indeed, but with fear betwixt them, and a kind of horror at her boldness, who had spoken what he vaguely hinted at, but dared not speak. but hester prynne, with a mind of native courage and activity, and for so long a period not merely estranged, but outlawed from society, had habituated herself to such latitude of speculation as was altogether foreign to the clergyman. she had wandered, without rule or guidance, in a moral wilderness, as vast, as intricate, and shadowy as the untamed forest, amid the gloom of which they were now holding a colloquy that was to decide their fate. her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely as the wild indian in his woods. for years past she had looked from this estranged point of view at human institutions, and whatever priests or legislators had established; criticising all with hardly more reverence than the indian would feel for the clerical band, the judicial robe, the pillory, the gallows, the fireside, or the church. the tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set her free. the scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread. shame, despair, solitude! these had been her teachers--stern and wild ones--and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss. the minister, on the other hand, had never gone through an experience calculated to lead him beyond the scope of generally received laws; although, in a single instance, he had so fearfully transgressed one of the most sacred of them. but this had been a sin of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose. since that wretched epoch, he had watched with morbid zeal and minuteness, not his acts--for those it was easy to arrange--but each breath of emotion, and his every thought. at the head of the social system, as the clergymen of that day stood, he was only the more trammelled by its regulations, its principles, and even its prejudices. as a priest, the framework of his order inevitably hemmed him in. as a man who had once sinned, but who kept his conscience all alive and painfully sensitive by the fretting of an unhealed wound, he might have been supposed safer within the line of virtue than if he had never sinned at all. thus we seem to see that, as regarded hester prynne, the whole seven years of outlaw and ignominy had been little other than a preparation for this very hour. but arthur dimmesdale! were such a man once more to fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of his crime? none; unless it avail him somewhat that he was broken down by long and exquisite suffering; that his mind was darkened and confused by the very remorse which harrowed it; that, between fleeing as an avowed criminal, and remaining as a hypocrite, conscience might find it hard to strike the balance; that it was human to avoid the peril of death and infamy, and the inscrutable machinations of an enemy; that, finally, to this poor pilgrim, on his dreary and desert path, faint, sick, miserable, there appeared a glimpse of human affection and sympathy, a new life, and a true one, in exchange for the heavy doom which he was now expiating. and be the stern and sad truth spoken, that the breach which guilt has once made into the human soul is never, in this mortal state, repaired. it may be watched and guarded, so that the enemy shall not force his way again into the citadel, and might even in his subsequent assaults, select some other avenue, in preference to that where he had formerly succeeded. but there is still the ruined wall, and near it the stealthy tread of the foe that would win over again his unforgotten triumph. the struggle, if there were one, need not be described. let it suffice that the clergyman resolved to flee, and not alone. "if in all these past seven years," thought he, "i could recall one instant of peace or hope, i would yet endure, for the sake of that earnest of heaven's mercy. but now--since i am irrevocably doomed--wherefore should i not snatch the solace allowed to the condemned culprit before his execution? or, if this be the path to a better life, as hester would persuade me, i surely give up no fairer prospect by pursuing it! neither can i any longer live without her companionship; so powerful is she to sustain--so tender to soothe! o thou to whom i dare not lift mine eyes, wilt thou yet pardon me?" "thou wilt go!" said hester calmly, as he met her glance. the decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw its flickering brightness over the trouble of his breast. it was the exhilarating effect--upon a prisoner just escaped from the dungeon of his own heart--of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an unredeemed, unchristianised, lawless region. his spirit rose, as it were, with a bound, and attained a nearer prospect of the sky, than throughout all the misery which had kept him grovelling on the earth. of a deeply religious temperament, there was inevitably a tinge of the devotional in his mood. "do i feel joy again?" cried he, wondering at himself. "methought the germ of it was dead in me! oh, hester, thou art my better angel! i seem to have flung myself--sick, sin-stained, and sorrow-blackened--down upon these forest leaves, and to have risen up all made anew, and with new powers to glorify him that hath been merciful! this is already the better life! why did we not find it sooner?" "let us not look back," answered hester prynne. "the past is gone! wherefore should we linger upon it now? see! with this symbol i undo it all, and make it as if it had never been!" so speaking, she undid the clasp that fastened the scarlet letter, and, taking it from her bosom, threw it to a distance among the withered leaves. the mystic token alighted on the hither verge of the stream. with a hand's-breadth further flight, it would have fallen into the water, and have given the little brook another woe to carry onward, besides the unintelligible tale which it still kept murmuring about. but there lay the embroidered letter, glittering like a lost jewel, which some ill-fated wanderer might pick up, and thenceforth be haunted by strange phantoms of guilt, sinkings of the heart, and unaccountable misfortune. the stigma gone, hester heaved a long, deep sigh, in which the burden of shame and anguish departed from her spirit. o exquisite relief! she had not known the weight until she felt the freedom! by another impulse, she took off the formal cap that confined her hair, and down it fell upon her shoulders, dark and rich, with at once a shadow and a light in its abundance, and imparting the charm of softness to her features. there played around her mouth, and beamed out of her eyes, a radiant and tender smile, that seemed gushing from the very heart of womanhood. a crimson flush was glowing on her cheek, that had been long so pale. her sex, her youth, and the whole richness of her beauty, came back from what men call the irrevocable past, and clustered themselves with her maiden hope, and a happiness before unknown, within the magic circle of this hour. and, as if the gloom of the earth and sky had been but the effluence of these two mortal hearts, it vanished with their sorrow. all at once, as with a sudden smile of heaven, forth burst the sunshine, pouring a very flood into the obscure forest, gladdening each green leaf, transmuting the yellow fallen ones to gold, and gleaming adown the gray trunks of the solemn trees. the objects that had made a shadow hitherto, embodied the brightness now. the course of the little brook might be traced by its merry gleam afar into the wood's heart of mystery, which had become a mystery of joy. such was the sympathy of nature--that wild, heathen nature of the forest, never subjugated by human law, nor illumined by higher truth--with the bliss of these two spirits! love, whether newly-born, or aroused from a death-like slumber, must always create a sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, that it overflows upon the outward world. had the forest still kept its gloom, it would have been bright in hester's eyes, and bright in arthur dimmesdale's! hester looked at him with a thrill of another joy. "thou must know pearl!" said she. "our little pearl! thou hast seen her--yes, i know it!--but thou wilt see her now with other eyes. she is a strange child! i hardly comprehend her! but thou wilt love her dearly, as i do, and wilt advise me how to deal with her!" "dost thou think the child will be glad to know me?" asked the minister, somewhat uneasily. "i have long shrunk from children, because they often show a distrust--a backwardness to be familiar with me. i have even been afraid of little pearl!" "ah, that was sad!" answered the mother. "but she will love thee dearly, and thou her. she is not far off. i will call her. pearl! pearl!" "i see the child," observed the minister. "yonder she is, standing in a streak of sunshine, a good way off, on the other side of the brook. so thou thinkest the child will love me?" hester smiled, and again called to pearl, who was visible at some distance, as the minister had described her, like a bright-apparelled vision in a sunbeam, which fell down upon her through an arch of boughs. the ray quivered to and fro, making her figure dim or distinct--now like a real child, now like a child's spirit--as the splendour went and came again. she heard her mother's voice, and approached slowly through the forest. pearl had not found the hour pass wearisomely while her mother sat talking with the clergyman. the great black forest--stern as it showed itself to those who brought the guilt and troubles of the world into its bosom--became the playmate of the lonely infant, as well as it knew how. sombre as it was, it put on the kindest of its moods to welcome her. it offered her the partridge-berries, the growth of the preceding autumn, but ripening only in the spring, and now red as drops of blood upon the withered leaves. these pearl gathered, and was pleased with their wild flavour. the small denizens of the wilderness hardly took pains to move out of her path. a partridge, indeed, with a brood of ten behind her, ran forward threateningly, but soon repented of her fierceness, and clucked to her young ones not to be afraid. a pigeon, alone on a low branch, allowed pearl to come beneath, and uttered a sound as much of greeting as alarm. a squirrel, from the lofty depths of his domestic tree, chattered either in anger or merriment--for the squirrel is such a choleric and humorous little personage, that it is hard to distinguish between his moods--so he chattered at the child, and flung down a nut upon her head. it was a last year's nut, and already gnawed by his sharp tooth. a fox, startled from his sleep by her light footstep on the leaves, looked inquisitively at pearl, as doubting whether it were better to steal off, or renew his nap on the same spot. a wolf, it is said--but here the tale has surely lapsed into the improbable--came up and smelt of pearl's robe, and offered his savage head to be patted by her hand. the truth seems to be, however, that the mother-forest, and these wild things which it nourished, all recognised a kindred wilderness in the human child. and she was gentler here than in the grassy-margined streets of the settlement, or in her mother's cottage. the bowers appeared to know it, and one and another whispered as she passed, "adorn thyself with me, thou beautiful child, adorn thyself with me!"--and, to please them, pearl gathered the violets, and anemones, and columbines, and some twigs of the freshest green, which the old trees held down before her eyes. with these she decorated her hair and her young waist, and became a nymph child, or an infant dryad, or whatever else was in closest sympathy with the antique wood. in such guise had pearl adorned herself, when she heard her mother's voice, and came slowly back. slowly--for she saw the clergyman! xix. the child at the brookside "thou wilt love her dearly," repeated hester prynne, as she and the minister sat watching little pearl. "dost thou not think her beautiful? and see with what natural skill she has made those simple flowers adorn her! had she gathered pearls, and diamonds, and rubies in the wood, they could not have become her better! she is a splendid child! but i know whose brow she has!" "dost thou know, hester," said arthur dimmesdale, with an unquiet smile, "that this dear child, tripping about always at thy side, hath caused me many an alarm? methought--oh, hester, what a thought is that, and how terrible to dread it!--that my own features were partly repeated in her face, and so strikingly that the world might see them! but she is mostly thine!" "no, no! not mostly!" answered the mother, with a tender smile. "a little longer, and thou needest not to be afraid to trace whose child she is. but how strangely beautiful she looks with those wild flowers in her hair! it is as if one of the fairies, whom we left in dear old england, had decked her out to meet us." it was with a feeling which neither of them had ever before experienced, that they sat and watched pearl's slow advance. in her was visible the tie that united them. she had been offered to the world, these seven past years, as the living hieroglyphic, in which was revealed the secret they so darkly sought to hide--all written in this symbol--all plainly manifest--had there been a prophet or magician skilled to read the character of flame! and pearl was the oneness of their being. be the foregone evil what it might, how could they doubt that their earthly lives and future destinies were conjoined when they beheld at once the material union, and the spiritual idea, in whom they met, and were to dwell immortally together; thoughts like these--and perhaps other thoughts, which they did not acknowledge or define--threw an awe about the child as she came onward. "let her see nothing strange--no passion or eagerness--in thy way of accosting her," whispered hester. "our pearl is a fitful and fantastic little elf sometimes. especially she is generally intolerant of emotion, when she does not fully comprehend the why and wherefore. but the child hath strong affections! she loves me, and will love thee!" "thou canst not think," said the minister, glancing aside at hester prynne, "how my heart dreads this interview, and yearns for it! but, in truth, as i already told thee, children are not readily won to be familiar with me. they will not climb my knee, nor prattle in my ear, nor answer to my smile, but stand apart, and eye me strangely. even little babes, when i take them in my arms, weep bitterly. yet pearl, twice in her little lifetime, hath been kind to me! the first time--thou knowest it well! the last was when thou ledst her with thee to the house of yonder stern old governor." "and thou didst plead so bravely in her behalf and mine!" answered the mother. "i remember it; and so shall little pearl. fear nothing. she may be strange and shy at first, but will soon learn to love thee!" by this time pearl had reached the margin of the brook, and stood on the further side, gazing silently at hester and the clergyman, who still sat together on the mossy tree-trunk waiting to receive her. just where she had paused, the brook chanced to form a pool so smooth and quiet that it reflected a perfect image of her little figure, with all the brilliant picturesqueness of her beauty, in its adornment of flowers and wreathed foliage, but more refined and spiritualized than the reality. this image, so nearly identical with the living pearl, seemed to communicate somewhat of its own shadowy and intangible quality to the child herself. it was strange, the way in which pearl stood, looking so steadfastly at them through the dim medium of the forest gloom, herself, meanwhile, all glorified with a ray of sunshine, that was attracted thitherward as by a certain sympathy. in the brook beneath stood another child--another and the same--with likewise its ray of golden light. hester felt herself, in some indistinct and tantalizing manner, estranged from pearl, as if the child, in her lonely ramble through the forest, had strayed out of the sphere in which she and her mother dwelt together, and was now vainly seeking to return to it. there were both truth and error in the impression; the child and mother were estranged, but through hester's fault, not pearl's. since the latter rambled from her side, another inmate had been admitted within the circle of the mother's feelings, and so modified the aspect of them all, that pearl, the returning wanderer, could not find her wonted place, and hardly knew where she was. "i have a strange fancy," observed the sensitive minister, "that this brook is the boundary between two worlds, and that thou canst never meet thy pearl again. or is she an elfish spirit, who, as the legends of our childhood taught us, is forbidden to cross a running stream? pray hasten her, for this delay has already imparted a tremor to my nerves." "come, dearest child!" said hester encouragingly, and stretching out both her arms. "how slow thou art! when hast thou been so sluggish before now? here is a friend of mine, who must be thy friend also. thou wilt have twice as much love henceforward as thy mother alone could give thee! leap across the brook and come to us. thou canst leap like a young deer!" pearl, without responding in any manner to these honey-sweet expressions, remained on the other side of the brook. now she fixed her bright wild eyes on her mother, now on the minister, and now included them both in the same glance, as if to detect and explain to herself the relation which they bore to one another. for some unaccountable reason, as arthur dimmesdale felt the child's eyes upon himself, his hand--with that gesture so habitual as to have become involuntary--stole over his heart. at length, assuming a singular air of authority, pearl stretched out her hand, with the small forefinger extended, and pointing evidently towards her mother's breast. and beneath, in the mirror of the brook, there was the flower-girdled and sunny image of little pearl, pointing her small forefinger too. "thou strange child! why dost thou not come to me?" exclaimed hester. pearl still pointed with her forefinger, and a frown gathered on her brow--the more impressive from the childish, the almost baby-like aspect of the features that conveyed it. as her mother still kept beckoning to her, and arraying her face in a holiday suit of unaccustomed smiles, the child stamped her foot with a yet more imperious look and gesture. in the brook, again, was the fantastic beauty of the image, with its reflected frown, its pointed finger, and imperious gesture, giving emphasis to the aspect of little pearl. "hasten, pearl, or i shall be angry with thee!" cried hester prynne, who, however, inured to such behaviour on the elf-child's part at other seasons, was naturally anxious for a more seemly deportment now. "leap across the brook, naughty child, and run hither! else i must come to thee!" but pearl, not a whit startled at her mother's threats any more than mollified by her entreaties, now suddenly burst into a fit of passion, gesticulating violently, and throwing her small figure into the most extravagant contortions. she accompanied this wild outbreak with piercing shrieks, which the woods reverberated on all sides, so that, alone as she was in her childish and unreasonable wrath, it seemed as if a hidden multitude were lending her their sympathy and encouragement. seen in the brook once more was the shadowy wrath of pearl's image, crowned and girdled with flowers, but stamping its foot, wildly gesticulating, and, in the midst of all, still pointing its small forefinger at hester's bosom. "i see what ails the child," whispered hester to the clergyman, and turning pale in spite of a strong effort to conceal her trouble and annoyance, "children will not abide any, the slightest, change in the accustomed aspect of things that are daily before their eyes. pearl misses something that she has always seen me wear!" "i pray you," answered the minister, "if thou hast any means of pacifying the child, do it forthwith! save it were the cankered wrath of an old witch like mistress hibbins," added he, attempting to smile, "i know nothing that i would not sooner encounter than this passion in a child. in pearl's young beauty, as in the wrinkled witch, it has a preternatural effect. pacify her if thou lovest me!" hester turned again towards pearl with a crimson blush upon her cheek, a conscious glance aside clergyman, and then a heavy sigh, while, even before she had time to speak, the blush yielded to a deadly pallor. "pearl," said she sadly, "look down at thy feet! there!--before thee!--on the hither side of the brook!" the child turned her eyes to the point indicated, and there lay the scarlet letter so close upon the margin of the stream that the gold embroidery was reflected in it. "bring it hither!" said hester. "come thou and take it up!" answered pearl. "was ever such a child!" observed hester aside to the minister. "oh, i have much to tell thee about her! but, in very truth, she is right as regards this hateful token. i must bear its torture yet a little longer--only a few days longer--until we shall have left this region, and look back hither as to a land which we have dreamed of. the forest cannot hide it! the mid-ocean shall take it from my hand, and swallow it up for ever!" with these words she advanced to the margin of the brook, took up the scarlet letter, and fastened it again into her bosom. hopefully, but a moment ago, as hester had spoken of drowning it in the deep sea, there was a sense of inevitable doom upon her as she thus received back this deadly symbol from the hand of fate. she had flung it into infinite space! she had drawn an hour's free breath! and here again was the scarlet misery glittering on the old spot! so it ever is, whether thus typified or no, that an evil deed invests itself with the character of doom. hester next gathered up the heavy tresses of her hair and confined them beneath her cap. as if there were a withering spell in the sad letter, her beauty, the warmth and richness of her womanhood, departed like fading sunshine, and a gray shadow seemed to fall across her. when the dreary change was wrought, she extended her hand to pearl. "dost thou know thy mother now, child?", asked she, reproachfully, but with a subdued tone. "wilt thou come across the brook, and own thy mother, now that she has her shame upon her--now that she is sad?" "yes; now i will!" answered the child, bounding across the brook, and clasping hester in her arms "now thou art my mother indeed! and i am thy little pearl!" in a mood of tenderness that was not usual with her, she drew down her mother's head, and kissed her brow and both her cheeks. but then--by a kind of necessity that always impelled this child to alloy whatever comfort she might chance to give with a throb of anguish--pearl put up her mouth and kissed the scarlet letter, too. "that was not kind!" said hester. "when thou hast shown me a little love, thou mockest me!" "why doth the minister sit yonder?" asked pearl. "he waits to welcome thee," replied her mother. "come thou, and entreat his blessing! he loves thee, my little pearl, and loves thy mother, too. wilt thou not love him? come he longs to greet thee!" "doth he love us?" said pearl, looking up with acute intelligence into her mother's face. "will he go back with us, hand in hand, we three together, into the town?" "not now, my child," answered hester. "but in days to come he will walk hand in hand with us. we will have a home and fireside of our own; and thou shalt sit upon his knee; and he will teach thee many things, and love thee dearly. thou wilt love him--wilt thou not?" "and will he always keep his hand over his heart?" inquired pearl. "foolish child, what a question is that!" exclaimed her mother. "come, and ask his blessing!" but, whether influenced by the jealousy that seems instinctive with every petted child towards a dangerous rival, or from whatever caprice of her freakish nature, pearl would show no favour to the clergyman. it was only by an exertion of force that her mother brought her up to him, hanging back, and manifesting her reluctance by odd grimaces; of which, ever since her babyhood, she had possessed a singular variety, and could transform her mobile physiognomy into a series of different aspects, with a new mischief in them, each and all. the minister--painfully embarrassed, but hoping that a kiss might prove a talisman to admit him into the child's kindlier regards--bent forward, and impressed one on her brow. hereupon, pearl broke away from her mother, and, running to the brook, stooped over it, and bathed her forehead, until the unwelcome kiss was quite washed off and diffused through a long lapse of the gliding water. she then remained apart, silently watching hester and the clergyman; while they talked together and made such arrangements as were suggested by their new position and the purposes soon to be fulfilled. and now this fateful interview had come to a close. the dell was to be left in solitude among its dark, old trees, which, with their multitudinous tongues, would whisper long of what had passed there, and no mortal be the wiser. and the melancholy brook would add this other tale to the mystery with which its little heart was already overburdened, and whereof it still kept up a murmuring babble, with not a whit more cheerfulness of tone than for ages heretofore. xx. the minister in a maze as the minister departed, in advance of hester prynne and little pearl, he threw a backward glance, half expecting that he should discover only some faintly traced features or outline of the mother and the child, slowly fading into the twilight of the woods. so great a vicissitude in his life could not at once be received as real. but there was hester, clad in her gray robe, still standing beside the tree-trunk, which some blast had overthrown a long antiquity ago, and which time had ever since been covering with moss, so that these two fated ones, with earth's heaviest burden on them, might there sit down together, and find a single hour's rest and solace. and there was pearl, too, lightly dancing from the margin of the brook--now that the intrusive third person was gone--and taking her old place by her mother's side. so the minister had not fallen asleep and dreamed! in order to free his mind from this indistinctness and duplicity of impression, which vexed it with a strange disquietude, he recalled and more thoroughly defined the plans which hester and himself had sketched for their departure. it had been determined between them that the old world, with its crowds and cities, offered them a more eligible shelter and concealment than the wilds of new england or all america, with its alternatives of an indian wigwam, or the few settlements of europeans scattered thinly along the sea-board. not to speak of the clergyman's health, so inadequate to sustain the hardships of a forest life, his native gifts, his culture, and his entire development would secure him a home only in the midst of civilization and refinement; the higher the state the more delicately adapted to it the man. in furtherance of this choice, it so happened that a ship lay in the harbour; one of those unquestionable cruisers, frequent at that day, which, without being absolutely outlaws of the deep, yet roamed over its surface with a remarkable irresponsibility of character. this vessel had recently arrived from the spanish main, and within three days' time would sail for bristol. hester prynne--whose vocation, as a self-enlisted sister of charity, had brought her acquainted with the captain and crew--could take upon herself to secure the passage of two individuals and a child with all the secrecy which circumstances rendered more than desirable. the minister had inquired of hester, with no little interest, the precise time at which the vessel might be expected to depart. it would probably be on the fourth day from the present. "this is most fortunate!" he had then said to himself. now, why the reverend mr. dimmesdale considered it so very fortunate we hesitate to reveal. nevertheless--to hold nothing back from the reader--it was because, on the third day from the present, he was to preach the election sermon; and, as such an occasion formed an honourable epoch in the life of a new england clergyman, he could not have chanced upon a more suitable mode and time of terminating his professional career. "at least, they shall say of me," thought this exemplary man, "that i leave no public duty unperformed or ill-performed!" sad, indeed, that an introspection so profound and acute as this poor minister's should be so miserably deceived! we have had, and may still have, worse things to tell of him; but none, we apprehend, so pitiably weak; no evidence, at once so slight and irrefragable, of a subtle disease that had long since begun to eat into the real substance of his character. no man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true. the excitement of mr. dimmesdale's feelings as he returned from his interview with hester, lent him unaccustomed physical energy, and hurried him townward at a rapid pace. the pathway among the woods seemed wilder, more uncouth with its rude natural obstacles, and less trodden by the foot of man, than he remembered it on his outward journey. but he leaped across the plashy places, thrust himself through the clinging underbrush, climbed the ascent, plunged into the hollow, and overcame, in short, all the difficulties of the track, with an unweariable activity that astonished him. he could not but recall how feebly, and with what frequent pauses for breath he had toiled over the same ground, only two days before. as he drew near the town, he took an impression of change from the series of familiar objects that presented themselves. it seemed not yesterday, not one, not two, but many days, or even years ago, since he had quitted them. there, indeed, was each former trace of the street, as he remembered it, and all the peculiarities of the houses, with the due multitude of gable-peaks, and a weather-cock at every point where his memory suggested one. not the less, however, came this importunately obtrusive sense of change. the same was true as regarded the acquaintances whom he met, and all the well-known shapes of human life, about the little town. they looked neither older nor younger now; the beards of the aged were no whiter, nor could the creeping babe of yesterday walk on his feet to-day; it was impossible to describe in what respect they differed from the individuals on whom he had so recently bestowed a parting glance; and yet the minister's deepest sense seemed to inform him of their mutability. a similar impression struck him most remarkably as he passed under the walls of his own church. the edifice had so very strange, and yet so familiar an aspect, that mr. dimmesdale's mind vibrated between two ideas; either that he had seen it only in a dream hitherto, or that he was merely dreaming about it now. this phenomenon, in the various shapes which it assumed, indicated no external change, but so sudden and important a change in the spectator of the familiar scene, that the intervening space of a single day had operated on his consciousness like the lapse of years. the minister's own will, and hester's will, and the fate that grew between them, had wrought this transformation. it was the same town as heretofore, but the same minister returned not from the forest. he might have said to the friends who greeted him--"i am not the man for whom you take me! i left him yonder in the forest, withdrawn into a secret dell, by a mossy tree trunk, and near a melancholy brook! go, seek your minister, and see if his emaciated figure, his thin cheek, his white, heavy, pain-wrinkled brow, be not flung down there, like a cast-off garment!" his friends, no doubt, would still have insisted with him--"thou art thyself the man!" but the error would have been their own, not his. before mr. dimmesdale reached home, his inner man gave him other evidences of a revolution in the sphere of thought and feeling. in truth, nothing short of a total change of dynasty and moral code, in that interior kingdom, was adequate to account for the impulses now communicated to the unfortunate and startled minister. at every step he was incited to do some strange, wild, wicked thing or other, with a sense that it would be at once involuntary and intentional, in spite of himself, yet growing out of a profounder self than that which opposed the impulse. for instance, he met one of his own deacons. the good old man addressed him with the paternal affection and patriarchal privilege which his venerable age, his upright and holy character, and his station in the church, entitled him to use and, conjoined with this, the deep, almost worshipping respect, which the minister's professional and private claims alike demanded. never was there a more beautiful example of how the majesty of age and wisdom may comport with the obeisance and respect enjoined upon it, as from a lower social rank, and inferior order of endowment, towards a higher. now, during a conversation of some two or three moments between the reverend mr. dimmesdale and this excellent and hoary-bearded deacon, it was only by the most careful self-control that the former could refrain from uttering certain blasphemous suggestions that rose into his mind, respecting the communion-supper. he absolutely trembled and turned pale as ashes, lest his tongue should wag itself in utterance of these horrible matters, and plead his own consent for so doing, without his having fairly given it. and, even with this terror in his heart, he could hardly avoid laughing, to imagine how the sanctified old patriarchal deacon would have been petrified by his minister's impiety. again, another incident of the same nature. hurrying along the street, the reverend mr. dimmesdale encountered the eldest female member of his church, a most pious and exemplary old dame, poor, widowed, lonely, and with a heart as full of reminiscences about her dead husband and children, and her dead friends of long ago, as a burial-ground is full of storied gravestones. yet all this, which would else have been such heavy sorrow, was made almost a solemn joy to her devout old soul, by religious consolations and the truths of scripture, wherewith she had fed herself continually for more than thirty years. and since mr. dimmesdale had taken her in charge, the good grandam's chief earthly comfort--which, unless it had been likewise a heavenly comfort, could have been none at all--was to meet her pastor, whether casually, or of set purpose, and be refreshed with a word of warm, fragrant, heaven-breathing gospel truth, from his beloved lips, into her dulled, but rapturously attentive ear. but, on this occasion, up to the moment of putting his lips to the old woman's ear, mr. dimmesdale, as the great enemy of souls would have it, could recall no text of scripture, nor aught else, except a brief, pithy, and, as it then appeared to him, unanswerable argument against the immortality of the human soul. the instilment thereof into her mind would probably have caused this aged sister to drop down dead, at once, as by the effect of an intensely poisonous infusion. what he really did whisper, the minister could never afterwards recollect. there was, perhaps, a fortunate disorder in his utterance, which failed to impart any distinct idea to the good widows comprehension, or which providence interpreted after a method of its own. assuredly, as the minister looked back, he beheld an expression of divine gratitude and ecstasy that seemed like the shine of the celestial city on her face, so wrinkled and ashy pale. again, a third instance. after parting from the old church member, he met the youngest sister of them all. it was a maiden newly-won--and won by the reverend mr. dimmesdale's own sermon, on the sabbath after his vigil--to barter the transitory pleasures of the world for the heavenly hope that was to assume brighter substance as life grew dark around her, and which would gild the utter gloom with final glory. she was fair and pure as a lily that had bloomed in paradise. the minister knew well that he was himself enshrined within the stainless sanctity of her heart, which hung its snowy curtains about his image, imparting to religion the warmth of love, and to love a religious purity. satan, that afternoon, had surely led the poor young girl away from her mother's side, and thrown her into the pathway of this sorely tempted, or--shall we not rather say?--this lost and desperate man. as she drew nigh, the arch-fiend whispered him to condense into small compass, and drop into her tender bosom a germ of evil that would be sure to blossom darkly soon, and bear black fruit betimes. such was his sense of power over this virgin soul, trusting him as she did, that the minister felt potent to blight all the field of innocence with but one wicked look, and develop all its opposite with but a word. so--with a mightier struggle than he had yet sustained--he held his geneva cloak before his face, and hurried onward, making no sign of recognition, and leaving the young sister to digest his rudeness as she might. she ransacked her conscience--which was full of harmless little matters, like her pocket or her work-bag--and took herself to task, poor thing! for a thousand imaginary faults, and went about her household duties with swollen eyelids the next morning. before the minister had time to celebrate his victory over this last temptation, he was conscious of another impulse, more ludicrous, and almost as horrible. it was--we blush to tell it--it was to stop short in the road, and teach some very wicked words to a knot of little puritan children who were playing there, and had but just begun to talk. denying himself this freak, as unworthy of his cloth, he met a drunken seaman, one of the ship's crew from the spanish main. and here, since he had so valiantly forborne all other wickedness, poor mr. dimmesdale longed at least to shake hands with the tarry black-guard, and recreate himself with a few improper jests, such as dissolute sailors so abound with, and a volley of good, round, solid, satisfactory, and heaven-defying oaths! it was not so much a better principle, as partly his natural good taste, and still more his buckramed habit of clerical decorum, that carried him safely through the latter crisis. "what is it that haunts and tempts me thus?" cried the minister to himself, at length, pausing in the street, and striking his hand against his forehead. "am i mad? or am i given over utterly to the fiend? did i make a contract with him in the forest, and sign it with my blood? and does he now summon me to its fulfilment, by suggesting the performance of every wickedness which his most foul imagination can conceive?" at the moment when the reverend mr. dimmesdale thus communed with himself, and struck his forehead with his hand, old mistress hibbins, the reputed witch-lady, is said to have been passing by. she made a very grand appearance, having on a high head-dress, a rich gown of velvet, and a ruff done up with the famous yellow starch, of which anne turner, her especial friend, had taught her the secret, before this last good lady had been hanged for sir thomas overbury's murder. whether the witch had read the minister's thoughts or no, she came to a full stop, looked shrewdly into his face, smiled craftily, and--though little given to converse with clergymen--began a conversation. "so, reverend sir, you have made a visit into the forest," observed the witch-lady, nodding her high head-dress at him. "the next time i pray you to allow me only a fair warning, and i shall be proud to bear you company. without taking overmuch upon myself my good word will go far towards gaining any strange gentleman a fair reception from yonder potentate you wot of." "i profess, madam," answered the clergyman, with a grave obeisance, such as the lady's rank demanded, and his own good breeding made imperative--"i profess, on my conscience and character, that i am utterly bewildered as touching the purport of your words! i went not into the forest to seek a potentate, neither do i, at any future time, design a visit thither, with a view to gaining the favour of such personage. my one sufficient object was to greet that pious friend of mine, the apostle eliot, and rejoice with him over the many precious souls he hath won from heathendom!" "ha, ha, ha!" cackled the old witch-lady, still nodding her high head-dress at the minister. "well, well! we must needs talk thus in the daytime! you carry it off like an old hand! but at midnight, and in the forest, we shall have other talk together!" she passed on with her aged stateliness, but often turning back her head and smiling at him, like one willing to recognise a secret intimacy of connexion. "have i then sold myself," thought the minister, "to the fiend whom, if men say true, this yellow-starched and velveted old hag has chosen for her prince and master?" the wretched minister! he had made a bargain very like it! tempted by a dream of happiness, he had yielded himself with deliberate choice, as he had never done before, to what he knew was deadly sin. and the infectious poison of that sin had been thus rapidly diffused throughout his moral system. it had stupefied all blessed impulses, and awakened into vivid life the whole brotherhood of bad ones. scorn, bitterness, unprovoked malignity, gratuitous desire of ill, ridicule of whatever was good and holy, all awoke to tempt, even while they frightened him. and his encounter with old mistress hibbins, if it were a real incident, did but show its sympathy and fellowship with wicked mortals, and the world of perverted spirits. he had by this time reached his dwelling on the edge of the burial ground, and, hastening up the stairs, took refuge in his study. the minister was glad to have reached this shelter, without first betraying himself to the world by any of those strange and wicked eccentricities to which he had been continually impelled while passing through the streets. he entered the accustomed room, and looked around him on its books, its windows, its fireplace, and the tapestried comfort of the walls, with the same perception of strangeness that had haunted him throughout his walk from the forest dell into the town and thitherward. here he had studied and written; here gone through fast and vigil, and come forth half alive; here striven to pray; here borne a hundred thousand agonies! there was the bible, in its rich old hebrew, with moses and the prophets speaking to him, and god's voice through all. there on the table, with the inky pen beside it, was an unfinished sermon, with a sentence broken in the midst, where his thoughts had ceased to gush out upon the page two days before. he knew that it was himself, the thin and white-cheeked minister, who had done and suffered these things, and written thus far into the election sermon! but he seemed to stand apart, and eye this former self with scornful pitying, but half-envious curiosity. that self was gone. another man had returned out of the forest--a wiser one--with a knowledge of hidden mysteries which the simplicity of the former never could have reached. a bitter kind of knowledge that! while occupied with these reflections, a knock came at the door of the study, and the minister said, "come in!"--not wholly devoid of an idea that he might behold an evil spirit. and so he did! it was old roger chillingworth that entered. the minister stood white and speechless, with one hand on the hebrew scriptures, and the other spread upon his breast. "welcome home, reverend sir," said the physician "and how found you that godly man, the apostle eliot? but methinks, dear sir, you look pale, as if the travel through the wilderness had been too sore for you. will not my aid be requisite to put you in heart and strength to preach your election sermon?" "nay, i think not so," rejoined the reverend mr. dimmesdale. "my journey, and the sight of the holy apostle yonder, and the free air which i have breathed have done me good, after so long confinement in my study. i think to need no more of your drugs, my kind physician, good though they be, and administered by a friendly hand." all this time roger chillingworth was looking at the minister with the grave and intent regard of a physician towards his patient. but, in spite of this outward show, the latter was almost convinced of the old man's knowledge, or, at least, his confident suspicion, with respect to his own interview with hester prynne. the physician knew then that in the minister's regard he was no longer a trusted friend, but his bitterest enemy. so much being known, it would appear natural that a part of it should be expressed. it is singular, however, how long a time often passes before words embody things; and with what security two persons, who choose to avoid a certain subject, may approach its very verge, and retire without disturbing it. thus the minister felt no apprehension that roger chillingworth would touch, in express words, upon the real position which they sustained towards one another. yet did the physician, in his dark way, creep frightfully near the secret. "were it not better," said he, "that you use my poor skill tonight? verily, dear sir, we must take pains to make you strong and vigorous for this occasion of the election discourse. the people look for great things from you, apprehending that another year may come about and find their pastor gone." "yes, to another world," replied the minister with pious resignation. "heaven grant it be a better one; for, in good sooth, i hardly think to tarry with my flock through the flitting seasons of another year! but touching your medicine, kind sir, in my present frame of body i need it not." "i joy to hear it," answered the physician. "it may be that my remedies, so long administered in vain, begin now to take due effect. happy man were i, and well deserving of new england's gratitude, could i achieve this cure!" "i thank you from my heart, most watchful friend," said the reverend mr. dimmesdale with a solemn smile. "i thank you, and can but requite your good deeds with my prayers." "a good man's prayers are golden recompense!" rejoined old roger chillingworth, as he took his leave. "yea, they are the current gold coin of the new jerusalem, with the king's own mint mark on them!" left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the house, and requested food, which, being set before him, he ate with ravenous appetite. then flinging the already written pages of the election sermon into the fire, he forthwith began another, which he wrote with such an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that he fancied himself inspired; and only wondered that heaven should see fit to transmit the grand and solemn music of its oracles through so foul an organ pipe as he. however, leaving that mystery to solve itself, or go unsolved for ever, he drove his task onward with earnest haste and ecstasy. thus the night fled away, as if it were a winged steed, and he careering on it; morning came, and peeped, blushing, through the curtains; and at last sunrise threw a golden beam into the study, and laid it right across the minister's bedazzled eyes. there he was, with the pen still between his fingers, and a vast, immeasurable tract of written space behind him! xxi. the new england holiday betimes in the morning of the day on which the new governor was to receive his office at the hands of the people, hester prynne and little pearl came into the market-place. it was already thronged with the craftsmen and other plebeian inhabitants of the town, in considerable numbers, among whom, likewise, were many rough figures, whose attire of deer-skins marked them as belonging to some of the forest settlements, which surrounded the little metropolis of the colony. on this public holiday, as on all other occasions for seven years past, hester was clad in a garment of coarse gray cloth. not more by its hue than by some indescribable peculiarity in its fashion, it had the effect of making her fade personally out of sight and outline; while again the scarlet letter brought her back from this twilight indistinctness, and revealed her under the moral aspect of its own illumination. her face, so long familiar to the townspeople, showed the marble quietude which they were accustomed to behold there. it was like a mask; or, rather like the frozen calmness of a dead woman's features; owing this dreary resemblance to the fact that hester was actually dead, in respect to any claim of sympathy, and had departed out of the world with which she still seemed to mingle. it might be, on this one day, that there was an expression unseen before, nor, indeed, vivid enough to be detected now; unless some preternaturally gifted observer should have first read the heart, and have afterwards sought a corresponding development in the countenance and mien. such a spiritual seer might have conceived, that, after sustaining the gaze of the multitude through several miserable years as a necessity, a penance, and something which it was a stern religion to endure, she now, for one last time more, encountered it freely and voluntarily, in order to convert what had so long been agony into a kind of triumph. "look your last on the scarlet letter and its wearer!"--the people's victim and lifelong bond-slave, as they fancied her, might say to them. "yet a little while, and she will be beyond your reach! a few hours longer and the deep, mysterious ocean will quench and hide for ever the symbol which ye have caused to burn on her bosom!" nor were it an inconsistency too improbable to be assigned to human nature, should we suppose a feeling of regret in hester's mind, at the moment when she was about to win her freedom from the pain which had been thus deeply incorporated with her being. might there not be an irresistible desire to quaff a last, long, breathless draught of the cup of wormwood and aloes, with which nearly all her years of womanhood had been perpetually flavoured. the wine of life, henceforth to be presented to her lips, must be indeed rich, delicious, and exhilarating, in its chased and golden beaker, or else leave an inevitable and weary languor, after the lees of bitterness wherewith she had been drugged, as with a cordial of intensest potency. pearl was decked out with airy gaiety. it would have been impossible to guess that this bright and sunny apparition owed its existence to the shape of gloomy gray; or that a fancy, at once so gorgeous and so delicate as must have been requisite to contrive the child's apparel, was the same that had achieved a task perhaps more difficult, in imparting so distinct a peculiarity to hester's simple robe. the dress, so proper was it to little pearl, seemed an effluence, or inevitable development and outward manifestation of her character, no more to be separated from her than the many-hued brilliancy from a butterfly's wing, or the painted glory from the leaf of a bright flower. as with these, so with the child; her garb was all of one idea with her nature. on this eventful day, moreover, there was a certain singular inquietude and excitement in her mood, resembling nothing so much as the shimmer of a diamond, that sparkles and flashes with the varied throbbings of the breast on which it is displayed. children have always a sympathy in the agitations of those connected with them: always, especially, a sense of any trouble or impending revolution, of whatever kind, in domestic circumstances; and therefore pearl, who was the gem on her mother's unquiet bosom, betrayed, by the very dance of her spirits, the emotions which none could detect in the marble passiveness of hester's brow. this effervescence made her flit with a bird-like movement, rather than walk by her mother's side. she broke continually into shouts of a wild, inarticulate, and sometimes piercing music. when they reached the market-place, she became still more restless, on perceiving the stir and bustle that enlivened the spot; for it was usually more like the broad and lonesome green before a village meeting-house, than the centre of a town's business. "why, what is this, mother?" cried she. "wherefore have all the people left their work to-day? is it a play-day for the whole world? see, there is the blacksmith! he has washed his sooty face, and put on his sabbath-day clothes, and looks as if he would gladly be merry, if any kind body would only teach him how! and there is master brackett, the old jailer, nodding and smiling at me. why does he do so, mother?" "he remembers thee a little babe, my child," answered hester. "he should not nod and smile at me, for all that--the black, grim, ugly-eyed old man!" said pearl. "he may nod at thee, if he will; for thou art clad in gray, and wearest the scarlet letter. but see, mother, how many faces of strange people, and indians among them, and sailors! what have they all come to do, here in the market-place?" "they wait to see the procession pass," said hester. "for the governor and the magistrates are to go by, and the ministers, and all the great people and good people, with the music and the soldiers marching before them." "and will the minister be there?" asked pearl. "and will he hold out both his hands to me, as when thou ledst me to him from the brook-side?" "he will be there, child," answered her mother, "but he will not greet thee to-day, nor must thou greet him." "what a strange, sad man is he!" said the child, as if speaking partly to herself. "in the dark nighttime he calls us to him, and holds thy hand and mine, as when we stood with him on the scaffold yonder! and in the deep forest, where only the old trees can hear, and the strip of sky see it, he talks with thee, sitting on a heap of moss! and he kisses my forehead, too, so that the little brook would hardly wash it off! but, here, in the sunny day, and among all the people, he knows us not; nor must we know him! a strange, sad man is he, with his hand always over his heart!" "be quiet, pearl--thou understandest not these things," said her mother. "think not now of the minister, but look about thee, and see how cheery is everybody's face to-day. the children have come from their schools, and the grown people from their workshops and their fields, on purpose to be happy, for, to-day, a new man is beginning to rule over them; and so--as has been the custom of mankind ever since a nation was first gathered--they make merry and rejoice: as if a good and golden year were at length to pass over the poor old world!" it was as hester said, in regard to the unwonted jollity that brightened the faces of the people. into this festal season of the year--as it already was, and continued to be during the greater part of two centuries--the puritans compressed whatever mirth and public joy they deemed allowable to human infirmity; thereby so far dispelling the customary cloud, that, for the space of a single holiday, they appeared scarcely more grave than most other communities at a period of general affliction. but we perhaps exaggerate the gray or sable tinge, which undoubtedly characterized the mood and manners of the age. the persons now in the market-place of boston had not been born to an inheritance of puritanic gloom. they were native englishmen, whose fathers had lived in the sunny richness of the elizabethan epoch; a time when the life of england, viewed as one great mass, would appear to have been as stately, magnificent, and joyous, as the world has ever witnessed. had they followed their hereditary taste, the new england settlers would have illustrated all events of public importance by bonfires, banquets, pageantries, and processions. nor would it have been impracticable, in the observance of majestic ceremonies, to combine mirthful recreation with solemnity, and give, as it were, a grotesque and brilliant embroidery to the great robe of state, which a nation, at such festivals, puts on. there was some shadow of an attempt of this kind in the mode of celebrating the day on which the political year of the colony commenced. the dim reflection of a remembered splendour, a colourless and manifold diluted repetition of what they had beheld in proud old london--we will not say at a royal coronation, but at a lord mayor's show--might be traced in the customs which our forefathers instituted, with reference to the annual installation of magistrates. the fathers and founders of the commonwealth--the statesman, the priest, and the soldier--seemed it a duty then to assume the outward state and majesty, which, in accordance with antique style, was looked upon as the proper garb of public and social eminence. all came forth to move in procession before the people's eye, and thus impart a needed dignity to the simple framework of a government so newly constructed. then, too, the people were countenanced, if not encouraged, in relaxing the severe and close application to their various modes of rugged industry, which at all other times, seemed of the same piece and material with their religion. here, it is true, were none of the appliances which popular merriment would so readily have found in the england of elizabeth's time, or that of james--no rude shows of a theatrical kind; no minstrel, with his harp and legendary ballad, nor gleeman with an ape dancing to his music; no juggler, with his tricks of mimic witchcraft; no merry andrew, to stir up the multitude with jests, perhaps a hundred years old, but still effective, by their appeals to the very broadest sources of mirthful sympathy. all such professors of the several branches of jocularity would have been sternly repressed, not only by the rigid discipline of law, but by the general sentiment which give law its vitality. not the less, however, the great, honest face of the people smiled--grimly, perhaps, but widely too. nor were sports wanting, such as the colonists had witnessed, and shared in, long ago, at the country fairs and on the village-greens of england; and which it was thought well to keep alive on this new soil, for the sake of the courage and manliness that were essential in them. wrestling matches, in the different fashions of cornwall and devonshire, were seen here and there about the market-place; in one corner, there was a friendly bout at quarterstaff; and--what attracted most interest of all--on the platform of the pillory, already so noted in our pages, two masters of defence were commencing an exhibition with the buckler and broadsword. but, much to the disappointment of the crowd, this latter business was broken off by the interposition of the town beadle, who had no idea of permitting the majesty of the law to be violated by such an abuse of one of its consecrated places. it may not be too much to affirm, on the whole, (the people being then in the first stages of joyless deportment, and the offspring of sires who had known how to be merry, in their day), that they would compare favourably, in point of holiday keeping, with their descendants, even at so long an interval as ourselves. their immediate posterity, the generation next to the early emigrants, wore the blackest shade of puritanism, and so darkened the national visage with it, that all the subsequent years have not sufficed to clear it up. we have yet to learn again the forgotten art of gaiety. the picture of human life in the market-place, though its general tint was the sad gray, brown, or black of the english emigrants, was yet enlivened by some diversity of hue. a party of indians--in their savage finery of curiously embroidered deerskin robes, wampum-belts, red and yellow ochre, and feathers, and armed with the bow and arrow and stone-headed spear--stood apart with countenances of inflexible gravity, beyond what even the puritan aspect could attain. nor, wild as were these painted barbarians, were they the wildest feature of the scene. this distinction could more justly be claimed by some mariners--a part of the crew of the vessel from the spanish main--who had come ashore to see the humours of election day. they were rough-looking desperadoes, with sun-blackened faces, and an immensity of beard; their wide short trousers were confined about the waist by belts, often clasped with a rough plate of gold, and sustaining always a long knife, and in some instances, a sword. from beneath their broad-brimmed hats of palm-leaf, gleamed eyes which, even in good-nature and merriment, had a kind of animal ferocity. they transgressed without fear or scruple, the rules of behaviour that were binding on all others: smoking tobacco under the beadle's very nose, although each whiff would have cost a townsman a shilling; and quaffing at their pleasure, draughts of wine or aqua-vitae from pocket flasks, which they freely tendered to the gaping crowd around them. it remarkably characterised the incomplete morality of the age, rigid as we call it, that a licence was allowed the seafaring class, not merely for their freaks on shore, but for far more desperate deeds on their proper element. the sailor of that day would go near to be arraigned as a pirate in our own. there could be little doubt, for instance, that this very ship's crew, though no unfavourable specimens of the nautical brotherhood, had been guilty, as we should phrase it, of depredations on the spanish commerce, such as would have perilled all their necks in a modern court of justice. but the sea in those old times heaved, swelled, and foamed very much at its own will, or subject only to the tempestuous wind, with hardly any attempts at regulation by human law. the buccaneer on the wave might relinquish his calling and become at once if he chose, a man of probity and piety on land; nor, even in the full career of his reckless life, was he regarded as a personage with whom it was disreputable to traffic or casually associate. thus the puritan elders in their black cloaks, starched bands, and steeple-crowned hats, smiled not unbenignantly at the clamour and rude deportment of these jolly seafaring men; and it excited neither surprise nor animadversion when so reputable a citizen as old roger chillingworth, the physician, was seen to enter the market-place in close and familiar talk with the commander of the questionable vessel. the latter was by far the most showy and gallant figure, so far as apparel went, anywhere to be seen among the multitude. he wore a profusion of ribbons on his garment, and gold lace on his hat, which was also encircled by a gold chain, and surmounted with a feather. there was a sword at his side and a sword-cut on his forehead, which, by the arrangement of his hair, he seemed anxious rather to display than hide. a landsman could hardly have worn this garb and shown this face, and worn and shown them both with such a galliard air, without undergoing stern question before a magistrate, and probably incurring a fine or imprisonment, or perhaps an exhibition in the stocks. as regarded the shipmaster, however, all was looked upon as pertaining to the character, as to a fish his glistening scales. after parting from the physician, the commander of the bristol ship strolled idly through the market-place; until happening to approach the spot where hester prynne was standing, he appeared to recognise, and did not hesitate to address her. as was usually the case wherever hester stood, a small vacant area--a sort of magic circle--had formed itself about her, into which, though the people were elbowing one another at a little distance, none ventured or felt disposed to intrude. it was a forcible type of the moral solitude in which the scarlet letter enveloped its fated wearer; partly by her own reserve, and partly by the instinctive, though no longer so unkindly, withdrawal of her fellow-creatures. now, if never before, it answered a good purpose by enabling hester and the seaman to speak together without risk of being overheard; and so changed was hester prynne's repute before the public, that the matron in town, most eminent for rigid morality, could not have held such intercourse with less result of scandal than herself. "so, mistress," said the mariner, "i must bid the steward make ready one more berth than you bargained for! no fear of scurvy or ship fever this voyage. what with the ship's surgeon and this other doctor, our only danger will be from drug or pill; more by token, as there is a lot of apothecary's stuff aboard, which i traded for with a spanish vessel." "what mean you?" inquired hester, startled more than she permitted to appear. "have you another passenger?" "why, know you not," cried the shipmaster, "that this physician here--chillingworth he calls himself--is minded to try my cabin-fare with you? ay, ay, you must have known it; for he tells me he is of your party, and a close friend to the gentleman you spoke of--he that is in peril from these sour old puritan rulers." "they know each other well, indeed," replied hester, with a mien of calmness, though in the utmost consternation. "they have long dwelt together." nothing further passed between the mariner and hester prynne. but at that instant she beheld old roger chillingworth himself, standing in the remotest corner of the market-place and smiling on her; a smile which--across the wide and bustling square, and through all the talk and laughter, and various thoughts, moods, and interests of the crowd--conveyed secret and fearful meaning. xxii. the procession before hester prynne could call together her thoughts, and consider what was practicable to be done in this new and startling aspect of affairs, the sound of military music was heard approaching along a contiguous street. it denoted the advance of the procession of magistrates and citizens on its way towards the meeting-house: where, in compliance with a custom thus early established, and ever since observed, the reverend mr. dimmesdale was to deliver an election sermon. soon the head of the procession showed itself, with a slow and stately march, turning a corner, and making its way across the market-place. first came the music. it comprised a variety of instruments, perhaps imperfectly adapted to one another, and played with no great skill; but yet attaining the great object for which the harmony of drum and clarion addresses itself to the multitude--that of imparting a higher and more heroic air to the scene of life that passes before the eye. little pearl at first clapped her hands, but then lost for an instant the restless agitation that had kept her in a continual effervescence throughout the morning; she gazed silently, and seemed to be borne upward like a floating sea-bird on the long heaves and swells of sound. but she was brought back to her former mood by the shimmer of the sunshine on the weapons and bright armour of the military company, which followed after the music, and formed the honorary escort of the procession. this body of soldiery--which still sustains a corporate existence, and marches down from past ages with an ancient and honourable fame--was composed of no mercenary materials. its ranks were filled with gentlemen who felt the stirrings of martial impulse, and sought to establish a kind of college of arms, where, as in an association of knights templars, they might learn the science, and, so far as peaceful exercise would teach them, the practices of war. the high estimation then placed upon the military character might be seen in the lofty port of each individual member of the company. some of them, indeed, by their services in the low countries and on other fields of european warfare, had fairly won their title to assume the name and pomp of soldiership. the entire array, moreover, clad in burnished steel, and with plumage nodding over their bright morions, had a brilliancy of effect which no modern display can aspire to equal. and yet the men of civil eminence, who came immediately behind the military escort, were better worth a thoughtful observer's eye. even in outward demeanour they showed a stamp of majesty that made the warrior's haughty stride look vulgar, if not absurd. it was an age when what we call talent had far less consideration than now, but the massive materials which produce stability and dignity of character a great deal more. the people possessed by hereditary right the quality of reverence, which, in their descendants, if it survive at all, exists in smaller proportion, and with a vastly diminished force in the selection and estimate of public men. the change may be for good or ill, and is partly, perhaps, for both. in that old day the english settler on these rude shores--having left king, nobles, and all degrees of awful rank behind, while still the faculty and necessity of reverence was strong in him--bestowed it on the white hair and venerable brow of age--on long-tried integrity--on solid wisdom and sad-coloured experience--on endowments of that grave and weighty order which gave the idea of permanence, and comes under the general definition of respectability. these primitive statesmen, therefore--bradstreet, endicott, dudley, bellingham, and their compeers--who were elevated to power by the early choice of the people, seem to have been not often brilliant, but distinguished by a ponderous sobriety, rather than activity of intellect. they had fortitude and self-reliance, and in time of difficulty or peril stood up for the welfare of the state like a line of cliffs against a tempestuous tide. the traits of character here indicated were well represented in the square cast of countenance and large physical development of the new colonial magistrates. so far as a demeanour of natural authority was concerned, the mother country need not have been ashamed to see these foremost men of an actual democracy adopted into the house of peers, or make the privy council of the sovereign. next in order to the magistrates came the young and eminently distinguished divine, from whose lips the religious discourse of the anniversary was expected. his was the profession at that era in which intellectual ability displayed itself far more than in political life; for--leaving a higher motive out of the question it offered inducements powerful enough in the almost worshipping respect of the community, to win the most aspiring ambition into its service. even political power--as in the case of increase mather--was within the grasp of a successful priest. it was the observation of those who beheld him now, that never, since mr. dimmesdale first set his foot on the new england shore, had he exhibited such energy as was seen in the gait and air with which he kept his pace in the procession. there was no feebleness of step as at other times; his frame was not bent, nor did his hand rest ominously upon his heart. yet, if the clergyman were rightly viewed, his strength seemed not of the body. it might be spiritual and imparted to him by angelical ministrations. it might be the exhilaration of that potent cordial which is distilled only in the furnace-glow of earnest and long-continued thought. or perchance his sensitive temperament was invigorated by the loud and piercing music that swelled heaven-ward, and uplifted him on its ascending wave. nevertheless, so abstracted was his look, it might be questioned whether mr. dimmesdale even heard the music. there was his body, moving onward, and with an unaccustomed force. but where was his mind? far and deep in its own region, busying itself, with preternatural activity, to marshal a procession of stately thoughts that were soon to issue thence; and so he saw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing of what was around him; but the spiritual element took up the feeble frame and carried it along, unconscious of the burden, and converting it to spirit like itself. men of uncommon intellect, who have grown morbid, possess this occasional power of mighty effort, into which they throw the life of many days and then are lifeless for as many more. hester prynne, gazing steadfastly at the clergyman, felt a dreary influence come over her, but wherefore or whence she knew not, unless that he seemed so remote from her own sphere, and utterly beyond her reach. one glance of recognition she had imagined must needs pass between them. she thought of the dim forest, with its little dell of solitude, and love, and anguish, and the mossy tree-trunk, where, sitting hand-in-hand, they had mingled their sad and passionate talk with the melancholy murmur of the brook. how deeply had they known each other then! and was this the man? she hardly knew him now! he, moving proudly past, enveloped as it were, in the rich music, with the procession of majestic and venerable fathers; he, so unattainable in his worldly position, and still more so in that far vista of his unsympathizing thoughts, through which she now beheld him! her spirit sank with the idea that all must have been a delusion, and that, vividly as she had dreamed it, there could be no real bond betwixt the clergyman and herself. and thus much of woman was there in hester, that she could scarcely forgive him--least of all now, when the heavy footstep of their approaching fate might be heard, nearer, nearer, nearer!--for being able so completely to withdraw himself from their mutual world--while she groped darkly, and stretched forth her cold hands, and found him not. pearl either saw and responded to her mother's feelings, or herself felt the remoteness and intangibility that had fallen around the minister. while the procession passed, the child was uneasy, fluttering up and down, like a bird on the point of taking flight. when the whole had gone by, she looked up into hester's face-- "mother," said she, "was that the same minister that kissed me by the brook?" "hold thy peace, dear little pearl!" whispered her mother. "we must not always talk in the marketplace of what happens to us in the forest." "i could not be sure that it was he--so strange he looked," continued the child. "else i would have run to him, and bid him kiss me now, before all the people, even as he did yonder among the dark old trees. what would the minister have said, mother? would he have clapped his hand over his heart, and scowled on me, and bid me begone?" "what should he say, pearl," answered hester, "save that it was no time to kiss, and that kisses are not to be given in the market-place? well for thee, foolish child, that thou didst not speak to him!" another shade of the same sentiment, in reference to mr. dimmesdale, was expressed by a person whose eccentricities--insanity, as we should term it--led her to do what few of the townspeople would have ventured on--to begin a conversation with the wearer of the scarlet letter in public. it was mistress hibbins, who, arrayed in great magnificence, with a triple ruff, a broidered stomacher, a gown of rich velvet, and a gold-headed cane, had come forth to see the procession. as this ancient lady had the renown (which subsequently cost her no less a price than her life) of being a principal actor in all the works of necromancy that were continually going forward, the crowd gave way before her, and seemed to fear the touch of her garment, as if it carried the plague among its gorgeous folds. seen in conjunction with hester prynne--kindly as so many now felt towards the latter--the dread inspired by mistress hibbins had doubled, and caused a general movement from that part of the market-place in which the two women stood. "now, what mortal imagination could conceive it?" whispered the old lady confidentially to hester. "yonder divine man! that saint on earth, as the people uphold him to be, and as--i must needs say--he really looks! who, now, that saw him pass in the procession, would think how little while it is since he went forth out of his study--chewing a hebrew text of scripture in his mouth, i warrant--to take an airing in the forest! aha! we know what that means, hester prynne! but truly, forsooth, i find it hard to believe him the same man. many a church member saw i, walking behind the music, that has danced in the same measure with me, when somebody was fiddler, and, it might be, an indian powwow or a lapland wizard changing hands with us! that is but a trifle, when a woman knows the world. but this minister. couldst thou surely tell, hester, whether he was the same man that encountered thee on the forest path?" "madam, i know not of what you speak," answered hester prynne, feeling mistress hibbins to be of infirm mind; yet strangely startled and awe-stricken by the confidence with which she affirmed a personal connexion between so many persons (herself among them) and the evil one. "it is not for me to talk lightly of a learned and pious minister of the word, like the reverend mr. dimmesdale." "fie, woman--fie!" cried the old lady, shaking her finger at hester. "dost thou think i have been to the forest so many times, and have yet no skill to judge who else has been there? yea, though no leaf of the wild garlands which they wore while they danced be left in their hair! i know thee, hester, for i behold the token. we may all see it in the sunshine! and it glows like a red flame in the dark. thou wearest it openly, so there need be no question about that. but this minister! let me tell thee in thine ear! when the black man sees one of his own servants, signed and sealed, so shy of owning to the bond as is the reverend mr. dimmesdale, he hath a way of ordering matters so that the mark shall be disclosed, in open daylight, to the eyes of all the world! what is that the minister seeks to hide, with his hand always over his heart? ha, hester prynne?" "what is it, good mistress hibbins?" eagerly asked little pearl. "hast thou seen it?" "no matter, darling!" responded mistress hibbins, making pearl a profound reverence. "thou thyself wilt see it, one time or another. they say, child, thou art of the lineage of the prince of air! wilt thou ride with me some fine night to see thy father? then thou shalt know wherefore the minister keeps his hand over his heart!" laughing so shrilly that all the market-place could hear her, the weird old gentlewoman took her departure. by this time the preliminary prayer had been offered in the meeting-house, and the accents of the reverend mr. dimmesdale were heard commencing his discourse. an irresistible feeling kept hester near the spot. as the sacred edifice was too much thronged to admit another auditor, she took up her position close beside the scaffold of the pillory. it was in sufficient proximity to bring the whole sermon to her ears, in the shape of an indistinct but varied murmur and flow of the minister's very peculiar voice. this vocal organ was in itself a rich endowment, insomuch that a listener, comprehending nothing of the language in which the preacher spoke, might still have been swayed to and fro by the mere tone and cadence. like all other music, it breathed passion and pathos, and emotions high or tender, in a tongue native to the human heart, wherever educated. muffled as the sound was by its passage through the church walls, hester prynne listened with such intenseness, and sympathized so intimately, that the sermon had throughout a meaning for her, entirely apart from its indistinguishable words. these, perhaps, if more distinctly heard, might have been only a grosser medium, and have clogged the spiritual sense. now she caught the low undertone, as of the wind sinking down to repose itself; then ascended with it, as it rose through progressive gradations of sweetness and power, until its volume seemed to envelop her with an atmosphere of awe and solemn grandeur. and yet, majestic as the voice sometimes became, there was for ever in it an essential character of plaintiveness. a loud or low expression of anguish--the whisper, or the shriek, as it might be conceived, of suffering humanity, that touched a sensibility in every bosom! at times this deep strain of pathos was all that could be heard, and scarcely heard sighing amid a desolate silence. but even when the minister's voice grew high and commanding--when it gushed irrepressibly upward--when it assumed its utmost breadth and power, so overfilling the church as to burst its way through the solid walls, and diffuse itself in the open air--still, if the auditor listened intently, and for the purpose, he could detect the same cry of pain. what was it? the complaint of a human heart, sorrow-laden, perchance guilty, telling its secret, whether of guilt or sorrow, to the great heart of mankind; beseeching its sympathy or forgiveness,--at every moment,--in each accent,--and never in vain! it was this profound and continual undertone that gave the clergyman his most appropriate power. during all this time, hester stood, statue-like, at the foot of the scaffold. if the minister's voice had not kept her there, there would, nevertheless, have been an inevitable magnetism in that spot, whence she dated the first hour of her life of ignominy. there was a sense within her--too ill-defined to be made a thought, but weighing heavily on her mind--that her whole orb of life, both before and after, was connected with this spot, as with the one point that gave it unity. little pearl, meanwhile, had quitted her mother's side, and was playing at her own will about the market-place. she made the sombre crowd cheerful by her erratic and glistening ray, even as a bird of bright plumage illuminates a whole tree of dusky foliage by darting to and fro, half seen and half concealed amid the twilight of the clustering leaves. she had an undulating, but oftentimes a sharp and irregular movement. it indicated the restless vivacity of her spirit, which to-day was doubly indefatigable in its tip-toe dance, because it was played upon and vibrated with her mother's disquietude. whenever pearl saw anything to excite her ever active and wandering curiosity, she flew thitherward, and, as we might say, seized upon that man or thing as her own property, so far as she desired it, but without yielding the minutest degree of control over her motions in requital. the puritans looked on, and, if they smiled, were none the less inclined to pronounce the child a demon offspring, from the indescribable charm of beauty and eccentricity that shone through her little figure, and sparkled with its activity. she ran and looked the wild indian in the face, and he grew conscious of a nature wilder than his own. thence, with native audacity, but still with a reserve as characteristic, she flew into the midst of a group of mariners, the swarthy-cheeked wild men of the ocean, as the indians were of the land; and they gazed wonderingly and admiringly at pearl, as if a flake of the sea-foam had taken the shape of a little maid, and were gifted with a soul of the sea-fire, that flashes beneath the prow in the night-time. one of these seafaring men the shipmaster, indeed, who had spoken to hester prynne was so smitten with pearl's aspect, that he attempted to lay hands upon her, with purpose to snatch a kiss. finding it as impossible to touch her as to catch a humming-bird in the air, he took from his hat the gold chain that was twisted about it, and threw it to the child. pearl immediately twined it around her neck and waist with such happy skill, that, once seen there, it became a part of her, and it was difficult to imagine her without it. "thy mother is yonder woman with the scarlet letter," said the seaman, "wilt thou carry her a message from me?" "if the message pleases me, i will," answered pearl. "then tell her," rejoined he, "that i spake again with the black-a-visaged, hump shouldered old doctor, and he engages to bring his friend, the gentleman she wots of, aboard with him. so let thy mother take no thought, save for herself and thee. wilt thou tell her this, thou witch-baby?" "mistress hibbins says my father is the prince of the air!" cried pearl, with a naughty smile. "if thou callest me that ill-name, i shall tell him of thee, and he will chase thy ship with a tempest!" pursuing a zigzag course across the marketplace, the child returned to her mother, and communicated what the mariner had said. hester's strong, calm steadfastly-enduring spirit almost sank, at last, on beholding this dark and grim countenance of an inevitable doom, which at the moment when a passage seemed to open for the minister and herself out of their labyrinth of misery--showed itself with an unrelenting smile, right in the midst of their path. with her mind harassed by the terrible perplexity in which the shipmaster's intelligence involved her, she was also subjected to another trial. there were many people present from the country round about, who had often heard of the scarlet letter, and to whom it had been made terrific by a hundred false or exaggerated rumours, but who had never beheld it with their own bodily eyes. these, after exhausting other modes of amusement, now thronged about hester prynne with rude and boorish intrusiveness. unscrupulous as it was, however, it could not bring them nearer than a circuit of several yards. at that distance they accordingly stood, fixed there by the centrifugal force of the repugnance which the mystic symbol inspired. the whole gang of sailors, likewise, observing the press of spectators, and learning the purport of the scarlet letter, came and thrust their sunburnt and desperado-looking faces into the ring. even the indians were affected by a sort of cold shadow of the white man's curiosity and, gliding through the crowd, fastened their snake-like black eyes on hester's bosom, conceiving, perhaps, that the wearer of this brilliantly embroidered badge must needs be a personage of high dignity among her people. lastly, the inhabitants of the town (their own interest in this worn-out subject languidly reviving itself, by sympathy with what they saw others feel) lounged idly to the same quarter, and tormented hester prynne, perhaps more than all the rest, with their cool, well-acquainted gaze at her familiar shame. hester saw and recognized the selfsame faces of that group of matrons, who had awaited her forthcoming from the prison-door seven years ago; all save one, the youngest and only compassionate among them, whose burial-robe she had since made. at the final hour, when she was so soon to fling aside the burning letter, it had strangely become the centre of more remark and excitement, and was thus made to sear her breast more painfully, than at any time since the first day she put it on. while hester stood in that magic circle of ignominy, where the cunning cruelty of her sentence seemed to have fixed her for ever, the admirable preacher was looking down from the sacred pulpit upon an audience whose very inmost spirits had yielded to his control. the sainted minister in the church! the woman of the scarlet letter in the marketplace! what imagination would have been irreverent enough to surmise that the same scorching stigma was on them both! xxiii. the revelation of the scarlet letter the eloquent voice, on which the souls of the listening audience had been borne aloft as on the swelling waves of the sea, at length came to a pause. there was a momentary silence, profound as what should follow the utterance of oracles. then ensued a murmur and half-hushed tumult, as if the auditors, released from the high spell that had transported them into the region of another's mind, were returning into themselves, with all their awe and wonder still heavy on them. in a moment more the crowd began to gush forth from the doors of the church. now that there was an end, they needed more breath, more fit to support the gross and earthly life into which they relapsed, than that atmosphere which the preacher had converted into words of flame, and had burdened with the rich fragrance of his thought. in the open air their rapture broke into speech. the street and the market-place absolutely babbled, from side to side, with applauses of the minister. his hearers could not rest until they had told one another of what each knew better than he could tell or hear. according to their united testimony, never had man spoken in so wise, so high, and so holy a spirit, as he that spake this day; nor had inspiration ever breathed through mortal lips more evidently than it did through his. its influence could be seen, as it were, descending upon him, and possessing him, and continually lifting him out of the written discourse that lay before him, and filling him with ideas that must have been as marvellous to himself as to his audience. his subject, it appeared, had been the relation between the deity and the communities of mankind, with a special reference to the new england which they were here planting in the wilderness. and, as he drew towards the close, a spirit as of prophecy had come upon him, constraining him to its purpose as mightily as the old prophets of israel were constrained, only with this difference, that, whereas the jewish seers had denounced judgments and ruin on their country, it was his mission to foretell a high and glorious destiny for the newly gathered people of the lord. but, throughout it all, and through the whole discourse, there had been a certain deep, sad undertone of pathos, which could not be interpreted otherwise than as the natural regret of one soon to pass away. yes; their minister whom they so loved--and who so loved them all, that he could not depart heavenward without a sigh--had the foreboding of untimely death upon him, and would soon leave them in their tears. this idea of his transitory stay on earth gave the last emphasis to the effect which the preacher had produced; it was as if an angel, in his passage to the skies, had shaken his bright wings over the people for an instant--at once a shadow and a splendour--and had shed down a shower of golden truths upon them. thus, there had come to the reverend mr. dimmesdale--as to most men, in their various spheres, though seldom recognised until they see it far behind them--an epoch of life more brilliant and full of triumph than any previous one, or than any which could hereafter be. he stood, at this moment, on the very proudest eminence of superiority, to which the gifts or intellect, rich lore, prevailing eloquence, and a reputation of whitest sanctity, could exalt a clergyman in new england's earliest days, when the professional character was of itself a lofty pedestal. such was the position which the minister occupied, as he bowed his head forward on the cushions of the pulpit at the close of his election sermon. meanwhile hester prynne was standing beside the scaffold of the pillory, with the scarlet letter still burning on her breast! now was heard again the clamour of the music, and the measured tramp of the military escort issuing from the church door. the procession was to be marshalled thence to the town hall, where a solemn banquet would complete the ceremonies of the day. once more, therefore, the train of venerable and majestic fathers were seen moving through a broad pathway of the people, who drew back reverently, on either side, as the governor and magistrates, the old and wise men, the holy ministers, and all that were eminent and renowned, advanced into the midst of them. when they were fairly in the marketplace, their presence was greeted by a shout. this--though doubtless it might acquire additional force and volume from the child-like loyalty which the age awarded to its rulers--was felt to be an irrepressible outburst of enthusiasm kindled in the auditors by that high strain of eloquence which was yet reverberating in their ears. each felt the impulse in himself, and in the same breath, caught it from his neighbour. within the church, it had hardly been kept down; beneath the sky it pealed upward to the zenith. there were human beings enough, and enough of highly wrought and symphonious feeling to produce that more impressive sound than the organ tones of the blast, or the thunder, or the roar of the sea; even that mighty swell of many voices, blended into one great voice by the universal impulse which makes likewise one vast heart out of the many. never, from the soil of new england had gone up such a shout! never, on new england soil had stood the man so honoured by his mortal brethren as the preacher! how fared it with him, then? were there not the brilliant particles of a halo in the air about his head? so etherealised by spirit as he was, and so apotheosised by worshipping admirers, did his footsteps, in the procession, really tread upon the dust of earth? as the ranks of military men and civil fathers moved onward, all eyes were turned towards the point where the minister was seen to approach among them. the shout died into a murmur, as one portion of the crowd after another obtained a glimpse of him. how feeble and pale he looked, amid all his triumph! the energy--or say, rather, the inspiration which had held him up, until he should have delivered the sacred message that had brought its own strength along with it from heaven--was withdrawn, now that it had so faithfully performed its office. the glow, which they had just before beheld burning on his cheek, was extinguished, like a flame that sinks down hopelessly among the late decaying embers. it seemed hardly the face of a man alive, with such a death-like hue: it was hardly a man with life in him, that tottered on his path so nervously, yet tottered, and did not fall! one of his clerical brethren--it was the venerable john wilson--observing the state in which mr. dimmesdale was left by the retiring wave of intellect and sensibility, stepped forward hastily to offer his support. the minister tremulously, but decidedly, repelled the old man's arm. he still walked onward, if that movement could be so described, which rather resembled the wavering effort of an infant, with its mother's arms in view, outstretched to tempt him forward. and now, almost imperceptible as were the latter steps of his progress, he had come opposite the well-remembered and weather-darkened scaffold, where, long since, with all that dreary lapse of time between, hester prynne had encountered the world's ignominious stare. there stood hester, holding little pearl by the hand! and there was the scarlet letter on her breast! the minister here made a pause; although the music still played the stately and rejoicing march to which the procession moved. it summoned him onward--inward to the festival!--but here he made a pause. bellingham, for the last few moments, had kept an anxious eye upon him. he now left his own place in the procession, and advanced to give assistance judging, from mr. dimmesdale's aspect that he must otherwise inevitably fall. but there was something in the latter's expression that warned back the magistrate, although a man not readily obeying the vague intimations that pass from one spirit to another. the crowd, meanwhile, looked on with awe and wonder. this earthly faintness, was, in their view, only another phase of the minister's celestial strength; nor would it have seemed a miracle too high to be wrought for one so holy, had he ascended before their eyes, waxing dimmer and brighter, and fading at last into the light of heaven! he turned towards the scaffold, and stretched forth his arms. "hester," said he, "come hither! come, my little pearl!" it was a ghastly look with which he regarded them; but there was something at once tender and strangely triumphant in it. the child, with the bird-like motion, which was one of her characteristics, flew to him, and clasped her arms about his knees. hester prynne--slowly, as if impelled by inevitable fate, and against her strongest will--likewise drew near, but paused before she reached him. at this instant old roger chillingworth thrust himself through the crowd--or, perhaps, so dark, disturbed, and evil was his look, he rose up out of some nether region--to snatch back his victim from what he sought to do! be that as it might, the old man rushed forward, and caught the minister by the arm. "madman, hold! what is your purpose?" whispered he. "wave back that woman! cast off this child! all shall be well! do not blacken your fame, and perish in dishonour! i can yet save you! would you bring infamy on your sacred profession?" "ha, tempter! methinks thou art too late!" answered the minister, encountering his eye, fearfully, but firmly. "thy power is not what it was! with god's help, i shall escape thee now!" he again extended his hand to the woman of the scarlet letter. "hester prynne," cried he, with a piercing earnestness, "in the name of him, so terrible and so merciful, who gives me grace, at this last moment, to do what--for my own heavy sin and miserable agony--i withheld myself from doing seven years ago, come hither now, and twine thy strength about me! thy strength, hester; but let it be guided by the will which god hath granted me! this wretched and wronged old man is opposing it with all his might!--with all his own might, and the fiend's! come, hester--come! support me up yonder scaffold." the crowd was in a tumult. the men of rank and dignity, who stood more immediately around the clergyman, were so taken by surprise, and so perplexed as to the purport of what they saw--unable to receive the explanation which most readily presented itself, or to imagine any other--that they remained silent and inactive spectators of the judgement which providence seemed about to work. they beheld the minister, leaning on hester's shoulder, and supported by her arm around him, approach the scaffold, and ascend its steps; while still the little hand of the sin-born child was clasped in his. old roger chillingworth followed, as one intimately connected with the drama of guilt and sorrow in which they had all been actors, and well entitled, therefore to be present at its closing scene. "hadst thou sought the whole earth over," said he looking darkly at the clergyman, "there was no one place so secret--no high place nor lowly place, where thou couldst have escaped me--save on this very scaffold!" "thanks be to him who hath led me hither!" answered the minister. yet he trembled, and turned to hester, with an expression of doubt and anxiety in his eyes, not the less evidently betrayed, that there was a feeble smile upon his lips. "is not this better," murmured he, "than what we dreamed of in the forest?" "i know not! i know not!" she hurriedly replied. "better? yea; so we may both die, and little pearl die with us!" "for thee and pearl, be it as god shall order," said the minister; "and god is merciful! let me now do the will which he hath made plain before my sight. for, hester, i am a dying man. so let me make haste to take my shame upon me!" partly supported by hester prynne, and holding one hand of little pearl's, the reverend mr. dimmesdale turned to the dignified and venerable rulers; to the holy ministers, who were his brethren; to the people, whose great heart was thoroughly appalled yet overflowing with tearful sympathy, as knowing that some deep life-matter--which, if full of sin, was full of anguish and repentance likewise--was now to be laid open to them. the sun, but little past its meridian, shone down upon the clergyman, and gave a distinctness to his figure, as he stood out from all the earth, to put in his plea of guilty at the bar of eternal justice. "people of new england!" cried he, with a voice that rose over them, high, solemn, and majestic--yet had always a tremor through it, and sometimes a shriek, struggling up out of a fathomless depth of remorse and woe--"ye, that have loved me!--ye, that have deemed me holy!--behold me here, the one sinner of the world! at last--at last!--i stand upon the spot where, seven years since, i should have stood, here, with this woman, whose arm, more than the little strength wherewith i have crept hitherward, sustains me at this dreadful moment, from grovelling down upon my face! lo, the scarlet letter which hester wears! ye have all shuddered at it! wherever her walk hath been--wherever, so miserably burdened, she may have hoped to find repose--it hath cast a lurid gleam of awe and horrible repugnance round about her. but there stood one in the midst of you, at whose brand of sin and infamy ye have not shuddered!" it seemed, at this point, as if the minister must leave the remainder of his secret undisclosed. but he fought back the bodily weakness--and, still more, the faintness of heart--that was striving for the mastery with him. he threw off all assistance, and stepped passionately forward a pace before the woman and the children. "it was on him!" he continued, with a kind of fierceness; so determined was he to speak out the whole. "god's eye beheld it! the angels were for ever pointing at it! (the devil knew it well, and fretted it continually with the touch of his burning finger!) but he hid it cunningly from men, and walked among you with the mien of a spirit, mournful, because so pure in a sinful world!--and sad, because he missed his heavenly kindred! now, at the death-hour, he stands up before you! he bids you look again at hester's scarlet letter! he tells you, that, with all its mysterious horror, it is but the shadow of what he bears on his own breast, and that even this, his own red stigma, is no more than the type of what has seared his inmost heart! stand any here that question god's judgment on a sinner! behold! behold, a dreadful witness of it!" with a convulsive motion, he tore away the ministerial band from before his breast. it was revealed! but it were irreverent to describe that revelation. for an instant, the gaze of the horror-stricken multitude was concentrated on the ghastly miracle; while the minister stood, with a flush of triumph in his face, as one who, in the crisis of acutest pain, had won a victory. then, down he sank upon the scaffold! hester partly raised him, and supported his head against her bosom. old roger chillingworth knelt down beside him, with a blank, dull countenance, out of which the life seemed to have departed. "thou hast escaped me!" he repeated more than once. "thou hast escaped me!" "may god forgive thee!" said the minister. "thou, too, hast deeply sinned!" he withdrew his dying eyes from the old man, and fixed them on the woman and the child. "my little pearl," said he, feebly and there was a sweet and gentle smile over his face, as of a spirit sinking into deep repose; nay, now that the burden was removed, it seemed almost as if he would be sportive with the child--"dear little pearl, wilt thou kiss me now? thou wouldst not, yonder, in the forest! but now thou wilt?" pearl kissed his lips. a spell was broken. the great scene of grief, in which the wild infant bore a part had developed all her sympathies; and as her tears fell upon her father's cheek, they were the pledge that she would grow up amid human joy and sorrow, nor forever do battle with the world, but be a woman in it. towards her mother, too, pearl's errand as a messenger of anguish was fulfilled. "hester," said the clergyman, "farewell!" "shall we not meet again?" whispered she, bending her face down close to his. "shall we not spend our immortal life together? surely, surely, we have ransomed one another, with all this woe! thou lookest far into eternity, with those bright dying eyes! then tell me what thou seest!" "hush, hester--hush!" said he, with tremulous solemnity. "the law we broke!--the sin here awfully revealed!--let these alone be in thy thoughts! i fear! i fear! it may be, that, when we forgot our god--when we violated our reverence each for the other's soul--it was thenceforth vain to hope that we could meet hereafter, in an everlasting and pure reunion. god knows; and he is merciful! he hath proved his mercy, most of all, in my afflictions. by giving me this burning torture to bear upon my breast! by sending yonder dark and terrible old man, to keep the torture always at red-heat! by bringing me hither, to die this death of triumphant ignominy before the people! had either of these agonies been wanting, i had been lost for ever! praised be his name! his will be done! farewell!" that final word came forth with the minister's expiring breath. the multitude, silent till then, broke out in a strange, deep voice of awe and wonder, which could not as yet find utterance, save in this murmur that rolled so heavily after the departed spirit. xxiv. conclusion after many days, when time sufficed for the people to arrange their thoughts in reference to the foregoing scene, there was more than one account of what had been witnessed on the scaffold. most of the spectators testified to having seen, on the breast of the unhappy minister, a scarlet letter--the very semblance of that worn by hester prynne--imprinted in the flesh. as regarded its origin there were various explanations, all of which must necessarily have been conjectural. some affirmed that the reverend mr. dimmesdale, on the very day when hester prynne first wore her ignominious badge, had begun a course of penance--which he afterwards, in so many futile methods, followed out--by inflicting a hideous torture on himself. others contended that the stigma had not been produced until a long time subsequent, when old roger chillingworth, being a potent necromancer, had caused it to appear, through the agency of magic and poisonous drugs. others, again and those best able to appreciate the minister's peculiar sensibility, and the wonderful operation of his spirit upon the body--whispered their belief, that the awful symbol was the effect of the ever-active tooth of remorse, gnawing from the inmost heart outwardly, and at last manifesting heaven's dreadful judgment by the visible presence of the letter. the reader may choose among these theories. we have thrown all the light we could acquire upon the portent, and would gladly, now that it has done its office, erase its deep print out of our own brain, where long meditation has fixed it in very undesirable distinctness. it is singular, nevertheless, that certain persons, who were spectators of the whole scene, and professed never once to have removed their eyes from the reverend mr. dimmesdale, denied that there was any mark whatever on his breast, more than on a new-born infant's. neither, by their report, had his dying words acknowledged, nor even remotely implied, any--the slightest--connexion on his part, with the guilt for which hester prynne had so long worn the scarlet letter. according to these highly-respectable witnesses, the minister, conscious that he was dying--conscious, also, that the reverence of the multitude placed him already among saints and angels--had desired, by yielding up his breath in the arms of that fallen woman, to express to the world how utterly nugatory is the choicest of man's own righteousness. after exhausting life in his efforts for mankind's spiritual good, he had made the manner of his death a parable, in order to impress on his admirers the mighty and mournful lesson, that, in the view of infinite purity, we are sinners all alike. it was to teach them, that the holiest amongst us has but attained so far above his fellows as to discern more clearly the mercy which looks down, and repudiate more utterly the phantom of human merit, which would look aspiringly upward. without disputing a truth so momentous, we must be allowed to consider this version of mr. dimmesdale's story as only an instance of that stubborn fidelity with which a man's friends--and especially a clergyman's--will sometimes uphold his character, when proofs, clear as the mid-day sunshine on the scarlet letter, establish him a false and sin-stained creature of the dust. the authority which we have chiefly followed--a manuscript of old date, drawn up from the verbal testimony of individuals, some of whom had known hester prynne, while others had heard the tale from contemporary witnesses fully confirms the view taken in the foregoing pages. among many morals which press upon us from the poor minister's miserable experience, we put only this into a sentence:--"be true! be true! be true! show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred!" nothing was more remarkable than the change which took place, almost immediately after mr. dimmesdale's death, in the appearance and demeanour of the old man known as roger chillingworth. all his strength and energy--all his vital and intellectual force--seemed at once to desert him, insomuch that he positively withered up, shrivelled away and almost vanished from mortal sight, like an uprooted weed that lies wilting in the sun. this unhappy man had made the very principle of his life to consist in the pursuit and systematic exercise of revenge; and when, by its completest triumph consummation that evil principle was left with no further material to support it--when, in short, there was no more devil's work on earth for him to do, it only remained for the unhumanised mortal to betake himself whither his master would find him tasks enough, and pay him his wages duly. but, to all these shadowy beings, so long our near acquaintances--as well roger chillingworth as his companions we would fain be merciful. it is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom. each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual fife upon another: each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his subject. philosophically considered, therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow. in the spiritual world, the old physician and the minister--mutual victims as they have been--may, unawares, have found their earthly stock of hatred and antipathy transmuted into golden love. leaving this discussion apart, we have a matter of business to communicate to the reader. at old roger chillingworth's decease, (which took place within the year), and by his last will and testament, of which governor bellingham and the reverend mr. wilson were executors, he bequeathed a very considerable amount of property, both here and in england to little pearl, the daughter of hester prynne. so pearl--the elf child--the demon offspring, as some people up to that epoch persisted in considering her--became the richest heiress of her day in the new world. not improbably this circumstance wrought a very material change in the public estimation; and had the mother and child remained here, little pearl at a marriageable period of life might have mingled her wild blood with the lineage of the devoutest puritan among them all. but, in no long time after the physician's death, the wearer of the scarlet letter disappeared, and pearl along with her. for many years, though a vague report would now and then find its way across the sea--like a shapeless piece of driftwood tossed ashore with the initials of a name upon it--yet no tidings of them unquestionably authentic were received. the story of the scarlet letter grew into a legend. its spell, however, was still potent, and kept the scaffold awful where the poor minister had died, and likewise the cottage by the sea-shore where hester prynne had dwelt. near this latter spot, one afternoon some children were at play, when they beheld a tall woman in a gray robe approach the cottage-door. in all those years it had never once been opened; but either she unlocked it or the decaying wood and iron yielded to her hand, or she glided shadow-like through these impediments--and, at all events, went in. on the threshold she paused--turned partly round--for perchance the idea of entering alone and all so changed, the home of so intense a former life, was more dreary and desolate than even she could bear. but her hesitation was only for an instant, though long enough to display a scarlet letter on her breast. and hester prynne had returned, and taken up her long-forsaken shame! but where was little pearl? if still alive she must now have been in the flush and bloom of early womanhood. none knew--nor ever learned with the fulness of perfect certainty--whether the elf-child had gone thus untimely to a maiden grave; or whether her wild, rich nature had been softened and subdued and made capable of a woman's gentle happiness. but through the remainder of hester's life there were indications that the recluse of the scarlet letter was the object of love and interest with some inhabitant of another land. letters came, with armorial seals upon them, though of bearings unknown to english heraldry. in the cottage there were articles of comfort and luxury such as hester never cared to use, but which only wealth could have purchased and affection have imagined for her. there were trifles too, little ornaments, beautiful tokens of a continual remembrance, that must have been wrought by delicate fingers at the impulse of a fond heart. and once hester was seen embroidering a baby-garment with such a lavish richness of golden fancy as would have raised a public tumult had any infant thus apparelled, been shown to our sober-hued community. in fine, the gossips of that day believed--and mr. surveyor pue, who made investigations a century later, believed--and one of his recent successors in office, moreover, faithfully believes--that pearl was not only alive, but married, and happy, and mindful of her mother; and that she would most joyfully have entertained that sad and lonely mother at her fireside. but there was a more real life for hester prynne, here, in new england, than in that unknown region where pearl had found a home. here had been her sin; here, her sorrow; and here was yet to be her penitence. she had returned, therefore, and resumed--of her own free will, for not the sternest magistrate of that iron period would have imposed it--resumed the symbol of which we have related so dark a tale. never afterwards did it quit her bosom. but, in the lapse of the toilsome, thoughtful, and self-devoted years that made up hester's life, the scarlet letter ceased to be a stigma which attracted the world's scorn and bitterness, and became a type of something to be sorrowed over, and looked upon with awe, yet with reverence too. and, as hester prynne had no selfish ends, nor lived in any measure for her own profit and enjoyment, people brought all their sorrows and perplexities, and besought her counsel, as one who had herself gone through a mighty trouble. women, more especially--in the continually recurring trials of wounded, wasted, wronged, misplaced, or erring and sinful passion--or with the dreary burden of a heart unyielded, because unvalued and unsought came to hester's cottage, demanding why they were so wretched, and what the remedy! hester comforted and counselled them, as best she might. she assured them, too, of her firm belief that, at some brighter period, when the world should have grown ripe for it, in heaven's own time, a new truth would be revealed, in order to establish the whole relation between man and woman on a surer ground of mutual happiness. earlier in life, hester had vainly imagined that she herself might be the destined prophetess, but had long since recognised the impossibility that any mission of divine and mysterious truth should be confided to a woman stained with sin, bowed down with shame, or even burdened with a life-long sorrow. the angel and apostle of the coming revelation must be a woman, indeed, but lofty, pure, and beautiful, and wise; moreover, not through dusky grief, but the ethereal medium of joy; and showing how sacred love should make us happy, by the truest test of a life successful to such an end. so said hester prynne, and glanced her sad eyes downward at the scarlet letter. and, after many, many years, a new grave was delved, near an old and sunken one, in that burial-ground beside which king's chapel has since been built. it was near that old and sunken grave, yet with a space between, as if the dust of the two sleepers had no right to mingle. yet one tomb-stone served for both. all around, there were monuments carved with armorial bearings; and on this simple slab of slate--as the curious investigator may still discern, and perplex himself with the purport--there appeared the semblance of an engraved escutcheon. it bore a device, a herald's wording of which may serve for a motto and brief description of our now concluded legend; so sombre is it, and relieved only by one ever-glowing point of light gloomier than the shadow:-- "on a field, sable, the letter a, gules" produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) a prairie courtship by harold bindloss author of "masters of the wheat-lands," "winston of the prairie," "lorimer of the northwest," "alton of somasco," "thurston of orchard valley," etc. [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company published in england under the title "alison's adventure" [illustration: fas co september, ] contents chapter page i. a cold welcome ii. maverick thorne iii. the camp in the bluff iv. the farquhar homestead v. thorne gives advice vi. thorne contemplates a change vii. a useful friend viii. a fit of temper ix. the raising x. thorne resents reproof xi. an escapade xii. hunter makes an enemy xiii. nevis picks up a clue xiv. winthrop's letter xv. on the trail xvi. corporal slaney's defeat xvii. a compromise xviii. nevis's visitor xix. the mortgage deed xx. hail xxi. a point of honor xxii. alison spoils her gloves xxiii. an unexpected disaster xxiv. lucy goes to the rescue xxv. the only means xxvi. open confession xxvii. a helping hand xxviii. the reckoning xxix. the new outlook a prairie courtship chapter i a cold welcome it was falling dusk and the long emigrant train was clattering, close-packed with its load of somewhat frowsy humanity, through the last of the pine forest which rolls westward north of the great lakes toward the wide, bare levels of manitoba, when alison leigh stood on the platform of a lurching car. a bitter wind eddied about her, for it was early in the canadian spring, and there were still shattered fangs of ice in the slacker pools of the rivers. now and then a shower of cinders that rattled upon the roof whirled down about her and the jolting brass rail to which she clung was unpleasantly greasy, but the air was, at least, gloriously fresh out there and she shrank from the vitiated atmosphere of the stove-heated car. she had learned during the past few years that it is not wise for a young woman who must earn her living to be fastidious, but one has to face a good many unpleasantnesses when traveling colonist in a crowded train. a gray sky without a break in it hung low above the ragged spires of the pines; the river the track skirted, and presently crossed upon a wooden bridge, shone in the gathering shadow with a wan, chill gleam; and the bare rocky ridges that flitted by now and then looked grim and forbidding. indeed, it was a singularly desolate landscape, with no touch of human life in it, and alison shivered as she gazed at it with a somewhat heavy heart and weary eyes. her head ached from want of sleep and several days of continuous jolting; she was physically worn out, and her courage was slipping away from her. she knew that she would need the latter, for she was beginning to realize that it was a rather hazardous undertaking for a delicately brought up girl of twenty-four to set out to seek her fortune in western canada. leaning upon the greasy rails, she recalled the events which had led her to decide on this course, or, to be more accurate, which had forced it on her. until three years ago, she had led a sheltered life, and then her father, dying suddenly, had left his affairs involved. this she knew now had been the fault of her aspiring mother, who had spent his by no means large income in an attempt to win a prominent position in second-rate smart society, and had succeeded to the extent of marrying her other daughter well. the latter, however, had displayed very little eagerness to offer financial assistance in the crisis which had followed her father's death. in the end mrs. leigh was found a scantily paid appointment as secretary of a woman's club, while alison was left to shift for herself, and it came as a shock to the girl to discover that her few capabilities were apparently of no practical use to anybody. she could paint and could play the violin indifferently well, but she had not the gift of imparting to others even the little she knew. a graceful manner and a nicely modulated voice appeared to possess no market value, and the unpalatable truth that nothing she had been taught was likely to prove more than a drawback in the struggle for existence was promptly forced on her. she faced it with a certain courage, however, for her defects were the results of her upbringing and not inherent in her nature, and she forthwith sought a remedy. in spite of her mother's protests, her sister's husband was induced to send her for a few months' training to a business school, and when she left the latter there followed a three-years' experience which was in some respects as painful as it was varied. her handwriting did not please the crabbed scientist who first engaged her as amanuensis. her second employer favored her with personal compliments which were worse to bear than his predecessor's sarcastic censure; and she had afterward drifted from occupation to occupation, sinking on each occasion a little lower in the social scale. in the meanwhile her prosperous sister's manner became steadily chillier; her few influential friends appeared desirous of forgetting her; and at last she formed the desperate resolution of going out to canada. nobody, however, objected to this, and her brother-in-law, who was engaged in commerce, sent her a very small check with significant readiness, and by some means secured her a position as typist and stenographer in the service of a business firm in winnipeg. for the last three days she had lived on canned fruit and crackers in the train, not because she liked that diet, but because the charges at the dining-stations were beyond her means. she had now five dollars and a few cents in her little shabby purse. that, however, did not much trouble her, for she would reach winnipeg on the morrow, and she supposed that she would begin her new duties immediately. she was wondering with some misgivings what her employers would be like, when a girl of about her own age appeared in the doorway of the vestibule. "aren't you coming in? it's getting late, and i'm almost asleep," she said. alison turned, and with inward repugnance followed her into the long car. it was brilliantly lighted by big oil lamps, and it was undoubtedly warm, for there was a stove in the vestibule, but the frowsy odors that greeted her were almost overwhelming after the fresh night air. an aisle ran down the middle of the car, and already men and women and peevish children were retiring to rest. there was very little attempt at privacy, and a few wholly unabashed aliens were partially disrobing wherever they could find room for the operation. some lay down upon boards pulled forward between two seats, some upon little platforms that let down by chains from the roof, and the car was filled with the complaining of tired children and a drowsy murmur of voices in many languages. alison sat down and glanced round at the passengers who had not yet retired. in one corner were three young scandinavian girls, fresh-faced and tow-haired, of innocent and wholesome appearance, going out, as they had unblushingly informed her in broken english, to look for husbands among the prairie farmers. she was afterward to learn that such marriages not infrequently turned out well. opposite them sat a young englishman with a hollow face and chest, who could not stand his native climate, and had been married, so alison had heard, to the delicate girl beside him the day before he sailed. they were going to brandon on the prairie, and had not the faintest notion what they would do when they got there. close by were a group of big, blonde lithuanians, hardened by toil, in odoriferous garments; a black-haired pole; a jewess whose beauty had run to fatness; and her greasy, ferret-eyed husband. farther on a burly englishman, who had evidently laid in alcoholic refreshment farther back down the line, was crooning a maudlin song. there was, however, an interruption presently, for a man's head was thrust out from behind a curtain which hung between the roof and one of the platforms above. "let up!" he said. the song rose a little louder in response, and a voice with a western intonation broke in. "throw a boot at the hog!" "no, sir," replied the man above; "he might keep it; and i guess they're most used to heaving bottles where he comes from." the words were followed by a scuffling sound which seemed to indicate that the speaker was fumbling about the shelf for something, and then he added: "this will have to do. are you going to sleep down there, sonny?" the englishman paused to inform anybody who cared to listen that he would go to sleep when he wanted and that it would take a train-load of canadians like the questioner, whose personal appearance he alluded to in vitriolic terms, to prevent him from singing when he desired; after which he resumed the maudlin ditty. immediately there was a rustle of snapping leaves, as a volume of the detective literature that is commonly peddled on the trains went hurtling across the car. it struck the woodwork behind the singer with a vicious thud, and he stood up unsteadily. "now," he said, "i mean to show you what comes of insulting me." he moved forward a pace or two, fell against a seat in an attempt to avoid a toddling child, and, grabbing at his disturber's platform, endeavored to clamber up to it. the chains rattled, and it seemed that the light boards were bodily coming down when he felt with one hand behind the curtain, part of which he rent from its fastenings. then his hand reappeared clutching a stockinged foot, and a bronzed-faced man in shirt and trousers dropped from a neighboring resting-place. "you get out!" thundered the englishman. "teach you to be civil when i've done with him. gimme time, and i'll settle the lot of you, and the sausages"--he presumably meant the lithuanians--"afterward." the man above contrived to kick him in the face with his unembarrassed foot, but he held on persistently to the other, and a general fracas appeared imminent when the conductor strode into the car. the latter had very little in common with the average english railway guard, for he was a sharp-tongued, domineering autocrat, like most of his kind. "now," he demanded, "what's this circus about?" the englishman informed him that he had been insulted, and firmly intended to wipe it out in blood. the conductor looked at him with a faint grim smile. "go right back to your berth, and sleep it off," he advised. he stood still, collectedly resolute, clothed with authority, and the englishman hesitated. he had doubtless pluck enough, and his blood was up, but he had also the innate, ingrained capacity for obedience to duly constituted power, which is not as a rule a characteristic of the westerner. then the conductor spoke again: "get a move on! i'll dump you off into the bush if you try to make trouble here." it proved sufficient. the singer let the captive foot go and turned away; and when the conductor left, peace had settled down upon the clattering car. the little incident had, however, an unpleasant effect on alison, for this was not the kind of thing to which she had been accustomed. it was a moment or two before she turned to her companion. "i shall be very glad to get off the train to-morrow, milly--and i suppose you will be quite as pleased," she said. the girl blushed. she was young and pretty in a homely fashion, and had informed alison, who had made her acquaintance on the steamer, that she was to be married to a young englishman on her arrival at winnipeg. "yes," she replied; "jim will be there waiting; i got a telegram at montreal. it's four years since i've seen him." the words were simple, but there was something in the speaker's voice and eyes which stirred alison to half-conscious envy. it was not that marriage in the abstract had any attraction for her, for the thought of it rather jarred on her temperament, and it was, perhaps, not altogether astonishing that she had of late been brought into contact chiefly with the seamy side of the masculine character. still, lonely and cast adrift as she was, she envied this girl who had somebody to take her troubles upon his shoulders and shelter her, and she was faintly stirred by her evident tenderness for the man. "four years!" she said reflectively. "it's a very long time." "oh," declared milly, "it wouldn't matter if it had been a dozen now. he's the same--only a little handsomer in his last picture. except for that, he hasn't changed a bit--i read you some of his letters on the steamer." alison could not help a smile. the girl's upbringing had clearly been very different from her own, and the extracts from jim's letters had chiefly appealed to her sense of the ludicrous; but now she felt that his badly expressed devotion rang true, and her smile slowly faded. it must, she admitted, be something to know that through the four years, which had apparently been ones of constant stress and toil, the man's affection had never wavered, and that his every effort had been inspired by the thought that the result of it would bring his sweetheart in england so much nearer him, until at last, as the time grew rapidly shorter, he had, as he said, worked half the night to make the rude prairie homestead more fit for her. "i suppose he wasn't rich when he went out?" "no," replied milly. "jim had nothing until an uncle died and left him three or four hundred pounds. when he came and told me of it i made him go." "you made him go?" exclaimed alison, wondering. "of course! there was no chance for him in england; i couldn't keep him, just to have him near me--always poor--and i knew that whatever he did in canada he would be true to me. the poor boy had trouble. his first crop was frozen, and his plow oxen died--i think i told you he has a little farm three or four days' ride back from the railroad." the girl's face colored again. "i sold one or two things i had--a little gold watch and a locket--and sent him the money. i wouldn't tell him how i got it, but he said it saved him." alison sat silent for the next moment or two. she was touched by her companion's words and the tenderness in her eyes. alison's upbringing had in some respects not been a good one, for she had been taught to shut her eyes to the realities of life, and to believe that the smooth things it had to offer were, though they must now and then be schemed for, hers by right. it was only the last three years that had given her comprehension and sympathy, and in spite of the clearer insight she had gained during that time, it seemed strange to her that this girl with her homely prettiness and still more homely speech and manners should be capable of such unfaltering fidelity to the man she had sent to canada, and still more strange that she should ever have inspired him with a passion which had given him power to break down, or endurance patiently to undermine, the barriers that stood between them. alison had yet to learn a good deal about the capacities of the english rank and file, which become most manifest where they are given free scope in a new and fertile field. "well," she said, conscious of the lameness of the speech, "i believe you will be happy." milly smiled compassionately, as though this expression of opinion was quite superfluous; and then with a tact which alison had scarcely expected she changed the subject. "i've talked too much about myself. you told me you had something to do when you got to winnipeg?" "yes," was the answer; "i'm to begin at once as correspondent in a big hardware business." "you have no friends there?" "no," replied alison; "i haven't a friend in canada, except, perhaps, one who married a western wheat-grower two or three years ago, and i'm not sure that she would be pleased to see me. as it happens, my mother was once or twice, i am afraid, a little rude to her." it was a rather inadequate description of the persecution of an inoffensive girl who had for a time been treated on a more or less friendly footing and made use of by a certain circle of suburban society interested in parochial philanthropy in which mrs. leigh had aspired to rule supreme. florence ashton had been tolerated, in spite of the fact that she earned her living, until an eloquent curate whose means were supposed to be ample happened to cast approving eyes on her, when pressure was judicially brought to bear. the girl had made a plucky fight, but the odds against her were overwhelmingly heavy, and the curate, it seemed, had not quite made up his mind. in any case, she was vanquished, and tactfully forced out of a guild which paid her a very small stipend for certain services; and eventually she married a canadian who had come over on a brief visit to the old country. how florence had managed it, alison, who fancied that the phrase was in this case justifiable, did not exactly know, but she had reasons for believing that the girl had really liked the curate and would not readily forgive her mother. "well," said milly, "if ever you want a friend you must come to jim and me; and, after all, you may want one some day." she paused, and glanced at alison critically. "of course, so many girls have to work nowadays, but you don't look like it, somehow." this was true. although alison's attire was a little faded and shabby, its fit was irreproachable, and nobody could have found fault with the color scheme. she possessed, without being unduly conscious of it, an artistic taste and a natural grace of carriage which enabled her to wear almost anything so that it became her. in addition to this, she was, besides being attractive in face and feature, endued with a certain tranquillity of manner which suggested to the discerning that she had once held her own in high places. it was deceptive to this extent that, after all, the places had been only very moderately elevated. "i'm afraid that's rather a drawback than anything else," she said in reference to milly's last observation. "but it's a little while since you told me that you were sleepy." they climbed up to two adjoining shelves they drew down from the roof, and though this entailed a rather undignified scramble, alison wished that her companion had refrained from a confused giggle. then they closed the curtains they had hired, and lay down, to sleep if possible, on the very thin mattresses the railway company supplies to colonist passengers for a consideration. an attempt at disrobing would not have been advisable, but, after all, a large proportion of the occupants of the car were probably more or less addicted to sleeping in their clothes. there was a change when alison descended early in the morning, in order at least to dabble her hands and face in cold water, which would not have been possible a little later. even first-class pullman passengers have, as a rule, something to put up with if they desire to be clean, and colonist travelers are not expected to be endued with any particular sense of delicacy or seemliness. as a matter of fact, a good many of them have not the faintest idea of it. it was chiefly for this reason that alison retired to the car platform after hasty ablutions, and, though it was very cold, she stayed there until the rest had risen. the long train had run out of the forest in the night, and was now speeding over a vast white level which lay soft and quaggy in the sunshine, for the snow had lately gone. here and there odd groves of birches went streaming by, but for the most part there were only leafless willow copses about the gleaming strips of water which she afterward learned were sloos. in between, the white waste ran back, bleached by the winter, to the far horizon. it looked strangely desolate, for there was scarcely a house on it, but, at least, the sun was shining, and it was the first brightness she had seen in the land of the clear skies. most of the passengers were partly dressed, for which she was thankful, when she went back into the car; and after one or two of them had kept her waiting she was at length permitted to set on the stove the tin kettle which was the joint property of herself and her companion. then they made tea, and after eating the last of their crackers and emptying the fruit can, they set themselves to wait with as much patience as possible until the train reached winnipeg. the sun had disappeared, and a fine rain was falling when at last the long cars came clanking into the station amid the doleful tolling of the locomotive bell. alison, stepping down from the platform, noticed a man in a long fur coat and a wide soft hat running toward the car. then there was a cry and an outbreak of strained laughter, and she saw him lift her companion down and hold her unabashed in his arms. after that milly seized her by the shoulder. "this is jim," she announced. "miss alison leigh. i told her that if ever she wanted a home out here she was to come to us." the man, who had a pleasant, bronzed face, laughed and held out his hand. "if you're a friend of milly's we'll take you now," he said. "she ought to have one bridesmaid, anyway. come along and stay with her until you get used to the country." milly blushed and giggled, but it was evident that she seconded the invitation, and once more alison was touched. the offer was frank and spontaneous, and she fancied that the man meant it. she explained, however, that she was beginning work on the morrow; and jim, giving her his address, presently turned away with milly. after that alison felt very desolate as she stood alone amid the swarm of frowsy aliens who poured out from the train. the station was cold and sloppy; everything was strange and unfamiliar. there was a new intonation in the voices she heard, and even the dress of the citizens who scurried by her was different in details from that to which she had been accustomed. in the meanwhile jim and milly had disappeared, and as she had been told that the railroad people would take care of her baggage until she produced her check, she decided to proceed at once to her employers' establishment and inform them of her arrival. a man of whom she made inquiries gave her a few hasty directions, and walking out of the station she presently boarded a street-car and was carried through the city until she alighted in front of a big hardware store. being sent to an office at the back of it she noticed that the smart clerk looked at her in a curious fashion when she asked for the manager by name. "he's not here," he said. "won't be back again." alison leaned against the counter with a sudden presage of disaster. "how is that?" she asked. "company went under a few days ago. creditors selling the stock up. i'm acting for the liquidator." alison felt physically dizzy, but she contrived to ask another question or two, and then went out, utterly cast down and desperate, into the steadily falling rain. she was alone in the big western city, with very little money in her purse and no idea as to what she should do. she stood still for several minutes until she remembered having heard that accommodation of an elementary kind was provided in buildings near the station where emigrants just arrived could live for a time, at least, free of charge, though they must provide their own food. as she knew that every cent was precious now, she turned back on foot along the miry street. chapter ii maverick thorne alison slept soundly that night. the blow had been so heavy and unexpected that it had deadened her sensibility, and kindly nature had her way. besides, the very hard berth she occupied was at least still, and she was not kept awake by the distressful vibration that had disturbed her in the colonist car. awakening refreshed in the morning, she sallied out to purchase provisions for the day, and was unpleasantly astonished at the cost of them. she had yet to learn that a dollar goes a very little way in a country where rents and wages are high. returning to the emigrant quarters which were provided with a cooking-stove, she made a frugal breakfast, and then after a conversation with an official who gave her all the information in his power, she spent the day offering her services at stores and hotels and offices up and down the city. nobody, however, seemed to want her. it was, she learned, a time of general bad trade, for the wheat harvest, on which that city largely depends, had failed the previous year. day followed day with much the same result, until alison, who never looked back upon them afterward without a shiver, had at last parted with most of her slender stock of garments to one of the jew dealers who then occupied a row of rickety wooden shacks near the station at winnipeg. he gave her remarkably little for them; and one night she sat down dejectedly in the emigrant quarters to grapple with the crisis. by and by a girl who had traveled in the same car and had spoken to her now and then sat down beside her. "nothing yet?" she asked. "no," said alison wearily; "i have heard of nothing that i could turn my hands to." "then," advised her companion, "you'll just have to do the same as the rest of us. you're almost as good-looking as i am." she lowered her voice a little. "i dare say you have noticed that those norwegians have gone?" alison had noticed that, and also that two or three lean and wiry men with faces almost blackened by exposure to the frost had been hanging about the emigrant quarters for a day or two preceding the disappearance of the girls. the blood crept into her cheeks as she remembered it, but her companion laughed, somewhat harshly. "oh," she explained, "they're married and gone off to farm; but what i want to tell you is that i'm going to follow their example to-morrow. it's quite straight. we're to be married in the morning. he says he's got a nice house, and he looks as if he'd treat me decently." she laid her hand on alison's arm, and seemed to hesitate. "a neighbor, another farmer, came in with him--and he hasn't found anybody yet." alison shrank from her, white in face now, with an almost intolerable sense of disgust, but in another moment or two the blood surged into her cheeks, and her companion made a half-ashamed gesture. "oh, well," she said, "i think you're foolish, but i won't say any more about it. besides, i had only a minute or two. charley's waiting in the street for me now." she withdrew somewhat hastily, and alison sat still, almost too troubled to be capable of indignation, forcing herself to think. one thing was becoming clear; she must escape from winnipeg before the unpleasant suggestion was made to her again, perhaps by some man in person, and go on farther west. after all, she had one friend, the one her mother had persecuted, living somewhere within reach of a station which she had discovered was situated about three hundred miles down the line, and florence might take her in, for a time at least. she decided to set out and try to find her the next day. rising with sudden determination, she walked across to the station to make inquiries about the train, and as she reached it a man strode up to her. it was evident that he meant to speak, and as there was just then no official to whom she could appeal, she drew herself up and faced him resolutely. he was a young man, neatly dressed in store clothes, though he did not look like an inhabitant of the city, and he had what she could not help admitting was a pleasant expression. "you're miss leigh," he said, taking off his wide gray hat, and his intonation betrayed him to be an englishman. "how did you learn my name?" alison asked chillingly. "i made inquiries," he confessed. "the fact is, i asked miss carstairs to get me an introduction, and to tell the truth i wasn't very much astonished when she said you wouldn't hear of it." alison recognized now that the man was the one her companion had alluded to as her prospective husband's neighbor, and for a moment she felt that she could have struck him. that feeling, however, passed. there was a hint of deference in his attitude; he met the one indignant glance she flashed at him, which was somehow reassuring, and since she could not run away ignominiously she stood her ground. "that's why i thought i'd make an attempt to plead my cause in person," he added. "what do you want?" alison asked in desperation, though she was quite aware that this was giving him a lead. the man's gesture seemed to beseech her forbearance. "i'm afraid it will sound rather alarming, but in the first place i'd better--clear the ground. the plain truth is that i want a wife." "oh," cried alison, "how dare you say this to me!" "well," he answered quietly, "the fact that i expected you to look at it in that way was one of the things that influenced me. a self-respecting girl with any delicacy of feeling would naturally resent it; but i'm not sure yet that it's altogether an insult i'm offering you. let me own that i've been here some little time, and that i've spent a good deal of it in watching you." he raised his hand as he saw the indignation in her eyes. "give me a minute or two, and then if you think it justified you can be angry. i want to say just this. we live in a pretty primitive fashion on our hundred-and-sixty-acre holdings out on the prairie, and conventions don't count for much with us. what is more to the purpose, we are forced to make some irregular venture of this kind if we think of marrying. now, i have a comparatively decent place about two hundred miles from here, and my wife would not have to work as hard as you would certainly have to do in a hotel or store. that's to begin with. to go on, i don't think i've ever been unkind to any one or any thing, and, though it must seem a horrible piece of assurance, i said the day i saw you get out of the train that you were the girl for me. i would do what i could, everything i could, to make things smooth for you." alison felt that, strange as it seemed, she could believe him. the man did not look as if he would be unkind to any one. what was more, he was apparently a man of some education. "now," he added, "what i should like to do is this. i'd find you quarters in a decent boarding-house, and just call and take you round to show you the city for an hour or two each afternoon. i'd try to satisfy you as to--we'll say my mode of life and character, and you could, perhaps, form some idea of me. i don't want to form any idea of you--i've done that already. then if my offer appears as repugnant as i'm afraid it does now, i'd try to take my dismissal in good part; and i think i could find you a post in a creamery on the prairie, if you would care for it." he broke off, and alison wondered at herself while he stood watching her anxiously. her anger and disgust had gone. she could see the ludicrous aspect of the situation, but that was not her clearest impression, for she felt that this most unconventional stranger was, after all, a man one could have confidence in. still, she had not the least intention of marrying him. "thank you," she said quietly. "what you suggest is, however, quite out of the question." the man's face fell, and she felt, extraordinary as it seemed, almost sorry that she had been compelled to hurt him; but once more he took off his soft hat. "well," he said, "i suppose i must accept that, and--though i don't know if it's a compliment--i shall go back alone. there's just another matter. if you have any knowledge of business i could have you made clerk at the creamery." urgent as her need was, alison would not entertain the proposal. she felt that it would be equally impossible to accept a favor from or to live near him. "no," she replied; "it is generous of you, but i am going west to-morrow." the man, saying nothing further, turned away, and she thought of him long afterward with a feeling of half-amused good-will. it was the first offer of marriage she had ever had, made in a deserted, half-lighted station by a man to whom she had never spoken until that evening. she was to learn, however, that the strangeness of any event naturally depends very largely on what one has been accustomed to, and that one meets with many things which at least appear remarkable when one ventures out of the beaten track. she went on with the west-bound train the next afternoon, and early in the morning alighted at a wayside station which consisted of one wooden shanty and a big water-tank. a cluster of little frame houses stood beneath the huge bulk of two grain elevators beyond the unfenced track, which ran straight as the crow flies across a bare, white waste of prairie. as the train sped out along this and grew smaller and smaller alison stood forlornly beside the half-empty trunk which contained the remnant of her few possessions. she had then just two dollars in her pocket. it was a raw, cold morning, for spring was unusually late that year, and a bitter wind swept across the desolate waste. in a minute or two the station-agent came out of the shanty and looked at her with obvious curiosity. "i guess you've got off at the right place?" he said in a manner which made the words seem less of a statement than an inquiry. alison asked him if he knew a mr. hunter who lived near graham's bluff, and how it was possible to reach his homestead. "i know hunter, but the bluff is quite a way from here," the man replied. "the boys drive in now and then, and a freighter goes through with a wagon about once a fortnight." he saw the girl's face fall, and added, as though something had suddenly struck him: "there's a man in the settlement who said he was going that way to-day or to-morrow, and it's quite likely that he'd drive you over. guess you had better ask for maverick thorne at the hotel." alison thanked him and, crossing the track, made for the rude frame building he indicated. her thin boots were very muddy before she reached it, for there was no semblance of a street and the space between the houses and elevators was torn up and deeply rutted by wagon wheels. she now understood why a high plank sidewalk usually ran, as she had noticed, along the front of the buildings in the smaller prairie towns. it was with a good deal of diffidence that she walked into the hotel and entered a long and very barely furnished room which just then was occupied by a group of men. several of them wore ordinary city clothes and were, she supposed, clerks or storekeepers in the little town; but the rest had weather-darkened faces and their garments were flecked with sun-dried mire and stained with soil, while the dilapidated skin coats thrown down here and there evidently belonged to them. some were just finishing breakfast and the others stood lighting their pipes about a big rusty stove. the place reeked of the smell of cooking and tobacco smoke, and looked very comfortless with its uncovered walls and roughly boarded floor. there was, however, no bar in it, and it was consoling to see a very neat maid gathering up the plates. "is mr. maverick thorne here just now?" she asked the girl. she was unpleasantly conscious that the men had gazed at her with some astonishment when she walked in, and it was clear that they had heard her inquiry, because several of them smiled. "quit talking, mavy. here's a lady asking for you," said one, and a man who had been surrounded by a laughing group moved toward her. she glanced at him apprehensively, for after her recent experience she was signally shy of seeking a favor from any of his kind. he was a tall man, bronzed and somewhat lean, as most of the inhabitants of the prairie seemed to be, and the state of his attire was not calculated to impress a stranger in his favor. his long boots were caked with mire and the fur was coming off the battered cap he held in one hand; his blue duck trousers were rent at one knee and a very old jacket hung over his coarse blue shirt. still, his face was reassuring and he had whimsical brown eyes. "mr. thorne?" she said. the man made her a respectful inclination, which was not what she had expected. "at your command," he replied. she stood silent a moment or two, hesitating, and he watched her unobtrusively. he saw a jaded girl in a badly creased and somewhat shabby dress who nevertheless had an air of refinement about her which he immediately recognized. her face was delicately pretty and cleanly cut, though it was weary and a little anxious then, and she had fine hazel eyes. still, the red-lipped mouth was somehow determined and there was a hint of decision of character in the way she looked at him from under straight-drawn brows. her hair, as much as he could see of it, was neither brown nor golden, but of a shade between, and he decided that the contrast between the warm color in her cheeks and the creamy whiteness of the rest of her face was a little more marked than usual, as indeed it was, for alison was troubled with a very natural embarrassment just then. "i want to go to graham's bluff," she said. "the man at the station told me that you were driving there." he did not answer immediately, and she awaited his reply in tense anxiety. it was evident that she could not stay where she was, even if she had been possessed of the means to pay for such rude accommodation as the place provided, which was not the case. in the meanwhile it occurred to the man that she looked very forlorn in the big, bare room, and something in her expression appealed to him. he was, as it happened, a compassionate person. "well," he replied, "i could take you, though as i've a round to make it will be quite a long drive. i had thought of starting this afternoon, but we had perhaps better get off in the next hour or so." he turned to the girl who was gathering up the plates. "won't you try to get this lady some breakfast, kristine?" the girl said that she would see what she could do, but alison was not aware until afterward that it was only due to the fact that the man was a favorite in the place that food was presently set before her. the average westerner gets through his breakfast in about ten minutes; and as a rule the traveler who arrives at a prairie hotel a few minutes after a meal is over must wait with what patience he can command until the next is ready. in any case, alison was astonished when porridge and maple syrup, a thin hard steak and a great bowl of potatoes, besides strong green tea and a dish of desiccated apricots stewed down to pulp, were laid in front of her. it was most unlike an english breakfast, but she was to learn that there is very little difference between any of the three daily meals served in that country. its inhabitants, who rise for the most part at sunup, do not require to be tempted by dainties, which is fortunate, since they could not by any means obtain them, and in a land where the liquor prohibition laws are generally applied and men work twelve and fourteen hours daily, morning appetizers are quite unnecessary. in the meanwhile thorne and his companions had disappeared, for which alison was thankful, though they left an acrid reek of tobacco smoke behind them; but when kristine presently demanded fifty cents she realized with a fresh pang of anxiety that she had now just a dollar and a half in her possession, and she scarcely dared contemplate what might happen if florence hunter should not be disposed to welcome her. besides this, there was the unpleasant possibility that the man might expect more than she could pay him for driving her to graham's bluff, and it was with some misgivings that she rose when he appeared an hour later to intimate that the team was ready. going out with him she saw two rough-coated horses apparently endeavoring to kick in the front of a high, four-wheeled vehicle, until they desisted and backed it violently into the side of the hotel. there are various rigs, as they term them--buckboards, sulkies and the humble bob-sleds--in use in that country, but the favorite one is the narrow, general-purpose wagon mounted on tall slender wheels, which will carry a moderate load though light enough to go reasonably fast. thorne helped alison up, and as he swung himself into the vehicle several loungers hurled laughing questions at him. "aren't you going to trade that man the gramophone? you'd get him sure in half an hour," called one. "webster wants a tonic that will fix his wooden leg," cried another; and a third suggested that a chinaman in the vicinity was open to purchase some hair-restorer. alison did not know then that, probably because he wears only one tail of it, a chinaman's hair usually grows without the least assistance three feet long. thorne smiled at them and then, calling to kristine, who was standing near the door, he leaned down and handed her a bottle which he took from an open case. "i guess you haven't much use for anything of this kind, but that elixir will make your cheeks bloom like peaches if you rub it in," he informed her. "i sold some round stanbury down the line not long ago and there wasn't an unmarried girl near the place when i next came along." "there was only two before, and one of them was cross-eyed," said a grinning man. thorne, without answering this, told alison to hold fast and flicked the horses with the whip. they plunged forward at a mad gallop, scattering clods of half-dried mud, and the wagon bounced violently into and out of the ruts. it seemed to leap into the air when the wheels struck the rails as they crossed the track, and then thorne's arms grew rigid and there was a further kicking and plunging as he pulled the team up outside the little station shed. a man who appeared from within condescended to hand alison's light trunk up, which she did not know then was a very great favor, and in another moment or two they were flying out across the white waste of prairie. it ran dead level, like a frozen sea, to where it met the crystalline blueness that hung over it, for the grasses which had lain for months in the grip of the iron frost shone in the sunlight a pale silvery gray. there was not a trail of smoke or a house on it, only here and there a formless blur that was in reality a bluff of straggling birches or a clump of willows, and, to complete the illusion, when alison looked around by and by, the houses had sunk down beneath the rim and only the bulk of the wheat elevators rose up like island crags against the sky. it was, however, warm at last, and a wonderful fresh breeze which had the quality of an elixir in it rippled the whitened grass. alison felt her heart grow lighter. the vast plain was certainly desolate, but it had lost its forbidding grimness. it had no limit or boundary; one felt free out there and cares and apprehensions melted in the sunshine that flooded it. she began to understand why she had seen no pinched and pallid faces in this new land. its inhabitants laughed whole-heartedly, looked one in the eyes, and walked with a quick, jaunty swing. they seemed alert, self-confident, optimistic and quaintly whimsical. it was hard to believe there was not some nook in it that she could fill. in the meanwhile she was becoming more reassured about her companion. she decided that his age was twenty-six and that he had a pleasant face. his eyes were clear and brown and steady, his nose and lips clearly cut, and there was a suggestive cleanness about his deeply bronzed skin which was the result of a simple and wholesome life led out in the wind and the sun. alison was puzzled, however, by something in both his manner and his voice that hinted at a careful upbringing and intelligence. it certainly was not in keeping with his clothes or his profession, which was apparently that of a pedler. she had already noticed the nerve and coolness with which he controlled the half-broken team. "i'm afraid you started before you were quite ready," she said at length. the man laughed. "i might have planted a gramophone on to one of the boys and a few bottles of general-purpose specifics among the rest. they are"--his eyes twinkled humorously--"quite harmless. anyway, i've no doubt i can unload them on to somebody next time. so far, at least, i haven't any rivals in this neighborhood." "then you sell things?" "anything to anybody. if i haven't got what the buyer wants i promise to bring it next journey, or bewilder him with an oration until he gives me a dollar for something he has no possible use for. that, however, isn't a thing you can do very frequently, which is why some folks in my profession fail disastrously. they can't realize that if you sell a man what he doesn't want too often he's apt to turn out with a club on the next occasion." he paused and sighed whimsically. "if i hadn't been troubled with a conscience i could have been running a store by now. that is, it must be added, if i had wanted to." "you find a conscience handicaps you?" alison inquired, for she was half amused and half interested in him. "i'm afraid it does. for instance, i came across a man with a badly sprained wrist the other day and he offered me two dollars for anything that would cure it. now it would have been singularly easy to have affixed a different label to my unrivaled peach-bloom cosmetic and have supplied him with a sure-to-heal embrocation. as it was, i got my supper at his place and recommended cold-water bandages. there was another man i cured of a broken leg, and i resisted the temptation to brace him up with hair-restorer." "what remedy did you use for the broken leg?" "splints," said thorne dryly, "after i'd set it." "but isn't that a difficult thing? how did you know how to go about it?" "oh, i'd seen it done." "on the prairie?" "no," replied thorne, with a rather curious smile; "in an edinburgh hospital." something in his manner warned her that it might not be judicious to pursue her inquiries any further, though she was, without exactly knowing why, a little curious upon the point. it occurred to her that if he had been a patient in the hospital the injured man would in all probability not have been treated in his sight, while it seemed somewhat strange that he should now be peddling patent medicines in canada had he been qualifying for his diploma. he, however, said nothing more, and they drove on in silence for a while. chapter iii the camp in the bluff they stopped in a thin grove of birches at midday for a meal which thorne prepared, and it was late in the afternoon when alison, who ached with the jolting, asked if graham's bluff was very much farther. it struck her that the fact that she had not made the inquiry earlier said a good deal for her companion's conversational powers. "oh, yes," he answered casually, "it's most of thirty miles." alison started with dismay. "but--" she said and stopped, for it was evident that her misgivings could not very well be expressed. "we're not going through to-night," thorne explained. "the team have had about enough already, and there's a farmer ahead who'll take us in. if we reach the bluff by to-morrow afternoon it will be as much as one could expect." alison did not care to ask whether the farmer was married, though as there seemed to be singularly few women in the country she was afraid that it was scarcely probable. there was, however, no doubt that she must face the unusual and somewhat embarrassing situation. "i had no idea it was a two days' drive," she said. "it's possible to get through in the same day if you start early," thorne replied. "i've a call to make, however, which is taking me a good many miles off the direct trail. anyway, if you hadn't come with me you would have had to wait a week at the hotel." "do you know mrs. hunter?" "well," answered thorne with a certain dryness, "we are certainly acquainted. when you use the other term in england it to some extent implies that you could be regarded as a friend of the person mentioned." "i wonder whether you like her?" alison was conscious that the speech was not a very judicious one. thorne's eyes twinkled in a way that she had noticed already. "i must confess that i liked her better when she first came to canada. she hadn't begun to remodel arrangements at her husband's homestead then. hunter, i understand, came into some money shortly before he married her, and--" he paused with a little laugh--"most of my friends are poor." this was not very definite, but it tended to confirm the misgivings concerning her reception which already troubled alison. she noticed the tact with which the man had refrained from making any inquiries as to her business with mrs. hunter. indeed, he said nothing for the next half-hour, and then, as they reached the crest of a low rise, he pointed to a cluster of what seemed to be ridiculously small buildings on the wide plain below. "that's as far as we'll go to-night," he said. the buildings rapidly grew into clearer shape, until alison recognized that one was a diminutive frame house which looked as though it had been made for dolls to live in. it rose abruptly from the prairie, without sheltering tree or fence or garden; but near it there was a pile of straw and two shapeless structures, which seemed to be composed of soil or sods. behind them the vast sweep of silvery gray grass was broken by a narrow strip of ochre-tinted stubble. presently they reached the lonely homestead and a neatly dressed woman with hard, red hands and a worn face appeared in the doorway when thorne helped alison down. the girl felt sincerely pleased to see her. "i've no doubt you'll take my companion, who's going on toward the bluff to-morrow, in for the night and let me camp in the barn," said thorne. "is tom anywhere around? i want to see him about a horse he talked of selling." the woman said that he had gone off to borrow a team of oxen and would not be back until the next day, and then she led alison into a little roughly match-boarded room with an uncovered floor and very little furniture except the big stove in the middle of it. a child was toddling about the floor and another, a very little girl, lay with a flushed face in a canvas chair. the woman asked alison no questions, but set about getting supper ready, and after a while thorne, who had apparently been putting up the team, came in. as he did so the child in the chair held out her hands to him. "candies, mavy," she cried. "got some candies for me?" thorne picked her up and sat down with her on his knee, and taking a parcel out of his pocket he unwrapped and handed some of its contents to her. while she munched the sweetmeats he glanced at her mother interrogatively. "yes," declared the woman, "i'm right glad you came. she's been like this three or four days. i don't know what to do with her, or what's the matter." thorne looked down at the child before he turned toward his hostess. "well," he said, "i have at least a notion. a little feverish, for one thing." he asked a question or two, and then held the child out to her mother. "will you take her while i get a draught mixed? i'm not sure that she'll sit down again in her chair." the child bore this out, for she would neither sit alone nor go to her mother. "if mavy goes out i sure go along with him," she persisted. the man got rid of her with some difficulty and, going out to where his wagon stood, he came back with a little brass-strapped box in his hand. he asked for some water and disappeared into an adjoining room, out of which there presently rose the clink of glass and a slight rattling. then he called the woman, who gave the child to alison, and when she came back somewhat relieved in face she laid out the supper. it much resembled the breakfast alison had made at the hotel, only that strips of untempting salt pork were substituted for the hard steak. an hour or two later she was given a very rude bunk filled with straw and a couple of blankets in an unoccupied room, and being tired out, she slept soundly. lying still when she awakened early the next morning she heard the woman moving about the adjoining room until the outer door opened and a man whose voice she recognized as thorne's came in. "i'll go through and look at the kiddie, if i may," he said. alison heard him cross the room, and when he came back his hostess evidently walked toward the outer door of the house with him. "you'll have to be careful of her for a few days, but if you give her the stuff i left as i told you, she'll cause you no trouble then," he said. "i'm sorry i didn't see tom, but we'll have to get on after breakfast." "what am i to give you for the medicine?" the woman asked. alison, who listened unabashed, heard thorne's laugh. "breakfast," he answered; "that will put us square. i've been selling gramophones and little mirrors by the dozen right along the line, and when i've struck a streak of that kind i don't rob my friends." though she did not know exactly why, alison had expected such an answer, and she remembered with a curious feeling that he had said his friends were poor. she heard the woman thank him, and then a flush crept into her face, for she certainly had not expected the next question. "are you going to quit the peddling and take up a quarter-section with the girl?" "no," laughed thorne; "i don't know where you got that idea." "she's your kind," replied his hostess, and this appeared significant to alison. "i've seen folks like her back in montreal." "it's quite likely," said thorne. "she's going to mrs. hunter." "mrs. hunter? why didn't they send for her? what's her name?" "i haven't a notion. she walked into brown's hotel yesterday looking played out and anxious, and said somebody had told her i was going to the bluff. as i felt sorry for her i started at once." "well," responded the woman, "i guess you couldn't help it. it's just the kind of thing you would do." thorne apparently went out after this and alison lay still for a time while her hostess clattered about the room. she was troubled by what she had heard, for although she recognized that she had need of it, there was something unpleasant in the fact that she was indebted to this stranger's charity. he had confessed that he was sorry for her. rising a little later she breakfasted with the others, and then, when thorne went out to harness his team, she diffidently asked the woman what she owed her. "nothing," was the uncompromising reply. "but--" alison began, and the woman checked her. "we're not running a hotel. you can stop right now." alison realized that expostulation would be useless, and this, as a matter of fact, was in one respect a relief to her, for just then there were but two silver coins in her possession. a few minutes later thorne helped her into the wagon and they drove away. the prairie was flooded with sunlight, and it was no longer monotonously level. it stretched away before her in long, billowy rises, which dipped again to vast shallow hollows when the team plodded over the crest of them, and here and there little specks of flowers peeped out among the whitened grass or there was a faint sprinkling of tender green. the air was cool yet, and exhilarating as wine. alison, refreshed by her sound sleep, rejoiced in it, and it was some time before she spoke to her companion. "i felt slightly embarrassed," she said. "that woman would let me pay nothing for my entertainment. she can't have very much, either." "she hasn't," replied thorne. "her husband had his crop hailed out last fall. still, you see, that kind of thing is a custom of the country. they're a hospitable people, and, in a general way, when you are in need of a kindness, you're most likely to get it from people who are as hard up as you are." he paused with a whimsical smile. "one can't logically feel hurt at the other kind for standing aside or shutting their eyes, but when they proceed to point out that if you had only emulated their virtues you would be equally prosperous, it becomes exasperating, especially as it isn't true. so far as my observation goes, it isn't the practice of the stricter virtues that leads to riches." "why didn't you say your experience?" alison inquired. "it's the usual word." "it would suggest that i had tried the thing, and i'm afraid that i've only watched other people. to get knowledge that way is considerably easier. but i presume i was taking too much for granted in supposing that you had--any reason for agreeing with my previous observation." alison felt that this was a question delicately put, so that if it pleased her she could avoid a definite reply. she did not in the least resent it, and something urged her to take this stranger into her confidence. "if you mean that i don't know what it is to be poor you are wrong," she confessed. "at the present moment i'm unpleasantly close to the end of my resources." "but you said that you were going to mrs. hunter's." "i don't know whether she will take me in. i shouldn't be astonished if she didn't." the man saw the warmth in her face and looked at her thoughtfully. "well," he said, "you have courage, and that goes quite a way out here. i don't think you need be unduly anxious, in any case." he flicked the team with his whip and by and by they reached a straggling birch bluff on the crest of a steeper slope. a rutted trail led between the trees, and as the team moved a little faster down the dip the wagon jolted sharply. then one of the beasts stumbled, plunged, and recovered itself again, and thorne, seizing alison's arm as she was almost flung from her seat, pulled them up and swung himself down. looking over the side she saw him stoop and lift one of the horse's feet. it was a few minutes before he came back again. "a badger hole," he explained. "volador fell into it. an accident of that kind makes trouble now and then." he drove slowly for the next few miles, but, so far as alison noticed, the horse showed no sign of injury, and it was midday when they stopped for a meal beside a creek which wound through a deep hollow. on setting out again, however, the horse began to flag and thorne, who got down once or twice in the meanwhile, was driving at a walking pace when they reached a birch bluff larger than the last one. he pulled the team up and springing to the ground looked at alison a few minutes later. "volador's going very lame," he said. "it would be cruelty to drive him much farther." alison was conscious of a shock of dismay. sitting in the wagon on the crest of the rise she could look down across the birches upon a vast sweep of prairie, and there was no sign of a house anywhere on it. it almost seemed as if she must spend the night in the bluff. "what is to be done?" she asked. "can you ride?" alison said she had never tried, and the man's expression hinted that the expedient he had suggested was out of the question. "do you think you could walk sixteen miles?" he asked. "i'm afraid i couldn't," alison confessed, though if the feat had appeared within her powers she would gladly have attempted it. "then you'll have to camp here in the wagon, though i can fix it up quite comfortably." he held up his hand. "you may as well get down, and we'll set about making supper." she was glad that he spoke without any sign of diffidence or hesitation, which would have suggested that he expected her to be embarrassed by the situation, though this was undoubtedly the case. it seemed to her that his manner implied the possession of a certain amount of tact and delicacy. for all that, she looked out across the prairie with her face turned away from him when she reached the ground. "now," he said presently, handing down a big box, "if you will open that and fill the kettle at the creek down there among the trees, i'll bring some branches to make a fire." she moved away with the kettle, and when she came back the horses had disappeared and she could hear the thud of her companion's ax some distance away in the bush. when he reappeared with an armful of dry branches she had laid out a frying-pan, an enameled plate or two, a bag of flour, a big piece of bacon, which, however, seemed to be termed pork in that country, and a paper package of desiccated apples. she was looking at them somewhat helplessly, for she knew very little about cooking. thorne made a fire between two birches which he hewed down for the purpose, and laid several strips of pork in the frying-pan, which she heard him call a spider. these he presently emptied out on to a plate laid near the fire, after which he poured some water into a basin partly filled with flour. "flapjacks are the usual standby in camp," he informed her. "if i'd known we would be held up here i'd have soaked those apples. do you mind sprinkling this flour with a pinch or two of the yeast-powder in yonder tin, though it's a thing a sour-dough would never come down to." "a sour-dough?" inquired alison, doing as he requested. "an old-timer," explained thorne, who splashed himself rather freely as he proceeded to beat up the flour and water. "sour-dough has much the same significance as unleavened bread, only that our pioneers kept on eating it more or less regularly in the land of promise. for all that, i wouldn't wish for better bread than the kind still made with a preparation of sour potatoes and boiled-down hops stirred in with the flour. in this operation, however, the great thing is to whip fast enough." he splashed another white smear upon his jacket, and rubbed it with his hand before he poured some of the mixture into the hot spider, out of which he presently shook what appeared to be a very light pancake. three or four more followed in quick succession, and then he poured water on to the green tea and handed alison a plate containing two flapjacks and some pork. she found them palatable. even the desiccated apples, which from want of soaking were somewhat leathery, did not come amiss, and the flavor of the wood smoke failed to spoil the strong green tea. then thorne poured a little hot water over the plates, and as there was no vessel that would hold them, she overruled his objections when she volunteered to go down and wash them thoroughly in the creek. when she came back she found that he had made up a clear fire and spread out a blanket as a seat for her. "you are satisfied now?" he asked. alison smiled. she was astonished to find herself so much at ease with him. "yes," she answered; "i felt that i could at least wash the plates. in a way, it wasn't altogether my fault that i could do nothing else. you see, i was never taught to cook." "isn't that rather a pity?" thorne suggested. "it's more," said alison with what was in her case unusual warmth. "it's an injustice. still, there are thousands of us brought up in that way yonder, and when some unexpected thing brings disaster we are left to wonder what use we are to anybody. i suppose," she added, "the answer must be--none." thorne expressed no opinion on this point, but presently took out his pipe. "you won't mind?" he asked. "i suppose they taught you something?" "yes," answered alison; "accomplishments. i can play and sing indifferently, and paint simple landscapes if there are no figures in them--because figures imply serious study. i can follow a french conversation if they don't speak fast, and read italian with a dictionary. before any of these things will bring a girl in sixpence she must do them excellently, and they seem very unlikely to be of the least service in this part of canada." she was angry with herself for the outbreak as soon as she had spoken, as it seemed absurd that she should supply a stranger with these personal details; but the longing to utter some protest against the half-education which had been merely a handicap during the last three bitter years was too much for her. thorne, however, made a sign of sympathetic comprehension. "yes," he assented, "that kind of thing's rather a pity. did you never learn anything--practical?" "shorthand," replied alison. "i can generally, though not always, read what i've written, if it hasn't exceeded about eighty words a minute. then i can type about two-thirds as fast as one really ought to, and can keep simple accounts so long as neatness is not insisted on. i naturally had to learn all this after i left home. it seems to me that to bring up english girls in such a way is downright cruelty." thorne laughed. "it's not remarkably different in our case. there's a man in a town not far along the line who used to shine at the oxford union and is now uncommonly glad to earn a few dollars by his talents as an auctioneer; that's how they estimate oratory on the prairie. there's another who devoted most of his time at cambridge to physical culture, and as the result of it he gets pretty steady employment on the railroad track as a ballast shoveler." then he changed his tone. "have you any idea as to what you will do if you don't stay with mrs. hunter?" "no," confessed alison, somewhat ruefully. "well," said thorne, "as i believe i mentioned, i don't think you need worry about the matter. it's very probable that some of the small wheat-growers' wives would be glad to have you." "but i can't even sew decently." the man's eyes twinkled. "in a general way, they're too busy to be fastidious." there was silence for a little after this and alison cast one or two swift unobtrusive glances at her companion, who lay smoking opposite her on the other side of the fire. the sun now hung low above the great white waste and the red light streamed in upon them both between the leafless birches. again she decided that he had a pleasant face and, what was more, in spite of his attire, his whole personality seemed to suggest a clean and wholesome virility. she had seen that he could be gentle, in the sick child's case, and she suspected that he could be generous, but there was something about him that also hinted at force. then she remembered some of the men with whom she had been brought into unpleasant contact in the cities--many who bore the unmistakable mark of the beast, the cheap swagger of others, and the inane attempts at gallantries which some of the rest indulged in. they were not all like that, she realized; there were true men everywhere; but now that her first shrinking from the grim and lonely land was lessening it seemed to her that it had, in some respects at least, a more bracing influence on those who lived in it than that other still very dear one on which she had turned her back. then she realized that she was, after all, appraising its inhabitants by a single specimen. she had yet to learn that they are now and then a little too aggressively proud of themselves in western canada, though it must be said that the boaster is usually ready to pour out the sweat of tensest effort with ax and saw or ox-team to prove his vaunting warranted. after a while the sun dipped and it grew chilly as dusk crept up from the hazy east across the leagues of grass. thorne brought her another blanket to lay over her shoulders, and lying down again relighted his pipe. there was not a breath of wind, and though she could hear the knee-hobbled horses moving every now and then the silence became impressive. she felt impelled to break it presently, for it seemed to her that casual conversation would lessen the probability of the somewhat unusual situation having too marked an effect on either of them. "how is it that you have so many provisions in your wagon?" she asked. thorne laughed. "i live in it all summer." "and you drive about selling things? is it very remunerative?" "no," admitted thorne dryly; "i can't say that it is; but, you see, i like it. i'm afraid that i've a rooted objection to staying in one place very long, and while i can get a meal and the few things i need by selling an odd bottle of cosmetic, a gramophone, or a mirror, i'm content." he made a humorous gesture. "that's the kind of man i am." then he stood up. "it's getting rather late and you'll find the wagon fixed up ready. if you hear a doleful howling you needn't be alarmed. it will only be the coyotes." he disappeared into the shadows and alison turned away toward the wagon. chapter iv the farquhar homestead when she reached the wagon alison found it covered by a heavy waterproof sheet which was stretched across a pole. loose hay had been strewn between a row of wooden cases and one side of the vehicle and the space beneath the sheeted roof was filled with a faint aromatic odor, which she afterward learned was the smell of the wild peppermint that grows in the prairie grass. when she had spread one blanket on the hay the couch felt seductively soft, and she sank into it contentedly. tired as she was, however, she did not go to sleep immediately, for it was the first night she had ever spent in the open, and for a time the strangeness of her surroundings reacted on her. the front of the tent was open, and resting on one elbow she could see the sinking fires still burning red among the leafless trees, and the pale wisps of smoke that drifted among their spectral stems. at the foot of the slope there was a wan gleam of water and beyond that in turn the prairie rolled away, vast and dim and shadowy, with a silver half-moon hanging low above its eastern rim. to one who had lived in the cities, as she had done, the silence was at first so deep as to be almost overwhelming, but by degrees she became conscious that it was broken by tiny sounds. there was a very faint, elfin tinkle of running water, a whispering of grasses that bent to the little cold breeze which had just sprung up, and the softest, caressing rustle of the lace-like birch twigs. then, as the moon rose higher the vast sweep of wilderness and sky gathered depth of color and became a wonderful nocturne in blue and silver. in the meanwhile a pleasant warmth was creeping through her wearied body and she began to wonder with a sense of compunction how many blankets thorne possessed, and where he was. it was at least certain that he was nowhere near the fire, for she had carefully satisfied herself on that point. then a wild, drawn-out howl drifted up to her across the faintly gleaming prairie and she started and held her breath, until she remembered that thorne had said there was no reason why she should be alarmed if she heard a coyote. he was, she felt, a man one could believe. the beast did not howl again, but she continued to think of her companion as her eyes grew heavy. there was no doubt that he had a pleasant voice and a handsome face. then her eyes closed altogether and her yielding elbow slipped down among the hay. the sun was where the moon had been when she opened her eyes again. climbing down from the wagon she saw no sign of thorne. a bucket filled with very cold water, however, stood beneath a tree, where she did not remember having noticed it on the previous evening, and a towel hung close by. a few minutes later she took down the towel and glanced at it dubiously. it was by no means overclean and she wondered with misgivings what the man did with it. it seemed within the bounds of possibility that he dried the plates on it and, what was worse, that he might do so again. in the meanwhile, however, the hair on her forehead was dripping and the water was trickling down her neck, so she shut her eyes tight and applied the towel, after which she concealed it carefully in the wagon. a quarter of an hour later thorne appeared and she was relieved upon one point at least. whether he had slept with blankets or without them, he did not look cold, and his appearance indeed suggested that he had been in the neighboring creek. she was astonished to notice that he had brushed himself carefully and had sewed up the rent in the knee of his overalls. clothes-brushes, she correctly supposed, were scarce on the canadian prairie, but it seemed probable that he would require a brush of some kind to clean his horses. "if you wouldn't mind laying out breakfast i'll make a fire and catch the team," he said. "it's a glorious morning; but once the winter's over we have a good many of them here." "yes," assented alison; "everything is so delightfully fresh." his eyes rested on her for a moment and she was unpleasantly conscious that her dress was badly creased and crumpled as well as shabby; but he did not seem to notice this. "that," he said, "is what struck me a minute or two ago." he busied himself about the fire, and when he strode away through the bluff in search of the horses she heard him singing softly to himself. she recognized the aria, and wondered a little, for it was not one that could be considered as popular music. they had breakfast when he came back and both laughed when she prepared the flapjacks under his direction. she felt no restraint in this stranger's company. indeed, she was conscious of a pleasant sense of camaraderie, which seemed the best name for it, though she had hired him to drive her to mrs. hunter's and was very uncertain as to whether she could pay him. he harnessed the team when the meal was over and explained that although volador was still lame they might contrive to reach graham's bluff at sundown by proceeding by easy stages, and alison tactfully led him on to talk about himself as they drove away. though there were one or two points on which he was reserved, he displayed very little diffidence, which, however, is a quality not often met with among the inhabitants of western canada. "well," he said with an air of whimsical reflection in answer to one question, "i suppose my chief complaint is an excess of individuality. they beat it out of you with clubs in england, unless you're rich--really rich--when you can, of course, do anything. on the other hand, the man who is merely stodgily prosperous is hampered by more rules than anybody else. this is, i must explain, another notion i've arrived at by observation and not from experience." "one supposes that a certain amount of uniformity and subordination is necessary to progress," commented alison. "oh, yes," agreed thorne; "that's the trouble. progress marches with massed battalions and makes so much dust that it's not always able to see where it's going. perhaps it's that or the bewildering change of leaders that renders so much countermarching unavoidable." "then you prefer to act with the vedettes and skirmishers?" "no," said thorne; "not that exactly. some of us are more like the camp-followers. we collect our toll on the booty and when that's too difficult we live on the country. after all, mine's an ancient if not a very respectable calling. there were always pilgrims, minstrels and pedlers." "it can't be a luxurious life." thorne looked amused. "are you quite sure you didn't mean a useful one?" alison felt uncomfortable, because this idea had been in her mind. "i'll answer the question, anyway," continued thorne. "these people and those in the wheat-growing lands across the frontier work twelve and fourteen hours every day. it's always the same unceasing toil with them--they have no diversions. we go round and carry the news from place to place, tell them the latest stories, and now and then sing to them. we don't tax them too much either--a supper when they're poor--a dollar for a mirror or a bottle of elixir, which it must be confessed most of them have no possible use for." "did you never do anything else?" alison inquired; "that is, in canada?" "oh, yes," replied her companion. "i was clerk in an implement store which i walked out of at its proprietor's request after an attack of injudicious candor. you see, a rather big farmer came in one day and spent most of the morning examining our seeders and pointing out their defects. then he inquired why we had the assurance to demand so much for our implement when he could buy a very much better one several dollars cheaper. i asked him if he was sure of that, and when he said he was i suggested that it would be considerably wiser to go right away and buy it instead of wasting his time and mine. the proprietor desired to know how we expected him to make a living if we talked to customers like that, and i pointed out that we couldn't do so anyway by answering insane questions." alison laughed delightedly. she felt that this was not mere rodomontade, but that the man was perfectly capable of doing as he had said. "had you any more experiences of the same kind?" she asked. "i was shortly afterward projected out of a wheat broker's office." "projected?" thorne grinned. "i believe that describes it. you see, they were three to one; but i took part of the office fittings along with me. i must own that i lost my temper and insulted them." "but why did you do so?" "well," answered thorne reflectively, "i like the colonial, and especially the westerner, though he's rather fond of insisting on his superiority over the rest of mankind. one gets used to this, but it now and then grows galling when he compares himself with the folks who come out from the old country. on the day in question the trouble arose from a repetition of the usual formula that if it wasn't for the ocean they'd have the whole scum of europe coming over. i, however, shook hands with the man who said it not long afterward, and he told me that after i had gone, which was how he expressed it, they sat down and laughed until they ached, thinking what the wheat broker, who was out on business, would say when he saw his office." alison was genuinely amused and she ventured another question. "did you leave your situations in england in the same fashion?" the man's face darkened for a moment. "as it happened, i hadn't any." alison turned the conversation into what promised to be a safer channel, and they drove along very slowly all morning. when they set out again after a lengthy stop at noon thorne asked her if she would mind walking for a while, as volador was becoming very lame. he added that he would make for an outlying homestead, where they would find entertainment, instead of graham's bluff, and that they should reach mrs. hunter's on the following day. it was six o'clock in the evening when they arrived at a frame house which stood, roofed with cedar shingles, in the shelter of a big birch bluff. there was a very rude sod-built stable, a small log barn, and a great pile of straw, which appeared to be hollow inside and used as a store of some kind. a middle-aged man with a good-humored look met them at the door, and his wife greeted alison in a kindly fashion when thorne explained the cause of their visit. indeed, alison was pleased with the woman's face and manner, though, like many of the small wheat-growers' wives, she looked a little worn and faded. though the men toil strenuously on the newly broken prairie, the heavier burden not infrequently falls to the woman's share. farquhar, their host, went out to work after supper but came back a little before dusk, and when they sat out on the stoop together, thorne got his banjo and sang twice at mrs. farquhar's request; once some amusing jingle he had heard in winnipeg, and afterward "mandalay." the song was not new to alison, but she fancied that she had never heard it rendered as maverick thorne sang it then. it was not his voice, though that was a fine one, but the knowledge that had given him power of expression, which held her tense and still. this man knew and had indulged in and probably suffered for the longing for something that was strange and different from all that his experience had touched before. he was one of the free-lances who could not sit snugly at home; and in her heart alison sympathized with him. she had never seen the glowing, sensuous east and south, but the new west lay open before her in all its clean, pristine virility. a vast sweep of sky that was duskily purple eastward stretched overhead, a wonderful crystalline bluish green, until it changed far off on the grassland's rim to a streak of smoky red. under it the prairie rolled back like a great silent sea. there was something that set the blood stirring in the dew-chilled air, and the faint smell of the wood smoke and the calling of the wild fowl on a distant sloo intensified the sense of the new and unfamiliar. one could be free in that wide land, she felt; and as she thought of the customs, castes, and conventions to which one must submit at home, she wondered whether they were needed guides and guards or mere cramping fetters. they seemed to have none of them in western canada. she said "thank you!" when thorne laid down his banjo, and felt that the spoken word had its limits, though she was careful not to look at him directly just then, and soon afterward she retired. this house was larger and much better furnished than the one she had last slept in, though she supposed that it would have looked singularly comfortless and almost empty in england. there was, for one thing, neither a curtain at a window nor a carpet on the floor. when she joined the others at breakfast the next morning her host informed thorne that if they could wait until noon he could lend him a horse to replace the lame volador. he had, he explained, sent his hired man off with a team on the previous day for a plow which was being repaired by a smith who lived at a distance, and he had some work for the second pair that morning. the men went out together when breakfast was over, and mrs. farquhar sat down opposite alison after she had cleared the table. "thorne tells me you are going to mrs. hunter's, though you don't know yet whether you will stay with her or not," she said. it occurred to alison that this was a tactful way of expressing it, though she was not sure that the delicacy was altogether thorne's, for she had no doubt that her hostess had once been accustomed to a much smoother life in the canadian cities. "no," she replied, "i really can't tell until i get there." "then, in case you don't decide to stay, we should be glad to have you here." alison was astonished, but in spite of her usual outward calm there was a vein of impulsiveness in her, and she leaned forward in her chair. "i don't suppose you know that i am quite useless at any kind of housework," she said. "i can't wash things, i can't cook, and i can scarcely sew." mrs. farquhar smiled. "when i first came out here from toronto it was much the same with me, and there was nobody to teach me. it's fortunate that men are not very fastidious in this part of canada. in any case i had, perhaps, better mention that while i would be glad to pay you at the usual rate and you would be required to help, you would live with us as one of the family. i want a companion. with my husband at work from sunup until dark, it's often lonely here. besides, the arrangement would give you an opportunity for learning a little and finding out how you like the country." alison thought hard for a few moments. what she was offered was a situation as a servant, but she decided that it would be more pleasant here than she supposed it must generally be in england. she felt inclined to like this woman, and her husband's manner was reassuring. there was no doubt that they would treat her well. "i'm afraid that in a little while you would be sorry you had suggested it," she said. "the question is, would you like to try?" "i'm quite sure of that," declared alison impulsively. "i don't suppose you know what it is to be offered a resting-place when you arrive, feeling very friendless and forlorn, in a new country." mrs. farquhar smiled. "then if you don't care to stay with mrs. hunter you must come straight back here. it would, perhaps, be better if you went to her in the first instance." "but don't you want any references?" "i don't think i do. in this case, your face is sufficient, and from experience we don't attach any great importance to vouchers of the other kind. harry sometimes says that when a man is found to be insufferable in the old country they give him a walletful of letters of introduction, crediting him with all the virtues, and send him out to us. besides, even if you were really quite dreadful, your friends wouldn't go back on you when i wrote to them." alison laughed, and as the hired man appeared at noon with farquhar's team she drove away with thorne soon after dinner. when they had left the house behind she turned to him. "you have been talking about me to mrs. farquhar," she said. "yes," admitted thorne with a smile, "i must confess that i have. is there any reason why you should be angry?" "i'm not," alison informed him. "but why did you do it?" "i'm far from sure that you will like mrs. hunter. in fact, i'd be a little astonished if you did; and if you were a relative of mine i'd try to make you stay with mrs. farquhar." "i wonder whether that means that mrs. hunter doesn't like you?" thorne laughed good-humoredly. "oh, i'm much too insignificant a person to count either way. mrs. hunter is what you might call _grande dame_." "have you any of them in western canada?" "well," answered thorne, with an air of whimsical reflection, "there are certainly not many, and in spite of it the country gets along pretty well. we have, however, quite a few women of excellent education and manners who don't seem to mind making their children's dresses and washing their husband's clothes. anyway, if she's at home, you can form your own opinion of florence hunter in an hour or two." "is she often away?" "not infrequently. every now and then she goes off to winnipeg, toronto, or montreal." "but what about her husband? can he leave his farm?" "hunter," thorne replied dryly, "invariably stays at home." his manner made it clear that he intended to say no more on that subject, and they talked about other matters while the wagon jolted on across the sunlit prairie. chapter v thorne gives advice it was early in the evening when they drove into sight of the hunter homestead, and as they approached it alison glanced about her with some curiosity. long rows of clods out of which rose a tangle of withered grass tussocks stretched across the foreground. thorne told her that this was the breaking, land won from the prairie too late for sowing in the previous year. farther on, they skirted another stretch of more friable and cleaner clods, shattered and mellowed by the frost, and then they came to a space of charred stubble. beyond that, a waste of yellow straw stood almost knee-high, and thorne said that as the latter had no value on the prairie it was generally burned off to clear the ground for the following crop. he added that wheat was usually grown on the same land for several years without any attempt at fertilization. alison, however, knew nothing of farming, and it was the house at which she gazed with most interest. it stood not far from a broad shallow lake with a thin birch bluff on one side of it, a commodious two-storied building with a wide veranda. it was apparently built of wood, but its severity of outline was relieved by gaily picked-out scroll-work and lattice shutters; and in front of the entrance somebody had attempted to make a garden. the stables and barns behind it were new frame buildings, and there were wire fences stretching back from these. after her experience of the last few days, alison had not expected to see anything like it in western canada. then she began to wonder whether florence hunter's life in the west had made much change in her. she recollected her as a pretty but rather pallid girl, with a manner a little too suggestive of self-confidence, and a look of calculating tenacity in her eyes. alison had continued to treat her as a friend after she had incurred the hostility of mrs. leigh, but she realized that it was chiefly florence's courage and resourcefulness that had impressed her, and not her other qualities. she had not seen florence's husband. a few minutes later thorne drove up to the front of the house, and alison saw a woman, who hitherto had been hidden by one of the pillars, lying in a canvas chair on the veranda with a book in her hand. the sunlight that streamed in upon her called up fiery gleams in her red hair and shimmered on her long dress of soft, filmy green. alison promptly decided that the latter had come from new york or montreal. there was no doubt that florence hunter's appearance was striking, though her expression even in repose seemed to indicate a dissatisfied, exacting temperament. at length she heard the rattle of wheels, for she rose. "alison, by all that's wonderful!" she cried. there was astonishment in the exclamation, but alison could not convince herself that there was any great pleasure, and it was with a certain sense of constraint that she permitted thorne to help her down. he walked with her up to the veranda, and acknowledged mrs. hunter's casual greeting by lifting his hat. "sit down," said the latter to alison, pointing to another chair. "where have you sprung from?" "from winnipeg. i came out to earn my living, and nobody seemed to want me there." florence laughed. "you earn your living! it's clear that something very extraordinary must have happened; but we'll talk of that after supper. so you decided to come to me?" it was, alison realized, merely a question and nothing more. "i'm afraid i was a little presumptuous," she replied. "there is, of course, no reason why you should have me." her companion looked at her with a curious smile. "you are still in the habit of saying things of that kind? i suppose it runs in the family." alison winced, for she remembered that her mother could on occasion be painfully rude. "you haven't said anything to convince me that i was wrong." "was it necessary?" florence asked languidly. "i was never very effusive, as you ought to know. of course, you'll stay here as long as it pleases you." the invitation was clear enough, but there was no warmth in it; and alison was relieved when a man came up the steps. he was rather short in stature, and there was nothing striking in his appearance. he had a quiet brown face and very brown hands, and he had evidently been working, for he wore long boots, a coarse blue shirt, and blue duck overalls. he shook hands with thorne cordially, and then turned toward alison. "my husband," said florence. "miss leigh, elcot; i used to know her in england. she has just arrived." alison noticed that hunter favored her with a glance of grave scrutiny, but he did not seem in the least astonished, nor did he glance at his wife. this indicated that he was in the habit of accepting without question anything that the latter did. then he held out his hand. "i'm very glad to see you, and we'll try to make you comfortable," he said with a smile which softened the girl's heart toward him. then he turned to his wife. "is supper ready? i want to haul in another load of wood before it's dark." "it should have been ready now. i don't know what they're doing inside," was the careless reply. it occurred to alison that her hostess might have gone to see, but she was half annoyed with thorne when she noticed his badly dissembled grin. then hunter inquired if she had had a comfortable journey. "not very," she answered. "you see, i traveled colonist." "how dreadful!" florence exclaimed. her husband smiled at alison. "it depends," he said. "it's good enough if you can wait until after the steamboat train. i used to travel that way myself once upon a time; i had to do it then." "elcot," his wife explained, "is one of the most economically minded men living. he grudges every dollar unless it's for new implements." hunter did not contradict her. he and thorne left the veranda, and soon after they returned from leading the team to the stable, a trim maid appeared to announce that supper was ready. hunter led alison into a big and very simply furnished room. a long table ran down one side, and half a dozen men attired much as hunter was took their places about the uncovered lower half of it. there was a cloth on the upper portion, with a gap of several feet between its margin and the nearest of the teamsters' seats. it occurred to alison, who had been told that the hired man generally ate with his employer on the prairie, that this compromise was rather pitiful, though she did not know that hunter had once or twice had words with his wife on the question. as the meal, which was bountiful, proceeded, he now and then spoke to the men; but florence confined her attention to alison, until at length she addressed thorne. "to what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you?" she inquired. "in the first place, i came to bring miss leigh; she hired me." thorne laid a very slight stress upon the hired. it seemed to indicate that he recognized his station in relation to a guest of the house, and alison felt a little uncomfortable. for one thing, though that did not quite account for her uneasiness, she remembered that she had not paid him. "then," he added, "i called in the usual course of business. i have for disposal a few tablets of very excellent english soap, a case of peach-bloom cosmetic, and one or two other requisites of the kind." alison regretted that she laughed, but she felt that florence's attitude toward the man had rendered the thrust admissible, and she saw a faint smile in hunter's eyes. her hostess, however, was equal to the occasion. "if they're not as rubbishy as usual, i'll buy a few things and give them to the maids. is that the whole of your stock?" "i've a box of new gramophone records." florence looked at her husband, and alison fancied that she had noticed and meant to punish him for his smile. "you'll buy them, elcot." "you haven't tried the other lot," hunter protested. "besides, the instrument seemed to have contracted bronchitis when i last had it out." "it will do to amuse the boys when the nights get dark," replied florence. then she turned to alison. "one could hardly get a dollar out of him with a lever." "doesn't it depend on the kind of lever you use?" alison asked. thorne grinned, but florence answered unhesitatingly. "oh, in the case of the average man it doesn't matter, so long as it's strong enough and you have a fulcrum. we'll admit that the type can be generous, but it's only when it throws a reflected luster on themselves. otherwise judicious pressure is necessary." "are you going to camp with us to-night?" hunter asked thorne. "no," answered the latter. "i have some business at the bluff, and i want to get off again early to-morrow." in a few more minutes the teamsters rose, and hunter, making excuses to alison, went out with them. florence looked after them, and then turned to the girl with a disdainful lifting of her brows. "cormorants," she commented. "they've been very slow to-night. eight minutes is about their usual limit. i don't think they even look at their food--it just goes down. i have once or twice suggested to elcot that he is wasting his money by giving them the things he does. it's difficult, though, to make him listen to reason." alison said nothing, and after a while florence rose. "we'll have a talk on the veranda while they clear away." she pointed to a chair when they reached the veranda, and then sank languidly into one close by. "tell me all about it," she said. it was not a pleasant task to alison, for it entailed the mention of her father's death and an account of the difficulties that had followed, but she spoke for a few minutes, and her companion casually expressed her sympathy. "i can understand why you came out," she added with a bitter laugh. "when i first met you i was earning just enough to keep me on the border line between respectability and--the other thing--that is by the exercise of the most unpleasant self-denial. what i should have done without the extra twelve pounds your mother's guild paid me for playing the piano twice a week at the working girls' club i don't like to think. that is why i made no complaint when they added to my duties the teaching of a class on another evening and the collecting of the subscriptions to the sewing society. your mother, i heard, informed the committee that in her opinion twelve pounds was a good deal too much, and i believe she added that such a rate of payment was apt to make a young woman of my class far too independent." alison's cheeks burned, for she knew that florence had been correctly informed; but she had no thought of mentioning that she had expostulated with her mother on the subject. "well," said florence, "it was not your fault, and i'm sorry for you. i suppose you had--difficulties--with some of your employers? no doubt one or two of them tried to make love to you?" alison made a little gesture of disgust. "oh," laughed florence, "i know. you probably flared out at the offender, and either got your work found fault with or lost your situation. i didn't. after all, a smile costs nothing, though it's a little difficult now and then. in my case, it led to shorter hours, higher wages, an occasional saturday afternoon trip to the country. i got what i could, and in due time it was generally easy to turn round upon and get rid of the provider. still, it was just a little humiliating with a certain type of man, and it was a relief when elcot took me out of it. i try to remember that i owe him that when he gets unusually wearisome, though one must do him the justice to admit that he never refers to it." alison sat silent, shrinking from her companion. she had faced a good many unpleasant things during the past few years, but they had wrought but little change in her nature. the part her hostess had played would have been a wholly hateful one to her. "where did you come across thorne?" florence asked. alison told her, and she looked thoughtful. "when was that? i supposed you had come straight from the station." "four days ago," answered alison unhesitatingly, though she would have much preferred not to mention it. "four days! and you have been driving round the country since then with thorne?" alison felt her face grow hot, but her answer was clear and sharp. "of course; i couldn't help it. we should have been here earlier, only a horse went lame. in any case, after what you have told me, i cannot see why you should adopt that tone." florence raised her brows. "my dear," she said, "i was a working woman of no account in england when i first met you--but things are rather different now. it doesn't exactly please me that a guest of mine should indulge in an escapade of this description. doesn't it strike you as hardly fitting?" hunter, who had come up the steps unobserved, stopped beside them just then. "rubbish!" he said curtly. "it was unavoidable. i've had a talk with leslie; he told me exactly what delayed him." florence waved her hand. "oh," she replied, "let it go at that. i couldn't resist the temptation of sticking a pin or two into alison. what has brought you back?" "we broke the wagon pole. it didn't seem worth while to put in a new one to-night." he moved away and left them, and alison turned to her companion. "did he mean mr. thorne by leslie?" "of course." "but isn't his name maverick?" "did you call him that?" "i can't remember, though i suppose i must have done so. some of the others certainly did." florence looked amused. "i suppose you haven't an idea what a maverick is?" alison said that she had none at all, and her companion proceeded to inform her. "it's a steer that won't feed and follow tamely with the herd, but goes off or gets wild and smashes things, and generally does what's least desirable. as you have spent some days with him you will no doubt understand why they have fixed the name on thorne." alison glanced at her with a sparkle in her eyes. "i can only say this. i have met a few men one could look up to--after all, there are good people in the world--but i haven't yet come across one who showed more tact and considerate thoughtfulness than maverick thorne." florence was evidently amused at this--indeed, to be sardonically amused at something seemed her favorite pose. "i shouldn't like to disturb that kind of optimism--and here he is; i'll leave you to talk to him. as it happens, elcot looks rather grumpy, and the mail-carrier has just brought out a sheaf of my bills from winnipeg which he hasn't seen yet." she sailed away with a rustle of elaborate draperies, and thorne sat down. "i'm going on to the bluff in half an hour," he informed her. alison was conscious of a certain hesitation, but there was something to be said. "how much do i owe you?" she asked. "half a dollar." alison flushed. "why didn't you say four or five dollars?" "since you evidently mean to insist on an answer, there are several reasons for my modesty. for one thing, you would have to borrow the money from mrs. hunter, which i don't think you would like to do. for another, if you were a canadian i'd say--nothing--but as you're not used to the country yet you wouldn't care to accept a favor from a stranger." "but it would be a favor in any case." "then you can get rid of the obligation by giving me half a dollar." the girl looked at him sharply as she laid the silver coin in his hand, but he met her gaze with a whimsical smile. "thank you," he said. "i suppose you are going back to mrs. farquhar?" "yes," replied alison impulsively. "i believe i am; but i may wait for a few days." "i think you're wise. you wouldn't find things very pleasant here." "why?" "if you'll permit me to mention it, you're too pretty." alison straightened herself suddenly in her chair. "you don't like mrs. hunter, but does that justify you in saying what you have? you can't mean that she would be--jealous?" "that's exactly what i do mean." he saw the angry color mantle in the face of the girl, and raised his hand in expostulation. "wait a little; i want to explain. first of all, she wouldn't have the slightest cause for jealousy. you're not the kind to give her one, and elcot hunter is one of the best and straightest men i know. in fact, that's partly what is troubling me." "why should it trouble you?" alison interrupted. thorne appeared to reflect, and, indignant with his presumption as she was, the girl admitted that he did it very well. "if you urge me for a precise answer, i'm afraid i'll have to confess that i don't quite know. anyway, because hunter is the sort of man i have described, he'd try to make things pleasant for you, and there's no doubt that his wife would resent it. whether she's fond of him at all, or not, i naturally can't say, but she expects him to be entirely at her beck and call, and i don't think she'd tolerate any little courtesies he might show you." alison sat silent for a moment or two when he stopped, looking at him with perplexed eyes, though she felt that he was right. "it's curious, isn't it?" she said at length. "florence must have had a very unpleasant time in england, where she had to practise the strictest self-denial. one would have thought it would have made her content and compassionate now that she has everything that she could wish for." "no," responded thorne, "in a way, it's natural. that kind of life often has the opposite effect. those who lead it have so much to put up with that if once they escape it makes them determined never even to contemplate doing the least thing they don't like again." "oh," declared alison impulsively, "i shouldn't care to think that." "well," said thorne, with unmoved gravity, "i don't know whether you have had as much to face as you say that she has, though one or two things seem to suggest it, but it certainly hasn't spoiled you." then he rose. "as i want to reach the bluff to-night, i'll get my team harnessed." alison watched him go down the steps with a somewhat perplexing sense of regret. she had met the man only four days ago, but she felt that she was parting from a friend. a few minutes later florence hunter called her into the house; and she stayed with her a week before she went to mrs. farquhar. she admitted that florence had given her no particular cause for leaving, but she at least made no objections when alison acquainted her with her decision. chapter vi thorne contemplates a change alison had spent a few days with mrs. farquhar without finding the least reason to regret the choice she had made, when one evening farquhar helped her and his wife into his wagon in front of the little hotel at graham's bluff, where he had passed the last half-hour in conversation with an implement dealer. when they had taken their places he drove cautiously down the wide, unpaved street, which was seamed with ruts. on either side of it, straggling and singularly unpicturesque frame houses, destitute of paint or any attempt at adornment, rose abruptly from the prairie, though here and there the usual plank sidewalk ran along the front of them. alison was convinced that she had rarely seen a more uninteresting place, though she had discovered that its inhabitants were not only quite satisfied with it, but firmly believed in its roseate future. this seemed somewhat curious, as a number of them had come there from the cities, but she did not know then that the optimistic assurance with which they were endued is common in the west, and that it is, as a rule, in due time justified. turning a corner, they came out into a wider space from which a riband of rutted trail led out into the wilderness. farquhar pulled up his team. close in front of them, a crowd had gathered about a wagon, and a man who stood upon a box in it seemed to be addressing the assembly. alison could not see his face, and his voice was, for the most part, drowned by bursts of laughter, but he was waving his hands to emphasize his remarks, and this and his general attitude reminded her of the itinerant auctioneers she had now and then seen in the market-place of an english provincial town, though the crowd and the surroundings were in this case very different. the prairie, which was dusty white, stretched back to the soft red glow of the far horizon, and overhead there was a wonderful blue transparency. the light was still sharp, and the figures of the men stood out with a curious distinctness. most of them were picturesque in wide, gray hats and long boots, with blue shirt and jacket hanging loose above the rather tight, dust-smeared trousers, though there were some who wore black hats and spruce store clothes. these, however, looked very much out of place. "thorne's pitching it to the boys in great style to-night," chuckled farquhar. "we'll get a little nearer; i like to hear him when he has a good head of steam up." he started the team, but alison was sensible of a slight shock of displeasure. she was aware that thorne sold things, because he had told her so, but she had never seen him actively engaged in his profession, and this kind of thing seemed extremely undignified. she had got rid of a good many prejudices during the past few years, and was, for that matter, in due time to discard some more; but it hurt her to see a friend of hers--and she admitted that she regarded him as such--playing the part of mountebank to amuse the inhabitants of a forlorn prairie town. farquhar drew up his team again presently. alison fancied that mrs. farquhar was watching her, and she fixed her eyes upon the crowd and thorne. his remarks were received with uproarious laughter, but she was quick to notice that there was nothing in what he said that any one could reasonably take exception to. presently there was an interruption, for a man in white shirt and store clothing pushed forward through the crowd, with another, who was big and lank and hard-faced, and wore old blue duck, following close behind him. "now," exclaimed farquhar expectantly, "we're going to have some fun. that's sergeant, the storekeeper, who sells drugs and things, and he's been on mavy's trail for quite a while. so far, mavy has generally talked him down, but to-night he's got a backer. custer has the reputation of being a bad man, and it's generally supposed that he owes sergeant a good deal of money." "hadn't we better drive on if there's likely to be any trouble?" suggested his wife. farquhar said that thorne would probably prove a match for his opponents without provoking actual hostilities, and added that they could go on later if it seemed advisable. alison laughed when a hoarse burst of merriment followed the orator's last sally. "it was really witty," she said. "in fact, it's all clever. i wonder how he learned to talk like that." mrs. farquhar smiled. "it's probably in the blood. i believe one of his close relatives is a bishop." "it doesn't quite follow," objected farquhar. "i heard one of them, an english one, in montreal, who wasn't a patch on mavy. anyway, if you want to hold the boys here you have to be clever." then a protesting voice broke in upon thorne's flowing periods. "boys," it said, "that man has played you for suckers 'bout long enough, and this kind of thing is rough on every decent storekeeper in the town. we're making the place grow; we're always willing to make a deal when you have anything to sell; and we're generally open to supply you with better goods than he keeps, at a lower figure." "in my case," thorne pointed out, "you get amusing tales and sound advice thrown in. you can at any time consult me about anything, from the best way to make your hair curl to the easiest means of getting rid of the mortgage man, which in most cases is to pay his bill." "i could tell 'way funnier tales than you do when i was asleep," interrupted the storekeeper's friend. thorne disregarded this. "i've nothing to urge against the storekeepers, boys. they're useful to the community--it's possible that they're more useful than i am--but it doesn't seem quite fitting to hold them up as deserving objects of your compassion. if you have any doubt on that point you have only to look at their clothes. i don't like to be personal, but since there are two men here from whom i don't expect very much delicacy, i feel inclined to wonder whether that is a brass watch and guard mr. sergeant is wearing." "no, sir," snapped the other, who was evidently too disturbed in temper to notice the simple trap, "it's english gold. cost me most of a hundred and twenty dollars in winnipeg." thorne waved his hand. "that's the point, boys. mine, which was made in connecticut, cost five. i think you can see the inference. if you don't, i should like you to ask him where he got the hundred and twenty dollars." there was applauding laughter, for the men were quite aware that they had furnished it, but thorne proceeded: "it's likely that i could buy things of that kind, and keep as smart a team as our friend does, if i struck you for the interest he charges on your held-over accounts." "that's quite right!" somebody cried. "they don't want no pity. they've got bonds on half our farms. guess the usual interest's blamed robbery." once more the storekeeper lifted up his voice. "you wouldn't call it that, if you'd ever tried to collect it. you stand out of your money until harvest's in, and then when you drive round the homestead's empty, and somebody's written on the door, 'sorry i couldn't pack the house off.'" this was followed by further laughter, for, as farquhar explained to alison, pack signifies the transporting of one's possessions, usually upon the owner's back, in most of western canada, and the notice thus implies that the defaulting farmer had judiciously removed himself and everything of value except his dwelling, before the arrival of his creditor. "you could shut down on the land, anyway," retorted one man. "could i?" sergeant inquired savagely. "when it's free-grant land, and the man hadn't broke enough to get his patent?" the crowd, encouraged by a word or two from thorne, seemed disposed to drift off into a disquisition on the homestead laws, but sergeant pulled them up. "we'll keep to the point," he said. "when you buy your drugs at my store you get just what you ask for with the maker's label stuck fast on it. maverick keeps loose ones, and if you ask him to cure your liver it's quite likely that he'll give you hair-restorer." farquhar chuckled. "i'm afraid there's some truth in that," he admitted. "still, it's to mavy's credit that when the case is serious he generally prescribes a visit to the nearest doctor." in the meanwhile the storekeeper had secured the attention of the assembly. "what i said, i'll prove!" he added vehemently. "get up and tell them how he played you, custer." his companion waved his hand. "i'll do that, in the first place, and when i've got through i'll do a little more. i went to maverick most two weeks ago when my stomach was sour, and he gives me a bottle for a dollar." "he's perfectly correct so far, except that he hasn't produced the dollar yet," thorne assented. "i should like to point out that i can cure the kind of sourness he said it was every time, but i can't do very much when the trouble's in the man's sour nature. you took that stuff i gave you the day you got it, custer?" "i did. i was powerful sick next morning." he turned to the crowd, speaking in a tragic voice. "boys, he'd run out of the cure i wanted and gave me the first bottle handy, with a wrong label on. i've no use for a man who doses you with stuff that makes your inside feel like it was growing wool." there were delighted cries at this, but custer appeared perfectly serious, and thorne looked down at him. "no," he drawled, "in your case it would grow bristles." the laugh was with him now, but it was a moment or two before custer, who was evidently slow of comprehension, quite grasped the nature of the compliment which had been paid him. the term hog is a particularly offensive one in that country. then he proceeded to clamber up into the wagon, and thorne addressed those among his listeners who stood nearest it. "hold on to him just a moment," he cried, and two men did as he directed. "i merely want to point out that our friend has supplied the explanation of the trouble--he said he was sick the next morning. well, as my internal cure is a powerful one, there are instructions on every bottle to take a tablespoonful every six hours, which would have carried him on for several days. it's clear that he felt better after one dose, which encouraged him to take the lot for the next one." "he has probably hit it," commented farquhar. "they do it now and then." "now," continued thorne to the men below, "you can let mr. custer go. if it's the only thing that will satisfy him, i'll get down." "you'll get down sure," bawled custer. "if you're not out when i'm ready, i'll pitch you." farquhar started his team. "i've no doubt sergeant had the thing fixed beforehand, but i'm inclined to fancy that custer will be sorry before he's through. anyway, we'll get on." he had driven only a few yards when his wife looked at him with a smile. "was it a very great self-denial, harry?" "since you ask the question, i'm afraid it was," laughed farquhar. "then i won't mind very much if you get down and see that they don't impose on mavy--i mean too many of them. i don't want him to get hurt if it can be prevented." farquhar swung himself over the side of the wagon. "it's hardly probable. the boys like mavy, but, as sergeant has one or two toughs among the crowd, i'll go along." mrs. farquhar smiled at alison as she drove on. "one mustn't expect too much," she said. "after all, if he comes home with a swollen face it will be in a good cause." alison made no comment. she was slightly disgusted, and her pride was somewhat hurt. she had made a friend of this man, perhaps, she thought, too readily, and the fact that he had laid himself out to amuse the crowd and had, as the result of it, been drawn into a discreditable brawl was far from pleasant. she was compelled to confess on reflection that he could not very well have avoided the latter, but it was equally clear that he had not even attempted it. indeed, she had noticed that he jumped down from his wagon with a suspicious alacrity. half an hour later a fast team overtook them and farquhar alighted from a two-seated vehicle. he smiled at his wife as he sat down beside her. "there was very little trouble," he announced. "mavy's friends kept the toughs off, and i believe he'll sell out everything he has in his wagon." "and custer?" "i don't think he can see quite as well as he could an hour ago--as one result," replied farquhar dryly. then he flicked the team, and they drove on faster into the dusk that was creeping up across the prairie. the next morning alison was standing in the sunshine outside the house when thorne drove into sight from behind the barn which cut off the view of one strip of prairie. he got down from his wagon and appeared disconcerted when he saw the girl, who fancied that she understood the reason, for he had a discolored bruise on one cheek and a lump on his forehead. "i want a few words with farquhar," he explained. "i saw him at the settlement last night, but i couldn't get hold of him." "no," returned alison disdainfully, "you were too busy." then something impelled her to add, "you don't seem a very great deal the worse for your exploit." thorne leaned against the side of the wagon, though she noticed that he first pulled the brim of his soft hat lower down over his face. "that fact doesn't seem to cause you much satisfaction," he observed. "why should it?" "we'll let that pass. on the other hand, there's just as little reason why you should be displeased with me." "are you sure that i am displeased?" inquired alison, suspecting his intention of leading her up to some definite expression of indignation. this would, as she realized, be tantamount to the betrayal of a greater interest in his doings than she was prepared to show. "your appearance suggested it; but we'll call it disgusted, if you like," he retorted with amusement in his eyes. it occurred to alison that as he had evidently taken her resentment for granted it might after all be wiser to prove it justifiable. "then," she said, "a scene of the kind you figured in last night is naturally repugnant to any one not accustomed to it." "did it jar on mrs. farquhar?" "no," alison admitted, "i don't think it did." "then she's not accustomed to such scenes either. rows of any kind really aren't very common in western canada--but she seems to have more comprehension than you have." this was turning the tables with a vengeance, and alison was a trifle disconcerted, for instead of standing on his defense the man had unexpectedly proceeded to attack. "do you care to explain that?" she asked. "i'll try," thorne replied genially. "perhaps because she's married, mrs. farquhar seems to understand that there are occasions when a man is driven into doing things he has an aversion for. in a way, it's to his credit when he recognizes that the alternative is out of the question. can you get hold of that?" "i'm not sure. you see, you suggest that there may be an alternative." "it's often the case. the difficulty is that now and then the consequences of choosing it are a good deal worse than the other thing." alison could grasp the gist of this. there was something to be said for the resolution that could boldly grapple with a crisis as soon as it arose, instead of seeking the readiest means of escape from it. "now," added thorne, "i was quite sure when the storekeeper appeared on the scene that he had hired the biggest tough in the settlement to make trouble for me. of course i could have backed down, or at least i could have tried it, but the result would naturally have been to make the opposition more determined on the next occasion. it seemed wiser to face the situation then and there." again alison felt that he was right, and she shifted her point of attack. "you wish to assure me that it was with very great reluctance you jumped down from your wagon last night?" thorne laughed softly. "no," he acknowledged; "if one must be honest, i can't go quite so far as that." the girl was a little astonished at herself. in spite of his last confession her disgust--though she felt that was not the right word--with his conduct had greatly lessened, and she was conscious of a certain curiosity about his sensations during the incident. "you were not in the least afraid?" she asked. "no; but, after all, that's no great admission. you see, with most of us what we call courage is largely the result of experience. now, i knew i was a match for sergeant's tough. the man is big, but he has only a hazy notion when to lead off and how to parry." "how did you know that--from experience?" "oh, no," returned thorne, smiling. "i once watched him endeavoring to convince another man that he was utterly wrong in maintaining that the country derived the least benefit from the liquor prohibition laws. he succeeded because the other man didn't know any more than he did." alison laughed. "after all, i don't think the subject is of very great interest. i wonder why you went to so much trouble to explain the thing to me." the man gazed at her a moment in somewhat natural astonishment and then he took off his wide hat ceremoniously, though as a smile crept into his eyes she could not be sure whether it was done in seriousness or whimsically. in any case, he spoiled the effect by remembering his bruised face and hastily clapping it on again. "may i say that i should like to retain your favorable opinion if it's possible?" he replied, and leaving his team plucking at the grass he turned away and entered the house. as it happened, farquhar had just come in for dinner, which was not quite ready, and thorne sat down opposite him. "if your wife has no objections, i want you to do me a favor, harry," he said. his host expressed his readiness, but mrs. farquhar looked at him inquiringly. "it's just this," he explained. "you deal with grantly at the railroad settlement, and it's possible that he may not have formed a very accurate opinion of my character. in fact, i shouldn't wonder if odd things the boys have said have prejudiced him against me." "it's quite likely," farquhar admitted with a grin. "then i want you to assure him that i'm a perfectly responsible and reliable person." mrs. farquhar laughed outright. "aren't you asking rather more than harry could consistently do?" "well," thorne replied thoughtfully, "it might serve the purpose if he told grantly that i generally paid my bills. i don't ask him to guarantee my account or back my draft. it wouldn't be reasonable." "it wouldn't," assented mrs. farquhar with uncompromising decision. "are you going to make some new venture?" "i have a hazy notion that i might take up a quarter-section and turn farmer." his hostess flashed a significant glance at her husband, who smiled. "but why?" "if you don't get your crop hailed out, droughted, or frozen, you can now and then pick up a few dollars that way," thorne explained. "besides, a farmer is a person of acknowledged status on the prairie." "have you any other reasons--more convincing ones?" thorne regarded his hostess with undiminished gravity. "if i have, they may appear by and by--when, for instance, i've doubled my holding and raised a record crop on three hundred and twenty acres." "it isn't done in a day," warned farquhar. "it depends on how you begin; and commencing with a tent, a span of oxen, and one breaker-plow doesn't appeal to me. i want a couple of horse teams, the latest implements and the best seed i can get my hands on." "i guess my word alone won't induce grantly to let you have them--still, i'll do what i can." thorne spread out his hands. "if anything more is wanted hunter will be given an opportunity for supplying it. i don't see any reason why i shouldn't distribute my favors." "and when does the rash experiment begin?" thorne straightened himself in his chair. "it won't be an experiment. if i take hold, which isn't quite certain yet, i'll stay with the thing." then he broke into his usual careless laugh. "i'll take a long drive round all the outlying settlements and work off a last frolic first." "yes," observed his hostess, "the carnival before lent." after that she proceeded to lay out dinner and they let the subject drop, but alison, who entered the room just then, wondered why mrs. farquhar flashed a searching glance at her. chapter vii a useful friend thorne drove away after dinner and, for it must be admitted that he preferred other people's cookery to his own, he contrived to reach the hunter homestead just as supper was being laid out one evening some days later. during the meal he announced his intention of staying all night, but he did not explain what had brought him there until he sat with his host and hostess on the veranda while dusk crept up across the prairie. he felt inclined to wonder why mrs. hunter had favored them with her company, for he supposed that it was not altogether for the sake of enjoying the cool evening air. this surmise, as it happened, was quite correct. she had another purpose in her mind, for since alison's visit she had taken a certain interest in the man. "is there anything keeping you about the bluff?" she asked at length. "i hear you have been in the neighborhood several days." "four," said thorne, "if one must be precise. for one thing, there seemed to be a good demand for gramophones; for another, i wanted a talk with elcot, and somebody said he was in at the railroad yesterday." "i suppose you want to borrow a team from him again?" "no," thorne replied tranquilly; "in this case my object is to borrow money--or, at least, i want to raise it in such a way that if i don't meet my obligations your husband will be liable." he turned toward his host. "do you think you could guarantee me to the extent of, say, a thousand dollars?" "if it's merely a question of ability, i believe i could. whether it would be judicious is quite another matter. what are you going to do with the money?" thorne explained his purpose much as he had done to farquhar and hunter listened with quiet amusement. "the whim might last a month, and then there'd probably be an auction of your stock and implements, and we would get word that you had gone off on the trail again," he said. "a quiet life wouldn't suit you. you tried it once with bishop and it's generally understood that you turned his house inside out one day during the winter you spent with him." "there's just a little truth in that," thorne confessed. "bishop's a nice man, but he has the most exasperating ways, and one would need more patience than i have to stand them. try to imagine it--three months of improving conversation and undeviating regularity. breakfast to the minute; the kettle to stand always on the same spot on the stove; the potato pan on another. your boots must be put in exactly the same corner." "it's unthinkable," laughed mrs. hunter. "we once had him here for a day or two. but what was the particular cause of trouble?" her husband smiled. "house cleaning, i believe. bishop undertakes it systematically once a month in the winter." "oftener," interjected thorne. "that is, when the temperature's high enough for him to wash the floor." "it wasn't high enough on the day in question," hunter proceeded; "but i understand that he insisted on putting his furniture outside so that he could brush the place thoroughly, and thorne told him to get the door open and stand carefully clear." "well?" mrs. hunter prompted. "thorne fired the things, you see, as quick as he could lift them; first the chairs and table, then the whole outfit of plates and cups and pots and pans. when he got half-way through, bishop, who was horror-struck, made a protest. thorne told him he would have the things put out, and out they were going." mrs. hunter laughed and addressed her guest. "did you get a bump on your forehead on that occasion? still, i suppose one could manage it by falling out of a wagon." "i didn't," replied thorne. "for any further particulars about this one i'm afraid you must apply at the settlement; but it seems to me that the subject i'm most anxious to talk about is being tactfully avoided." "when you have so many friends up and down the prairie, why did you come to elcot?" "your husband," explained thorne unblushingly, "has the most money. each will, however, be provided with an opportunity for contributing according to his ability. i'll borrow a team from one and a plow from another; the man who can't spare either can lend me a mower. in addition to this i'll have to arrange a second loan." "do you mean to stay with it?" hunter asked. "give me a show and i'll convince you," thorne assured him with a sudden intentness in his eyes. "i'm dead serious now." hunter looked at him quietly for a minute or two before he answered. "then," he said, "i'll guarantee you for a thousand dollars, payable after harvest." thorne thanked him and presently strolled away to get something out of his wagon. when he disappeared florence turned to her husband. "elcot," she protested, "you are going to throw every dollar of that money away." "i'm far from sure of it," returned hunter quietly. "in any case, it's only a few days since you told me you couldn't face the expense when i said that i wanted to spend a month in toronto this spring." "i should like to point out that you spent a good deal of the winter in montreal." "would you expect me to live here altogether?" hunter made a gesture of weariness. "i did expect something of that kind once upon a time; i'm sorry you have made it clear that i was wrong." florence favored him with a mocking smile. "after all, you have stood it rather well. it's only during the last few months you have been getting bitter; but that's beside the question. why are you so willing to waste on that man the money you can't spare for me?" "to begin with, i'm by no means certain that i'll have to pay it. there's good stuff in him, and i want to give him an opportunity for becoming a useful citizen. in the next place, the line must be drawn somewhere, and the crop i'm putting in wouldn't stand the cost of a spring in toronto, if it's to be anything like the winter in montreal." florence saw that he meant it and changed the subject, for there were times when she realized that it was not advisable to drive her husband too far. after a while he strolled away toward the stables in search of thorne, and a few minutes later they sat down together on the summit of a low rise. hunter lighted his pipe and, resting one elbow in the grass, lay smoking thoughtfully for a while before he spoke to his companion. "mavy," he said, "you are going to do what would be the wisest thing in the case of the average man--but i'm not wholly sure it would be that in yours. after all, there's a good deal to be said for the life you lead." "it will hurt a little to give it up," thorne acknowledged. "but isn't there something to be said for--the other kind?" hunter pointed with his pipe to where the rise ran into the birches. "i spent my first summer as a farmer in a tent yonder, and in several ways it was the happiest one i've ever known. i couldn't cook, and as a rule when i unyoked my oxen after the day's work i was too played out to light a fire. i lived on messes that would probably kill me now, and my clothes went to bits before the summer was half-way through, but i was bubbling over with aspirations and a whole-hearted optimism then. i had scarcely a dollar, but i had what seemed better--an unwavering belief in the future. it was just as good then to lie down, healthily tired, and listen to the little leaves whispering in the cool of the dusk as it was to get up with the dawn without a care, fit and ready for what must be done." "oh, yes," assented thorne, "i know. they never cast a stove in a foundry that would give you the same warmth as the red fire in the birch bluff, and the finest tea that goes to russia wouldn't taste as good as what you drink flavored with wood smoke out of a blackened can. then there's the empty prairie with the long trail leading on to something you feel will be better still beyond the horizon. silence, space, liberty. how they get hold of you!" "then, what do you expect instead of them when you give them up?" "it strikes me that you should be able to tell me." hunter smiled in a rather weary fashion and glanced back toward his house. "well," he said, "i've a place that's generally supposed to be the smartest one within sixty miles, and some status in the country, whatever it may be worth--my wife sees to that. the grits would make me a leader if i cared for politics." "then why don't you? your wife would like it." "i think you ought to know. we both escaped from the cities, and while you drive your wagon i follow the plow. men like you and i have nothing to do with wire-pullers' tricks, juggling committees, and shouting crowds. it's my part to make a little more wheat grow." thorne looked at him with a thoughtful face. "i wonder," he said, "why you want to prevent me from doing the same?" "i don't. i only want to warn you that if you make a success of it you can't own a house and land and teams without facing the cost." "and that is?" "unconditional surrender. in a little while they'll own you. it's probable that you'll add a wife to them, and then, unless she's a woman of unusual courage, you'll find yourself shackled down to half the formulas you have run away from." "still, you get something in return." "yes," assented hunter slowly. "i'm optimist enough to believe that--but it's an elusive quantity. i suppose it depends largely on what you expect." he stood up and emptied his pipe. "it's getting late and i have to start again at six to-morrow." they went back to the house together and thorne drove away early the next morning. soon after midday hunter set out for graham's bluff, where he had some business. when he had gone florence carried a bundle of papers out to a little table placed in the shadow on the veranda, and sitting down before it looked at them with a frown. most of them were bills, which she had once half thought of showing to her husband, though she had not done so, chiefly because the bankbook which she had recently sent up to be balanced revealed the fact that there was then just eighty dollars standing to her credit. as florence seldom filled in the counterfoils of the checks she drew, this information had been a painful shock to her. it was evident that she had spent a good deal more money in montreal than she had supposed, and that she could not pay the bills, and there was no doubt that her husband would be signally displeased. as a rule he was very patient. she was willing to own that, though she now and then did so with a certain illogical irritation at his complacency; but when it was a question of money he could be inflexible. he had, however, treated her liberally, and to save her the necessity of applying to him he paid so many dollars into her bank twice a year and within that limit left her to control the domestic expenses as she pleased. this, indeed, was what chiefly troubled her, for there should have been enough to her credit to carry her on until harvest, when the next payment would be made. this, however, was unfortunately not the case. there was no doubt that she had to grapple with a financial crisis. she added up the bills several times and signally failed to make them any less, though it was now perfectly clear that it would not be advisable to show them to her husband. thrusting them aside, she leaned back in her chair and presently decided, with the renewal of an existing grievance, that the situation was the result of elcot's absurd retiring habits. if he would only go about with her now and then, or bring a few smart people out in the summer, she might be able to take pleasure in less costly diversions and, to some extent at least, avoid extravagance. on the other hand, however, there were, as she had already realized, one or two reasons why it seemed just as well that elcot should stay at home. he now looked very much like a farmer, though he had not been reared as one, and she fancied that his rather grim reserve, which was broken now and then by attacks of sardonic candor, was scarcely likely to be appreciated in the world she visited. as a matter of fact, his own relatives with whom she sometimes stayed were in the habit of smiling significantly when they mentioned him. he had, it seemed, flung up excellent prospects when, in spite of his family's protests, he went west with very inadequate means as a prairie farmer. that he had succeeded was, she understood, largely due to the fact that an eccentric relative who agreed with him had subsequently died and left him a few hundred dollars. in the meanwhile these reflections brought her no nearer a solution of the difficulty. there was a big deficit, and she had no idea how she was to meet it. then she remembered that when she was married elcot had among other things settled a certain strip of land on her. he had failed to interest her in its management, though she was pleased to receive the proceeds of its cultivation, which he handed her after each harvest. they were sowing again now, and she had heard that it was possible to sell a crop, or at least to raise money on it in some way, beforehand. she determined to question nevis, who carried on a general business at the railroad settlement, about the matter when he next drove over, which he had said he would probably do during the next day or two. he might even turn up that afternoon and, as elcot was out of the way, she wished he would. he was a man of prepossessing appearance and easy manners, and he had now and then paid her a deferential homage which was not unpleasant. indeed, she had once or twice contrasted him with elcot, and the comparison had not been altogether in the latter's favor. half an hour later he drove up in a light buggy and handed the horse over to one of the teamsters. then he walked up on the veranda, where florence was still sitting with the bills before her. turning around when he had greeted her, he pointed to the plodding teams which moved down the long furrows that ran back from the house. "i didn't see elcot at work with the boys as i drove by," he said. "he is away and probably will not be back until after supper." "i'm sorry i can't wait so long," nevis replied, taking the chair to which she pointed. "anyway, it isn't a matter of much importance, and i'll try to call again." florence sent for some tea, though it is seldom that refreshments of any kind are provided between the regular meals on the prairie, and then leaned back in her chair watching him while he sat with his cup in his hand. he was, as she had decided on other occasions, a well-favored man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and, as usual, he was artistically dressed. the hat he had laid on a neighboring chair was a genuine panama, such as mexican half-breeds spend months in weaving; his rather tight, light-colored clothes were excellently cut; and once more it struck her with a sense of injury that it was a pity elcot insisted on attiring himself as his teamsters did. "i had half expected to find you gone," he said; "you mentioned a visit to toronto when i last saw you. after all, if your husband can spare you, it must be nice to get away. you must feel that you are rather wasted here." this was a point on which florence was convinced already and she did not in the least object to his mentioning it. "elcot," she replied dryly, "has his farm." "well," responded nevis, "i'm glad you haven't gone. the rest of us can badly spare the one bright light which shines upon our primitive obscurity." his hostess did not check him. the man was usually rather daring, and she seldom resented a speech of this kind, no matter from whom it came. "in any case, i am not going," she informed him. "that"--she pointed to the bundle of papers--"is the reason." "bills? permit me." before she could prevent it he took them up and flicked them over. then he turned and looked at her with a smile in his dark eyes. "on examination of them i'm inclined to think the reason's a good one." florence recognized that he had ventured further in the last few minutes than elcot would have done in a month before he married her, and, though she was not greatly displeased, she changed the subject, for a time. "what did you want to see my husband about?" she asked. "i'm anxious to disarm his opposition to the part i feel like taking in the bluff creamery scheme. i'm willing to back the experiment on reasonable terms, but i understand that elcot's dubious about permitting it; and thorne has been advising the boys to have nothing to do with me. rough on a man who's ready to finance them, isn't it?" florence did not care whether it was rough or not. except that she would have liked to spend double her husband's income, financial questions seldom interested her. "i suppose you wish to do it to encourage them--out of philanthropy?" she suggested with a yawn. nevis laughed good-humoredly. "you can put that question to your husband or thorne. i'm willing to confess that in these affairs i'm out for business pure and simple, though that doesn't prevent my taking an interest in my friends' difficulties now and then." he tapped the bills with his fingers. "you are at present short of three hundred dollars?" "i'm short of nine hundred," corrected florence with candor. the next question was difficult. in fact, it was one that could not well be put directly, and the man's voice became judiciously sympathetic. "wheat sold badly last fall, and elcot has, no doubt, his share of worries?" he suggested. "you naturally wouldn't like to add to them?" they looked at each other and florence was quite aware that he would go a little farther as soon as he had ascertained whether she had any intention of mentioning the deficit to her husband. she also recognized that the fact that she had drawn his attention to the bills would make this seem improbable. "i'm not sure that i'm so unselfish," she said with a laugh. "in any case, i'm independent; i don't care to bother other people with my troubles." the man leaned forward, looking at her as though begging a favor. "i suppose it hasn't occurred to you that such a course might be a little rough on some of them. do you never make an exception?" "i haven't done so yet." "then," said nevis eagerly, "if you'll try it in this instance i'll tell you what i'll do. the thing's in my line of business and i'll find those nine hundred dollars for you." florence sat silent, watching him for a few moments. she meant to agree, and though she quite realized that general opinion would have regarded this as tantamount to placing herself in the man's power, that did not trouble her. she had never yet been in any man's power and she did not intend to be. "well," she consented at length; "but it mustn't be a favor." nevis tactfully declared that it could be done on a purely business footing, with which object he suggested, after a few judicious questions, that she should give him an order for the delivery of so many bushels of wheat after harvest, which she did. that the document was most informal and merely scribbled on a half-sheet of note-paper did not seem to concern him. then he wrote her out a check. "i don't mind saying that i'm going to make eight per cent. out of you, which is enough to content me," he explained. "you see, i never let an opportunity go by." florence made no comment. whether or not he would continue to be content with the mere interest on the money was a question with which she would be competent to deal when it arose. in a few minutes he prepared to take his departure. he bowed over her hand in a manner that was not common on the prairie, and she watched him with a meaning smile when he drove away. chapter viii a fit of temper it was two days later that nevis led his worn-out horse up the side of one of the deep ravines which every here and there wind through the prairie. it was then about the middle of the afternoon and almost unpleasantly hot in the sheltered hollow. the crest of it shut out the wind that swept the open levels, and the sunshine struck down between the birches, which were just then unfolding lace-like streamers of tiny leaves. there were no other trees except the willows wrapped in a bright emerald flush along the banks of a little creek. nevis felt unpleasantly weary. although a man of fine proportions, he did not care for physical exertion and avoided it as far as possible; but the commercial instinct was strong in him and he had driven a long way in pursuit of money during the last few days. it was supposed that he picked up a good deal of it in the most unlikely as well as the more obvious places, for he was troubled by few scruples and was endued with the faculty of getting money. he was a young man, evidently of excellent education, though nobody seemed to know where he had received it or where he came from. beginning as an implement dealer and general mortgage broker on a humble scale two or three years earlier, he had extended his field of operations rapidly. it appears to be an unfortunate fact that the grip of the money-lender is firmly fastened on the small agriculturalist in many countries, and, strange to say, perhaps more particularly in those where the soil he tills is his own. in the new wheat-lands of the west the possessions of the small farmers and ranchers on both sides of the frontier are as a rule mortgaged to the hilt, or at least they were a few years ago. they lived, and no more, for when the seasons vouchsafed them a bountiful harvest, storekeeper, land agency man, or mortgage jobber usually swept the proceeds into his coffer. it must, nevertheless, be said that many a man would be forced to abandon the struggle after an untimely frost in fall without the money-lender's help, and that the latter has often to face a serious hazard which varies with the weather. nevis was half-way up the slope when his jaded horse refused to go on, and he sat down on a fallen birch, wondering where he could borrow another one or, if this were not possible, how he could reach the settlement. he was then, he supposed, eight or nine miles from the nearest farm, and it seemed very probable that even if he succeeded in reaching it every horse would be engaged in plowing. he had no provisions with him, and he had eaten nothing since breakfast that morning. he was unpleasantly conscious of this fact, for he usually lived well. a few minutes later a drumming of hoofs fell across the birches from the plain above, and he saw a team swing over the brink of the declivity. for a moment or two the horses disappeared among the trees, but by the rapid beat of hoofs which mingled with the rattle of wheels they seemed to be coming down at a gallop. nevis was aware that the prairie farmers as a rule wasted very little time in breaking young horses, but harnessed them to plow or wagon as soon as they were amenable to any control at all. as the team above broke out furiously from among the trees a hoarse shout reached him directing him to pull his buggy clear; but he decided to let it stay exactly where it was. he fancied that the driver, who could not get by, could stop his team if he made a determined effort, and this surmise proved correct, for a minute or two later thorne, braced backward on the driving-seat, looked down at him with a wrathful face. "what did you stop me for? couldn't you get out of the way?" he asked. "why were you driving at that breakneck pace?" "a jack-rabbit bolted right under volador's feet. i'll get on again if you'll move your buggy." nevis sat still. "are you open to earn a few dollars?" "it depends," replied thorne, "on what i'm expected to do and whom they're coming from." "i'm anxious to get hold of somebody who'll drive me to the settlement. this horse is played out." "in that case i'm not open. i'm too busy." "i'll give you your own price for your time. it will probably pay you better than--selling mirrors." thorne noticed the half-contemptuous stress upon the last words. "you should have been content with the reason i offered," he retorted. "as you were not, i'll give you another; i'm not a very particular person, but i shouldn't like to touch your money." nevis stood up with a laugh of half-veiled malevolence. "do you think that kind of thing is wise?" "i haven't troubled to ask myself the question. i've never been remarkably prudent, and when i saw that you meant to hold me up my first impulse was to drive smash into your buggy. it was only out of regard for the horses that i didn't do so." "is there any particular reason for this gratuitous insolence?" "there are two," explained thorne. "in the first place, i don't like being stopped on an open trail; and in the next, i've spent the last few days borrowing things for a friend of mine whom you pitched out on to the prairie with his wife and child." nevis smiled. "i might have guessed it was something of that kind. you're rudimentary and haven't the crudest notion of what you have up against you. it would be about as sensible for one of your horses to start kicking because it didn't like your style of driving." "that," returned thorne, "is just where you're wrong. i've no complaint against human nature in general or the way this country's run. my dislikes are concentrated on a few particularly obnoxious people who live in it, of whom you're one. you're a discredit even to the profession which you follow." "it's not as dangerous to the people i deal with as yours is," nevis retorted. "we'll let that pass. i've already stopped here talking with you longer than i care about. will you pull your buggy out of the way?" nevis felt a strong inclination to let the buggy remain where it stood. it was galling to be spoken to in that fashion by a wandering pedler, and even more annoying to be left stranded nine miles from anywhere with a worn-out horse; but a glance at the lean, determined face of the man on the driving-seat of the wagon decided him, and he drew his rig aside. then thorne looked down again. "there's one thing you can do, and that's to unyoke the beast and hobble it, and then strike for taylor's on your feet," he advised. "the walk will probably do you good, if only by convincing you that it doesn't pay to drive a horse to the verge of exhaustion." he swung his whip, and the team plunged forward down the declivity with the wagon jolting and rattling behind them. two or three hours later he pulled up in front of farquhar's homestead, where, as he informed its owner, he meant to stay the night; and when the dusk was closing in he sat with the others on the stoop. "did you meet anybody on the trail?" mrs. farquhar asked. "nevis," answered thorne genially. "i believe i insulted him. anyway, i meant to, but he's tough in the hide, and i'm half afraid i wasn't quite up to my usual form." "but why did you want to insult him?" "well," replied thorne, with an air of reflection, "i think it was his clothes that irritated me." "his clothes?" alison broke in. thorne turned to her with a smile. "yes," he said; "unreasonable, isn't it? still, you see, the man was so immaculately neat, from his tie, which was a marvel, to his very elegant pointed shoes. i dare say he'll find them most uncomfortable before he has walked nine miles in them." "but why should that annoy you?" "if you mean the thought of his limping across the prairie for miles and getting very hot and dusty, it certainly didn't. if you mean his apparel, too much neatness always acts as a red rag on me, and in this case the manner in which he was got up seemed symbolical. it hinted that only the best of everything would content him, and that he meant to get it, no matter what it cost anybody else. there was his horse, for instance, played out, foul with dust, and thirsty--with a creek close by. he'd driven the poor brute almost to death the last few days sooner than cut out a single visit to any one he wanted to see about the creamery." "we have got to head him off that scheme," declared farquhar; and his wife joined in again. "haven't you some other grievance against him?" "if another one is needed, there's langton's case," answered thorne. "the man's a crank, of course, which is partly why i like him, and he has some eccentric notions about farming; but he has paid nevis his interest for quite a while, besides buying everything he used from him at double prices, and now the first time the money's not forthcoming he's sold up. nevis turned him out, with his wife still ailing, and the child." mrs. farquhar started with a flush of indignation in her face. "it's the first i've heard of it. why didn't you send us word?" "langton's rather out of your district, and the boys have fixed him up. they got a few things together, and he's camped in a tent on government land. i believe they're going to build him a sod and birchpole house." "i suppose," interjected farquhar, "you were somewhere about?" "that's certain," laughed his wife. "who went round and got the tent and the other things you mentioned, mavy?" thorne smiled. "as soon as they heard of it, the boys brought them in." alison cast a quick glance at him. he was quite devoid of self-consciousness, and it was evident that he took the thing lightly; but she fancied that there were strong chivalrous impulses in this humorous vagabond which would on due occasion lead him to ride a reckless tilt against overwhelming odds in the cause of the helpless and oppressed. her heart warmed toward him, as it had done once or twice before, but she said nothing, and it became evident that mrs. farquhar shared the thought that was in her mind. "mavy," she cautioned, "i'm afraid you'll get yourself hurt some day by doing more than is wise or needful. nobody could find fault with you for helping langton, but you should have stopped at that. insulting men like nevis just because they dress well, or for other reasons, is apt to lead to trouble." then farquhar broke in, and alison recognized that he meant to follow his wife's lead. "it was langton's misfortune that he wouldn't fall into line," he said. "if he had, he wouldn't have been forced to borrow money from nevis. for instance, what has the electrical tension in the atmosphere he used to fret about to do with one's harrowing, anyway, unless it brings down rain, and why must he cut his prairie hay two or three weeks after all his neighbors have theirs in?" "he says he likes it thoroughly ripened," thorne answered with a laugh. "still, i can't see why a man should be hounded down because he won't do exactly what everybody else does. what do you think, miss leigh?" "it's rather a pity, but i'm afraid men of that kind generally have to pay," replied alison. "that is, unless they're very strong and fortunate, and then they lead. what was supposed to be a craze of theirs becomes a desirable custom, and the others humbly copy them." "and if the others won't?" questioned farquhar. "even then, it's perhaps just as well there are a few men with the courage of their convictions who will couch the lance in the face of any opposition that can be brought against them, and ride right home. there must be something in their fancies, and the stir they make clears the air. stagnation's unwholesome." mrs. farquhar regarded her severely. "you shouldn't encourage him. it's quite superfluous. he'd charge a locomotive any day with pleasure," she said. "well," laughed thorne, "you will no doubt be consoled to hear that i've come into line. there are now one hundred and sixty acres of virgin prairie recorded in my name, and i believe a carload of sawed lumber and general fixings will arrive at the station in the next few days. when they do, i'll borrow your wagon and hired man to haul them out, though i'll have to camp in a tent until i get my first crop in." farquhar and his wife looked astonished, and both laughed when he gravely reproached them for not believing that he would carry out the project which he had already mentioned. then the two men strolled away toward the barn together, and alison was left with mrs. farquhar. the prairie was wrapped in shadow now, and a half-moon was rising above its eastern rim. it was very still, and there was a wonderful freshness in the chilly air. looking out upon the vast sweep of dusky grass, it seemed to alison that this wide country gave one clearness of vision and breadth of character. "does thorne really mean to turn farmer?" she asked at length. "it looks as if he does," answered mrs. farquhar. "why shouldn't he?" "i can't think of any reason," replied alison. "still, it isn't what i should have anticipated. what can have influenced him?" "i have a suspicion that he means to get married. he couldn't expect his wife to set up housekeeping in a wagon, though, for that matter, i don't know whether he lives in the vehicle or camps on the ground beside it." alison knew, however, and on the whole she was glad that it was too dark for her companion to see her face clearly. it was, for no very ostensible reason, not exactly pleasant to think of thorne's getting married at all. the idea of his being willing to contemplate marriage, so to speak, in the abstract, as the men who went to winnipeg for their wives did, was repugnant to her, and the alternative possibility that he had somebody in particular in view already afforded her no great consolation. "i suppose he wouldn't have very much trouble if that was his idea," she said with a trace of disdain. "no," responded mrs. farquhar; "there would be very little trouble in leslie thorne's case. whatever that man may lack it won't be the love of women." it occurred to alison that there was truth in this. she could even confess that the man's light-hearted manner, his whimsical generosity and his daring appealed to her. "he doesn't seem to get on very well with florence hunter," she said reflectively. mrs. farquhar laughed. "i think i may tell you a secret which mavy has never guessed. he could have got on a good deal better with mrs. hunter had he been anxious to, and she hasn't forgiven him because he didn't realize it." alison started, and a warmth crept into her face, but her hostess proceeded: "i don't mean very much by that. mrs. hunter merely wished to--annex--him; to command his respectful homage, which he was quite ready to pay her as elcot's wife, though that wasn't quite what she intended. there's an unpleasant streak in that woman's nature." alison sat silent a moment or two, for she was forced to confess that this sounded correct. "but florence can have no complaint against her husband," she objected. "he seems to indulge her and treat her generously." "that's half the trouble," was the answer. "some day she'll wear his patience out, and then he'll take the other way--and they'll get on better afterward. however, that's a matter that doesn't concern us." she paused a moment, with a smile. "anyway, i'm glad you decided to come to me." "thank you," said alison quietly. she had never regretted her choice. the work she had undertaken was certainly not what she had expected to do when she came to canada, and she smiled as she remembered the indignation her mother had expressed concerning it in her last letter; but her duties were not unpleasant, and she was growing fond of the unassuming but very sensible people with whom she dwelt. their view was narrowed by no prejudices, and they disdained pretense; they toiled with cheerful courage and were as cheerfully willing to hold out an open hand to the stranger and the unfortunate. the latter fact was once more made evident when farquhar, followed by thorne, strolled up to the door. "i think i'll start off at sunup and drive over to see how langton's getting on," he said. "i couldn't very well be back the same night, but you'll have miss leigh with you." "of course," assented his wife, smiling. "it was only yesterday that you declared you didn't know how you were going to get through with the sowing. i suppose you'll want to take a few things along with you?" thorne produced a strip of paper and handed it to her. "i can't always trust my memory," he explained. they went into the house, where a light was already burning, and mrs. farquhar glanced at the paper with a smile. "well," she said, "i suppose i can manage to let you have about half of what you ask for." then she turned to alison. "as soon as he mentioned the matter i expected this." chapter ix the raising one afternoon when the prairie was flooded with sunshine and sprinkled with a flush of tender green, farquhar drove his wife and alison up to thorne's new holding. a tent with loose curtain flapping in the breeze stood on a slight rise, with sundry piles of boards and framed timber lying on the grass about it, while thorne and a young lad stood beside a fire above which a four-gallon coal-oil can hung boiling. his face was smutted and there was grime on his hands; while near him smoke was issuing from a beehive-shaped mass of soil which mrs. farquhar informed alison was an earth oven. the girl waited behind a few moments when her companions greeted thorne, looking about her with some curiosity. an oblong of shattered clods, almost hidden by the fresh green blades of oats, stretched across the foreground, and beyond it there was the usual vast sweep of grass. on one side of the plowed land, however, a thin birch bluff in full leaf straggled up the rise, and a little creek of clear water wound through a deep hollow not far away. the situation, she decided, was an attractive one. then she glanced at the piles of timber, which seemed to be arranged in carefully planned order, and surmised from the quantity of sawdust strewed among the grass that a good deal of work had been done on it by somebody. there was also a row of birch logs, evidently obtained from the bluff, with notches cut in them, and a heap of thin strips of wood which had a sweet resinous smell. these were red-cedar roofing shingles from british columbia. alison strolled forward and joined the group about the fire. "it will be a couple of hours yet before the boys turn up; and, considering everything, it's just as well," thorne was explaining. "still, the bread ought to be ready, and i'd be glad if somebody would get it out to cool. i want the oven for the chickens." "where are they?" mrs. farquhar inquired. thorne suddenly stooped over the big coal-oil can. "i was almost forgetting them; they're here. dave should have fished them out some time ago." alison glanced into the improvised cauldron and saw to her astonishment what looked like a mass of bedraggled fowls. "oh," she cried, "have you boiled them with their feathers on?" "well," replied thorne, somewhat ruefully, "i certainly didn't mean to. in fact, i put them in to bring their feathers off, though i've hitherto generally done it beneath the blow-down valve of a thrashing engine." he turned to his young companion. "be quick! fish them out!" the lad did it with a strip of shingle, and when a number of dripping birds were strewed upon the grass alison was more astonished still. "where have their heads gone?" she exclaimed. "i'll leave dave to tell you that; i believe it's his first attempt at dressing fowls," chuckled thorne. "i just sent his employer word that i wanted chickens, and this is how they were brought." the lad colored, for he was very young. "jackson drove off as soon as he'd told stepney and me to get them," he explained. "we're both of us just out from toronto, and we didn't know how to set about the thing." he paused and looked at alison. "i don't mind admitting that neither of us enjoyed it, but it had to be done." "i must add that he told me he made stepney use the ax," laughed thorne. "i had to hold them, anyway--and that wasn't very much better," retorted the lad. thorne turned to farquhar. "you'll have to pluck; i dare say mrs. farquhar and miss leigh will get out the bread and what crockery there is. the boys will probably bring some plates and things along with them; that is, if they're wise." he moved away and alison sat down on the grass and laughed. "i believe he can cook better than i can, but he's primitive in some respects," she commented. "shall we all have to use the same things if the boys don't bring the cups?" "oh, no," mrs. farquhar assured her. "he'll no doubt provide a few old fruit cans. anyway, you must not expect too much of him. he has been working his fingers off for the last six weeks, and as there has been moonlight lately it's very probable that he has cut himself down to an hour or two's sleep. perhaps you haven't noticed that it shows on him." as a matter of fact, alison had done so. she had seen very little of thorne for the last few weeks, and now it struck her that his face was leaner and browner than it had been and that there were signs of tension in his eyes. then she glanced at the strip of plowed land and the piles of timber. "has he done all that?" she asked. "most of it, anyway. some of the boys helped him when they could, which wasn't very often. i believe he has done about twice as much as harry considered possible. i've an idea that mavy is going to open his neighbors' eyes." alison glanced at the empty prairie and wondered where the neighbors lived; but just them mrs. farquhar called her to the oven, which she opened with a spade, and they raked out several big and somewhat blackened loaves. after that, they proceeded to the tent and busied themselves laying out the provisions it contained. it was an hour or two later when the guests arrived in dusty rigs of various kinds and different stages of decrepitude, and alison noticed that those who were accompanied by their wives and daughters also brought baskets with them. they were evidently acquainted with the limitations of bachelor housekeeping. for the most part, however, the new arrivals were young men, deeply bronzed and wiry, though one, whom they seemed to regard as leader, had a lined face and grizzled hair. he gathered them round him when the horses had been unyoked and tethered. "boys," he said, "you haven't come here just for fun, though you're going to get that later. in the first place you have to earn your supper." he turned to thorne. "will you send us to our places and tell us what to do?" "no," replied thorne; "i'd rather leave the thing to the best man on the ground. i'll take my orders from him and stand in among the crowd." the elder man made a sign of acquiescence, for he now knew where he stood and etiquette was satisfied. he and thorne walked round and examined the piles of timber. then he sent the men to their places; one with a hammer here, two or three with long, steel-shod poles there, another with a saw at a corner, and the rest spread out in a row. "now," he directed, "if you're ready we'll get the house on end. the girls are watching you!" they went at the work with a rush, and the little oblong marked out upon the prairie sod became alive with toiling figures. tall birch posts rose as by magic, with struggling men thrusting with the long pike-poles beneath them; stringers, plates and ties seemed to fly into place; and alison, sitting on the grass with mrs. farquhar, wondered as the skeleton of the house grew moment by moment before her eyes. she had never thought it possible that a dwelling could be built in a night; but the men were clearly on their mettle, and they worked with an almost bewildering activity. they were on the ground one minute, hauling ponderous masses of timber, and the next climbing among the framing; were standing with one foot on a slender beam, or crawling along another on hands and knees. there was a constant thudding of ax-heads on wooden pegs, a sharper ringing of hammers on heavy nails; curt orders broke through the clatter of boards and the persistent crunch of saws. still, there seemed to be no confusion. each man knew exactly what to do, for, though houses are by no means invariably raised in this fashion on the prairie, some of the men had learned their work in the bush of michigan, and some in ontario. when the hammers clattered more furiously and the skeleton became partly clothed, there were cries of encouragement from the women. "jake will have that plate pinned down before your spikes are in!" called one. "are you going to let the boys from across the creek get ahead of you?" protested another. a third ran forward with both hands full of nails. "they're catching you up!" she shouted. "get them in! i can't have the laugh put on my man." husband, sweetheart and brother responded gallantly, and the pace became faster still, until at length thorne shouted and waved his hand. "we're through. it's time to quit," he said. "you've done 'most twice as much as i ever figured on your getting in to-night." they had worked willingly, but it was evident that most of them were as willing to stop. hammers, saws, and axes were flung together, and the men stood in groups, hot and gasping, in the early dusk. thorne walked up to their leader. "i can only say 'thank you!' though that doesn't go far enough," he said. "what makes the thing seem more to me is that i haven't the least call on one of you." there was a murmur of denial and then they waited until he turned to mrs. farquhar, though he addressed the company generally. "now," he invited, "i'll ask you to come in and look at my place." he moved on ahead with mrs. farquhar, while the others fell in behind; but it seemed that the selection he had made did not satisfy all of them, for there was a laugh when somebody cried: "she has got a good man already! it isn't a square deal!" then, and how it came about alison was never sure, though she had a suspicion that her employer must have connived at it, mrs. farquhar either moved or was quietly pushed aside, and she and thorne were left to cross the threshold together at the head of the company. this appeared to please his guests, for there was further laughter when another voice cried: "it's the first time. didn't they teach you manners in the old country, mavy? what's the matter with giving her your arm?" alison was conscious of a certain embarrassment, but she moved on quietly and shot one swift glance at thorne. he was looking up at the beams above him, of which she was glad, for she was wondering whether the others attached any particular significance to the fact that she was the first woman to enter his new house with him. dismissing the question as troublesome, she glanced about her and saw the roof framing cutting black against the soft blue of the night overhead. the house, she supposed, would eventually contain four rooms, two on the ground floor and two above, and though only the principal supports had been placed in position yet, she once more wondered how the man and his companions had accomplished so much. "what you have done is really astonishing!" she exclaimed. "i suppose you had everything ready, but even then you are not a carpenter or a builder." thorne laughed. "the fact that i can sell patent medicines to people who haven't the least use for them ought to be a guaranty of my ability to do anything in reason." "he's not quite right," interposed farquhar, appearing from behind them. "in a general way, the man who's smart at business is good at nothing else. most of those who are couldn't hammer a nail in. anyway, mavy hasn't the least bit of the true commercial instinct in him." "haven't i?" thorne appealed to mrs. farquhar. "is there another man round here who could start off for a month's drive and sell out most of a wagonload of mirrors and gramophones?" "no," laughed mrs. farquhar; "i don't think there is; but that's not quite the point. the proof of commercial ability lies not in the sales but in the margin after them, and you never seemed to get much richer by your efforts. you don't sell your things because you're a smart business man, but because the boys like you." the rest had evidently heard her, for there were cries of assent, and alison was conscious of a little thrill of sympathy when thorne turned to his other guests. "i should be a proud man if i were quite convinced that that is right." they assured him of it, and there was no doubt about their sincerity. a few minutes later they trooped out again, when somebody announced that supper was ready. there were neither chairs nor tables, and though the dew was falling they sat down on the grass, while a full moon that had sailed half-way up the heavens poured down a silver light on them. the crockery proved insufficient, and husbands and wives or sweethearts shared each other's cups, but they made an astonishing feast, for the inhabitants of that land eat with the same strenuous vigor with which they work and live. in the meanwhile alison became interested in watching the women. they were not very numerous, and one and all were dressed in garments that were obviously the work of their own fingers. they were not bronzed like the men, and even in the moonlight it struck her that their faces lacked the delicate bloom of the average englishwoman's skin. their hands were hard, and in most cases reddened; but for all that there was a brightness in their eyes and an optimistic cheerfulness in their manner which she fancied would hardly have characterized such an assembly in the old country. then she noticed that one young woman sat at thorne's side not far away, and that they seemed to be talking confidentially. she could not be sure that they had not one cup between them, and this possibility irritated her. the girl, she confessed, was not ungraceful, although slighter and generally straighter in figure than most young englishwomen, and she had rather fine hair. it shone lustrously in the moonlight, and there were golden gleams in it. there was also no doubt that she had fine eyes. alison could think of no reason why thorne should not talk to whom he liked, but she was, in spite of this, not pleased with what she had noticed. after a while somebody tuned a fiddle, and when they began dancing on the grass, alison realized that most of them danced very well. thorne led her out once, but he seemed preoccupied, and soon afterward he and the girl she had already noticed once more drew apart from the rest. alison watched them sitting out two dances in the shadow of the house, and she felt curious as to what they had to say to each other. as a matter of fact, thorne was looking at his companion very thoughtfully just then. "lucy," he said, "i'm afraid what jake has done is going to get him into trouble." "i tried to make him see that, but he said as they'd seized his homestead he couldn't stay here, and he allowed that, one way or another, he'd paid off all he owed," the girl replied. "nevis put up all kinds of charges on him and bled him dry the past few years." "of course he did," assented thorne. "still, that's not likely to count for a great deal in his favor. the trouble is that they could jail him for selling off those cattle after he got notice of foreclosure. what made him do it?" lucy looked down. "you may not have heard that we were to have been married most three years ago, but my father said jake must wipe off his mortgage first. when he died he left us nothing but the teams and implements, and mother and i tried to run the place with a hired man, but we've been going back ever since, and jake was getting deeper in debt all the while." thorne made a sign of sympathy. "now that nevis has shut down on him, i suppose he's going away to work on the new branch line until he can get hold of another place farther west and send for you." "yes," returned lucy slowly, "now you understand the thing, or, anyway, most of it. only--" and she looked up at him with appealing eyes--"jake hasn't got very far yet, and we had word that the police troopers are out after him." "where is he?" lucy turned and pointed toward the bluff. "yonder." thorne started, but he sat still again, rather grim in face, and his companion went on: "he hasn't a horse. he got out in a hurry with no provisions, and if he went into the settlement for some it would put the troopers on to his trail." she laid a hand on thorne's arm. "mavy, you're sure not going to let them get him." "if i'd a grain of sense that's just what i would do; as i haven't, i suppose i must try to get him off. well, it would be better for several reasons that jake shouldn't see me, but if you'll stuff a basket with eatables i'll quietly drive a horse round toward the bluff. while you're getting the things together i'll have another dance." he led out a flushed matron, and when at length he left her breathless, only alison and one other person saw him slip away over the edge of the hollow through which the creek flowed. there was something in the way he moved that aroused alison's curiosity, and she walked forward a few yards until she reached the crest of the slope, from which she saw him saddle one of the two hobbled horses that browsed apart from the rest. she wondered why he did so, but it was some relief to notice that the girl he had spoken to was not with him, and when he moved on again toward the bluff she turned back to where the others were. he reappeared a few minutes later and claimed a dance, which she gave him, and some time had passed when a drumming of hoofs grew rapidly louder and two shadowy figures materialized out of the prairie. then the music stopped as a couple of mounted police drew bridle in front of the astonished guests. one who carried a carbine across his saddle threw up his hand commandingly. "is jake winthrop here?" he asked. "no," answered thorne, who strode forward; "he certainly is not, corporal slaney." "have you seen him to-night?" "i haven't," was the quiet answer. "then," said the corporal, "you may be surprised to hear that he was seen heading for this bluff two or three hours ago, and that we struck his trail where he crossed the creek not a mile back." he turned in his saddle and looked at the others. "can you give me any information?" their faces were clear in the moonlight, and alison felt that they at least had nothing to conceal; but the corporal did not look quite satisfied with the assurances they offered him. addressing two or three, one after another, he interrogated them sharply. "i'll have to trouble you to lead up your horses, boys," he said at length. they did it with some grumbling, and when the corporal was convinced that not a beast was missing, he turned to thorne. "you keep a team here, don't you?" "oh, yes," replied thorne carelessly, though he had dreaded this question. the corporal swung round and looked at his companion, who had quietly slipped away for a few minutes when they first rode in. "there's one beast hobbled by the creek," announced the trooper. "i can see no sign of the other." the corporal looked at thorne. "do you feel like making any explanation?" "no. if you have anything against me i'll leave you to prove it." the corporal then turned to one of the guests. "you rode in. where did you put your saddle?" "on the ground with the rest." "can you produce it?" "no," admitted the man; "i may as well allow that i can't, if the trooper has been round counting them." the corporal looked at him steadily. "well," he said, "what we have to do first of all is to pick up winthrop's trail. it's quite likely we'll have a word for thorne and you later." he spoke to his companion and they rode out across the prairie. when they disappeared, thorne called to the fiddler to strike up another tune, and the dance went on again. chapter x thorne resents reproof farquhar was sitting with his wife and alison on the stoop in the cool of the evening a week or two after the house-raising, when thorne rode up out of the prairie, leading a second horse. he tethered the two beasts to a fence before he approached the house, and alison noticed that he looked very lean and jaded. he sat down wearily and flung off his hat when he had greeted the party. "i've come to borrow your mower, farquhar," he announced. "i suppose i may as well get some hay in." "you don't seem very sure about it," remarked farquhar. "as a matter of fact, i'm not enthusiastic about cutting that hay. i've been putting in sixteen hours a day lately, and i expect i'm getting a little stale. among other things, i'd got most of the shingles on the house when one of the boys came along and told me i'd fixed them wrong. then the police have been round again worrying me." "have you got your horse back?" asked mrs. farquhar. "yes," replied thorne, with a soft laugh. "it was found near the railroad a day or two after it disappeared, and a friend of mine sent it along. i understand, however, that corporal slaney has failed to pick up winthrop's trail." mrs. farquhar regarded him severely. "why did you mix yourself up in that affair?" "the thing rather appealed to me," declared thorne. "i believe jake was justified ethically; and anybody who takes a way that's not the recognized one has my sympathy." "now you've reached the point," farquhar laughed. "on the whole, the fact you mention is unfortunate." "i'm not sure," thorne answered moodily. "plodding along the lauded beaten track now and then palls on one, and it isn't the least bit easier than the other. anyway, i only did what i had to; lucy said she had counted on me." this last confession, which he seemed to make in a moment of forgetfulness, stirred alison to a sense of irritation that astonished her a little. "were you compelled to help a defaulting debtor escape?" she demanded. "i understand that is what winthrop is." "if you knew the whole story you would hardly call him that," thorne retorted with an indignant sparkle in his eyes. "but he borrowed money on his cattle, among other things, didn't he, and then sold them, and ran away when the man who lent it to him wanted it back?" "he did," thorne assented with some dryness. "i'm sorry i must confess it, because a baldly correct statement of the kind you have just made which leaves out all extenuating details is often a most misleading thing." "how can a statement of fact be misleading?" farquhar smiled and thorne made a grimace. "the aspect of any fact varies with one's point of view. you evidently can't get away from the conventional one." alison was growing angry, though subsequent reflection convinced her that this was not due to his last observation. she had sympathized with his attitude when he had in the first instance mentioned his dislike of nevis; and his willingness to side with the injured against the oppressor had certainly pleased her. in the abstract, it appeared wholly commendable; but, in particular, that it should have led him to take up the cause of a girl against whom for no very clear reason she felt prejudiced was a different thing. "well," she responded, "it has by degrees become evident to society in general that it can only look at certain matters in a certain way; and if you insist on doing the opposite, you must expect to get into trouble. i'm not sure you don't deserve it, too." "that," returned thorne, grimly, "is their idea in england, and i must do them the justice to own that they act up to it. i had, however, expected a little more liberality--from you. anyway, i'm not in the least sorry for what i've done." he rose and turned toward his host. "hadn't we better get that mower, farquhar?" they strolled away, thorne leading his team, and mrs. farquhar laughed. "mavy's very young in some respects. i'm almost afraid you have succeeded in setting him off again." "is the last remark warranted?" mrs. farquhar nodded. "he has been sticking to what he probably finds a very uninteresting task with a patience i hardly thought was in him. just now he's no doubt ready for an outbreak." "an outbreak?" "i'll say a frolic. it won't be anything very shocking, though i should expect it to be distinctly original." alison made a sign of impatience. "isn't it absurd that he should fly off in this unbalanced fashion because of a few words?" "one mustn't expect perfection; and it wasn't altogether what you said--that merely fired the train. mavy has been going steady for an unusual time, and as a rule it doesn't take a great deal to drive him into some piece of rashness. for instance, he was quite willing to involve himself in trouble with the police at a word from lucy calvert." she fancied from alison's expression that this was where the grievance lay, but the girl made no comment, and they sat silent for a while until farquhar came back alone. "mavy's gone off with the mower--he wouldn't come back," he explained. "in fact he seemed a little out of temper." farquhar was correct in this surmise. thorne was somewhat erratic by nature, and any insistence on the strictly conventional point of view, even when it was backed by sound sense, usually acted upon him as a red rag. after all, he could not help his nature, and he had been reared in an atmosphere of straight-laced respectability which had imposed on him an intolerable restraint. what was, perhaps, more to the purpose, he had been demanding too much of his bodily strength during the last two months, and had been living in a spartan fashion on badly cooked and very irregular meals, until at length his nervous system began to feel the strain. that being so, he felt himself justified in resenting alison's censorious attitude; though it was not the mere fact that she had disagreed with what he had done that he found most irritating. it was, he knew, because she had disappointed him. he had regarded her as a broad-minded, clear-sighted girl, emancipated from the petty prejudices and traditions which were the bane of most young englishwomen, and now he had discovered that she was as exasperatingly narrow as the rest of them. it was late when he reached his homestead, and after sleeping a few hours he rose with the dawn, and lighting a fire, left the kettle to boil while he clambered to the roof to nail on cedar shingles. he could not, however, get them to lie as he wanted them, and, being very dry, they split every now and then as he drove in the nails. besides this, it was difficult to work upon the narrow rafters, and when at length he descended for breakfast he found that the fire had gone out in the meanwhile. he surveyed it and the kettle disgustedly, with brows drawn down; and then, restraining a strong desire to fling the vessel into the birches, he sat down and fished out of the congealed fat in the frying-pan a piece of cold pork left over from the previous day. this, with a piece of bread that had acquired a rocky texture from being left uncovered, formed his breakfast, and when he had eaten it he went back moodily to the roof. he had for some time in a most determined manner concentrated his energies on a task generally regarded as a commendable one in that country, but there was no doubt whatever that it was beginning to pall on him. he lay up on the rafters for several hours with a hot sun blazing down on his neck and shoulders while he nailed on shingles; but in spite of every effort, things would go wrong. nails slipped through his fingers; he dropped his hammer and had to climb down for it; while every now and then a shingle he had just secured rent from top to bottom. finally, in a state of exasperation, he struck a vicious blow at a nail which had evaded his previous attacks, and hit his thumb instead. this was the climax, and he savagely hurled the hammer as far as he could throw it out upon the prairie. then he swung himself down, and, walking resolutely to his tent, dragged out a box containing about a dozen small cheap mirrors. there were a few gramophone records in another box; and after putting both cases, a blanket or two and a bag of flour into his wagon, he drove away across the sweep of grass at a gallop. the horses, which had done nothing worth mentioning for the last few weeks, seemed as pleased with the change as he did. the next morning a man who was passing farquhar's homestead pulled up his team to deliver its owner a note. "mavy sent you this," he said with a grin. "guess he's out on the trail again. he had the boys sitting up half last night at the bluff hotel." farquhar read the note, which was curt. "thanks for the mower. better go for it if you want the thing," it ran. "i'm off for a change of air, and haven't the least notion when i'm coming back. i've discovered that one has to get seasoned to a quiet life." going back into the house, he handed the note to his wife, who was sitting with alison at breakfast, and she gave it to the girl in turn when she had read it. "it's too bad, though i must say i expected it," she remarked, regarding her with reproachful eyes. "if he has a singularly unbalanced nature, can i help it?" alison asked. her companion appeared to consider. "i don't know which to be most vexed with; you or lucy. he would be quietly cutting prairie hay now if you had both left him alone." farquhar watched them with a smile. "mavy," he observed, "will in all probability require a good deal of breaking in; but that's no reason why one should despair of him. i've known a young horse turn out an excellent hauler and go steady as a rock in double harness, after in the first place kicking in the whole front of the wagon." "why double harness?" his wife inquired with a twinkle in her eyes. "well," replied farquhar, "perhaps i was anticipating things." he lounged out, and alison went on with her breakfast with an expressionless face, though mrs. farquhar noticed that she seemed preoccupied after that. three or four days later thorne sat on the veranda of a little wooden hotel after supper. a couple of men lounged near him smoking, and in front of them a double row of unpicturesque frame-houses straggled beside the trail that led straight as the crow flies into a waste of prairie. "i've had a notion that jake winthrop would look in here," thorne remarked presently. one of his companions glanced round toward the house, but there did not seem to be anybody within hearing just then. "he did," he confided. "baxter once worked with him on the railroad, and jake crawled up to the back of his shack at night. baxter gave him a different hat and a jacket." "that's quite right," said the other man. "i figured the troopers would know what he was wearing. i drove him quite a piece toward the railroad early in the morning, and i've a notion he got off with a freight-train that was taking a crowd of boys from down east to do something farther on up the track. if he did, he must have jumped off quietly when they stopped to let the pacific express by. next thing, two or three troopers turned up, and i guess they heard about the train and wired up the line; but they haven't got winthrop yet. corporal slaney, who sent two of them south, is in the settlement now. he's plumb sure that jake's hanging round here waiting to make a break for the u. s. boundary." "what had he on when he first struck you?" thorne inquired. baxter told him, and he laughed. "then," he declared, "slaney's trailing a man with an old black plug hat and a brown duck jacket; the latter would certainly fix him, as blue's much more common. now if he saw that man riding south at night he'd probably call off the troopers, and they'd work the trail right down to the frontier. as they wouldn't get their man, they'd no doubt give the thing up, deciding he'd already slipped across." "but how's he going to see him, when jake's up the track?" "it strikes me there ought to be a black plug hat and a brown duck jacket somewhere in this settlement," drawled thorne. "i'll leave you to find them." a light broke in upon his companions, and they laughed; but one of them pointed out that thorne might find himself unpleasantly situated if corporal slaney overtook him. thorne, however, smiled at this. "i've been driving easy the last few days, and it's hardly likely the police have a horse that could run volador down," he said. "besides, if he should press me too hard, i could lose my man somehow in the big bluff on the mountain." they agreed with this, and proceeded to elaborate a workable scheme. suddenly baxter turned to thorne, as though a thought had just struck him. "why do you want to do it?" he asked. "jake winthrop wasn't a partner of yours." thorne broke into a whimsical smile. now that he endeavored to analyze his reasons calmly, he was conscious that none of them appeared sufficient to warrant any action at all on his part. he was only certain that he disliked nevis, and that an anxious girl had not long ago looked at him with an appeal in her eyes. "since you ask me the question, i don't quite know," he confessed. baxter laughed, and turned to his comrade. "he's a daisy, sure. anyway, i'll look round for a hat and jacket like the one i burned. you get him a saddle, murray." thorne left them presently and drove away toward a ravine some miles from the settlement, and soon after he started baxter saddled a horse and rode out to an outlying farm. in the meanwhile corporal slaney sauntered into the general room of the hotel, where murray and several others were then sitting smoking. there was a box of crackers, a soda-water fountain, and a bottle of some highly colored syrup on one table, but that was all the refreshment the place provided. seating himself in a corner, the corporal sat unobtrusively listening to the conversation, which murray presently turned into a particular channel for his especial benefit. it was a hot evening, and he sat astride a bench, clad only in blue shirt and trousers, with a glass of soda-water in front of him and a pipe in his hand. a big tin lamp burned unsteadily above him, for all the doors and windows were open, and a hot smell of dust and baked earth flowed into the room. the walls were formed of badly rent boards, and there was as usual no covering on the roughly laid floor. "as i've often said," he observed, "the police will never get another man like old sergeant mackintyre. he ran his man down right away every time." slaney pricked his ears, and another of them broke in: "mackintyre would have had jake winthrop jailed quite a while ago. the boys aren't up to trailing now." "seems to me they didn't want winthrop much," drawled murray. "they went prowling round the homesteads, worrying folks who didn't know anything about him, while he hit the trail for the frontier." a third man turned to slaney. "didn't you send two of the boys off dakota way, corporal?" "we did," answered slaney shortly. "that's about all i'm open to tell you." "two troopers couldn't cover a great deal of prairie," remarked another. "guess he might have slipped through between them; that is, if he's not hanging round here somewhere waiting for a chance to break away." murray saw the gleam in the corporal's eyes, and he broke in again. "now," he said, "when you think of it, that's quite likely, after all. there's three or four big bluffs a man could hide in, and if he was stuck for a horse he wouldn't care to try the open. if he lay by a while he might fix it up with somebody to bring him one. of course, he might have got away up the track, but they'd wire on to watch the stations. didn't you do that, corporal?" "we did," slaney answered. murray turned to the others. "then, one would allow that winthrop couldn't have cleared by train. if he'd done that, they'd sure have got him." he paused, and, hearing a beat of hoofs, added thoughtfully, "it looks mighty like he was still in the neighborhood." something in slaney's expression suggested that he shared this opinion; but the drumming of hoofs was growing louder, and a man strolled toward the doorway. "it's baxter," he announced. a few minutes later baxter came in, flushed and dusty, and helped himself at the soda-water fountain before he turned to the others with a cracker in his hand. "it's powerful warm, boys, and i've had a ride for nothing," he informed them. "been over to lorton's place and he wasn't in." "he's at cricklewood's," said murray. "if you'd waited a little you would have met him on the trail." "i didn't, anyway," was baxter's indifferent reply; "i only met a stranger." corporal slaney had no reason to suspect that the brief conversation which had followed baxter's arrival had been carefully prearranged for his benefit. "where did you meet that stranger?" he asked. "about two miles east of the bluff." "did you speak to him?" baxter smiled. "i didn't; he didn't give me a chance. he was going south as fast as his horse could lay hoofs to the ground." "what was he like? did you see him clearly?" "well," drawled baxter, "it's only a half-moon, and the man wasn't very close, but i think he'd a black plug hat. as most of us wear gray ones, that kind of struck me. i've a notion that his overall jacket was brown." he sat down as slaney vanished through the open door. in a few moments there was a clatter of hoofs, and the men crowding about the entrance saw a mounted figure riding at a gallop down the unpaved street. then murray looked at his comrade with a grin. "must have had his horse saddled ready," he chuckled. "we've fixed the thing." chapter xi an escapade the night was still and clear when thorne rode out of the ravine, in the hollow of which he had left his wagon and one hobbled horse. reaching the level, he drew bridle and sat still in his saddle for a minute or two looking about him. the dew was settling heavily on the short, wiry grass, which shone faintly in the elusive light, with patches of darker color where his horse's hoofs had passed. ahead, the prairie rolled away, a vast dimly lighted plain, to the soft dusky grayness which obscured the horizon, and he knew that somewhere beyond the dip of the latter stood the mountain, a broken stretch of higher ground covered with birches and willows, where if corporal slaney held on so long he must endeavor to evade him. volador seemed fit and fresh, for which he was thankful, for it was nearly twenty miles to the mountain, and he was, after all, a little uncertain about the speed of the policeman's horse, though the appearance of the beast, which he had seen in the hotel stable, did not suggest any great powers in this respect. it was, however, not the one slaney usually rode, which he fancied might, perhaps, be significant. at length he leaned down and patted volador's neck. "you'll have to go to-night, old boy," he said. the beast responded to his voice and a shake of the bridle, and they set off southward at a trot. the moon already hung rather low in the western sky, and he calculated that in another couple of hours it would have dipped beneath the grassland's rim. by then he should reach the mountain, and the darkness would be in his favor if he had not already outdistanced his pursuer. it was in a singularly buoyant mood that he rode quietly on, and it was reluctantly that he checked the horse which once or twice attempted to gallop. after the last few months of prosaic and unremitting toil, the prospect of a mad night ride, and the zest of the hazard attached to it, proved strangely exhilarating to one of his temperament. he admitted that, as winthrop was not a particular friend of his, there was no reason why he should have undertaken the thing at all; but he remembered the appeal in lucy calvert's eyes, and that and the lust of a frolic was sufficient for him. there are men of his kind who, in their hearts, at least, never grow old. he had covered two or three miles when he saw a mounted man following the trail to the settlement, and he rode on across the trail with a wave of his hat. he did not feel inclined for conversation, and everything had already been arranged. the mounted figure presently sank out of sight again, and he pulled volador up to a slow walk. he would give baxter half an hour to reach the settlement and put slaney on his trail, and there was no use in wasting his horse's strength in the meanwhile. it was nearly an hour later, and he was riding slowly, a lonely, moving speck in the center of a great level waste whose boundaries steadily receded before him, when a faint drumming of hoofs came out of the silence. then he pulled volador up altogether, and sat still, listening, for a while, until he felt sure that his pursuer, who was apparently riding hard, would hear him. he did not wish the man to draw too close, but it would, on the other hand, serve no purpose if he rode south unless slaney followed him. it seemed only reasonable to suppose that once the police decided that winthrop had got safely away to dakota they would abandon the search for him in western canada. then something in the sound, which was rapidly growing louder, struck him as curious, and he listened more closely with a frown, for it was now becoming evident that instead of one pursuer he had two to deal with, which was certainly not what he had desired or expected. touching volador with his heels, he let him go, and for five or six minutes they fled south at a fast gallop with a thud of hoofs on sun-baked sod ringing far behind them. then he pulled the horse up with a struggle, and listened again. he was at length certain that the police had heard him and were following as fast as possible. there was no cover until he reached the mountain; nothing but an open wilderness, unbroken by even a ravine or a clump of willows, and he must ride. once more he let volador go, and the cool night air streamed past him, whipping his hot face and bringing the blood to it, while long billowy rises came back to him, looking in the uncertain moonlight like the vast undulations of a glassy sea underrun by the swell of a distant gale. each time he swung over the gradual crest of one, a rhythmic staccato drumming became sharply audible, and sank again as he dipped into the great grassy hollows. volador seemed fresh still, which was consoling, for there was no doubt that the sound of the pursuit was as clear as it had been. this was a fresh surprise. half an hour passed, and they swung out upon a wide, high level, where for the first time he twisted in his saddle and looked behind him. he could see, rather more plainly than he cared about, two dim figures, spread out well apart on the verge of the plateau, and it was evident that they were not dropping behind. it would, he recognized, lead to unpleasant complications if they overtook him. he raised a quirt he had borrowed, but, reflecting, he let his arm drop again. after all, it might be desirable to let volador keep a little in hand. then he glanced to the westward, and was pleased to see that the moon was rapidly nearing the rim of the plain. it would be dark when he reached the mountain. volador was flagging a little when at length they swept up the slope of another rise. on crossing the top of this thorne was conscious of a difference in the drumming of hoofs behind. one of the pursuers was clearly falling back, which was satisfactory, though he fancied that the other man was still holding his own. then he saw away in front of him a blurred mass with an uneven crest which cut dimly black against the sky. it stretched broad across his course, and he struck volador with the quirt, for he recognized it as the mountain, and knew that he must ride in earnest now. a mounted man would make a good deal of noise descending the ravines which seamed it and smashing through the undergrowth beneath the birches, and it was desirable that he should reach their shelter well ahead of the troopers. the horse responded gallantly, but the beat of hoofs which he longed to get away from grew no fainter, and when five minutes had flown by he plied the quirt again. he was very hot, and somewhat anxious, but the moon was now near the verge of the prairie. it was large and red, and already the light was failing, though a long black shadow still fled beside him across the dewy grass. at last he fancied he was drawing ahead, and a mad fit came upon him as they went flying down a rugged and broken slope to a water-course, while the mountain rose higher and blacker ahead. stones clattered and rattled under them, clouds of light soil flew up, and then there was a great splashing as the horse plunged through the creek. after that the pace grew slower as they faced the ascent; and he swung low in the saddle when they sped in among the birches. a branch struck him in the face and swept his hat away, but it had done its work and he decided that he was better rid of it. a semblance of a trail that dipped into hollows and swung over rises led through the mountain, though as a rule any one riding south skirted this. thorne had already decided that he must leave it somewhere as quietly as possible and let corporal slaney go by. he could not hear the trooper now, and this was reassuring, for he would have to stop soon and he did not wish his pursuer to notice that the noise in front of him had suddenly ceased. two or three minutes later, however, the sound he was beginning to dread once more reached him, breaking in upon the crackle of dry sticks under his horse's hoofs and the crash he made as he now and then blundered into a brake or thicket. it was very dark in the bluff; he could scarcely see the spectral trunks of the flitting trees, and to pick the way or avoid the obstacles around which the trail here and there twisted was out of the question. he faced the hazards as they came and rode savagely; but the thud of pursuing hoofs and the smashing and crackling which mingled with it sounded very close when he reached the brink of a ravine which he understood it was almost impossible to descend on horseback. to dismount would, however, as he realized, entail his capture; and setting his lips tight he drove the failing horse at the almost precipitous gully. they plunged down with soil and stones sliding and rattling after them, splashed into a creek, and were half-way up the opposite side when a second clatter of falling stones was followed by a heavy downward rush of loosened soil. then there was a dull thud and afterward a curiously impressive silence. thorne pulled up his badly blown horse and, twisting in his saddle, looked back across the ravine. he could see nothing but a shadowy mass of trees which stood out dimly against a strip of soft blue sky. he could feel his heart beating, and the deep silence troubled him. indeed, it was with difficulty that he refrained from shouting to the fallen man, but he reflected that as he had now and then spoken to slaney, the latter would probably recognize his voice. then he heard the man get up, and the sounds which followed indicated that he was urging his horse to rise. thorne once more tapped volador with his quirt. a hoarse cry rang after him, commanding him to stop, but this was on the whole a consolation, for it did not seem likely that slaney was badly hurt if he could shout, and thorne rode on with a laugh. he scarcely supposed the policeman's horse would be fit for much after a heavy fall, but there was another trooper somewhere behind who might turn up at any moment. he purposely rode through a brake or two in order that the crackle of undergrowth might make it clear that he was going on, and then, when some time had passed and there was no sign of any pursuit, he turned sharply off the trail and headed into the bush. it soon became necessary to dismount and lead his horse, and finally he looped the bridle round a branch and sat down wearily. he fancied that half an hour had passed when he heard an increasing sound which suggested that two mounted men were riding cautiously along the trail some distance away. he could hear an occasional sharp snapping of rotten branches and the crash of trodden undergrowth as well as the beat of hoofs. listening carefully, he decided that the riders were pushing straight on, and he was sure of it later, when the sound began to die away. he sat still, however, for almost another hour, and then succeeded with some difficulty in finding the trail. following it back until it led him out of the mountain, he stripped off his duck jacket and flung it where anybody who passed that way could not well help seeing it, and then he took out a soft gray hat he had carried rolled up in his belt. clad in blue shirt and trousers, he rode on slowly into the prairie. the dawn found him some miles from the mountain and at least as far from any trail, in the open waste. reaching a ravine, he lay down at the bottom of it beside a creek and ate the breakfast he had brought with him, while volador cropped the grass. then he went quietly to sleep. it was midday when he awakened, and falling dusk when he eventually reached the ravine near the settlement, where he had left his wagon and the other horse. there was nothing to suggest that anybody had visited the place in his absence, and after making an excellent supper he lay down again inside the vehicle with a sigh of content. everything had gone satisfactorily, and it was most unlikely that winthrop would be further troubled by the police. he did not know much about the extradition laws, but it was generally believed that when a man once got across the frontier the troopers contented themselves with notifying the authorities and nothing further was heard of the matter, unless the fugitive were guilty of some very serious offense. a good deal of the boundary then ran through an empty wilderness, and it was difficult to trace any one who managed to reach the settlements on its southern side. indeed, it was seldom that a determined attempt was made. early on the following morning thorne set out for his holding, and on the day after he got there he set about cutting prairie hay. as a rule, nobody sows artificial grasses when taking up new land, but as some fodder for the teams is required it is generally cut in a dried-up sloo where the water gathers in the thaw. in such places the grass grows tall, and as it rapidly ripens and whitens in the sun all the farmer need do is to cut it and carry it home. thorne was stripped to shirt and trousers, besides being grimed all over with dust, when looking around for a moment he saw mrs. farquhar and alison in a wagon not far away. a black cloud of flies hovered about his head and followed his plodding horses, while a thick haze of dust rose from the grass that went down before the clanging mower. he stopped, however, and looked around with a tranquil smile when mrs. farquhar pulled up her team. "you seem astonished to see me," he said. mrs. farquhar turned and pointed to the long rows of fallen grass. "i'm certainly astonished to see all that hay down." "i wonder," quizzed thorne, "if you intended that to be complimentary. you see, i rather cling to the idea that i can do as much as other people when i'm forced to it." "you must have had the team out at sunup and have made the most of every minute since," laughed mrs. farquhar. "it looks like it, unless i had them out the previous evening." "you hadn't," declared alison, and her companion broke in again. "she is quite right. you were not here yesterday. it was partly to satisfy her curiosity that harry drove round to see." thorne fancied that alison was not exactly pleased with this statement, but she made no attempt to contradict it. "what strikes me most," she said, "is the fact that you look as if you had never been away." "that," returned thorne, "is the impression i wished to give people. now that i've had my frolic, i want to forget it. it's a natural desire. on the whole, i'm sorry you took the trouble to ascertain that i've just come back." "the question is, what have you been doing while you were absent?" asked mrs. farquhar severely. "selling things most of the time. it's another example of what you can do if you try. i'd given up half a case of tarnished mirrors as quite unsalable, and somehow or other i got rid of every one of them." "anything else?" "well," replied thorne with a thoughtful air, "i had a rather pleasant ride. in fact, i feel so braced up by the whole trip that i expect i shall be able to go on steadily for another few months, at least." "and then?" alison inquired. thorne looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "oh," he said, "if any of my friends make too persistent attempts to reform me it's quite possible i shall go off on the trail again." "i don't think you need anticipate any further trouble of that kind," alison assured him. thorne turned to mrs. farquhar. "may i drive over to supper to-morrow evening? i'd like a talk with harry--among other things." "of course," responded mrs. farquhar. "as a matter of fact, though i don't suppose it would have much result, i should like a talk with you. in the meanwhile we'll get on. it wouldn't be considerate to keep you back when you're seized by a fit of sensible activity." she drove away with the clang of the mower following her and a few minutes later she smiled at alison. "he's very far from perfect, and that's probably why he has so many friends," she observed. "i should very much like to hear an unvarnished account of all his doings since he went away." alison, though she would not confess it, was sensible of a similar curiosity. chapter xii hunter makes an enemy the committee of the new creamery scheme were sitting in a room of the graham's bluff hotel one evening after supper when nevis laid his plan for the financing of the project before them. he had come there at their invitation for that purpose, and when he finished speaking they looked at one another with uncertainty in their faces. there were six of them, including hunter, the chairman; prairie farmers who had been chosen by their neighbors to decide on a means of raising the necessary capital. all of them owned a few head of stock, for they were beginning to raise cattle as well as wheat in that district, and one or two more fortunate than their companions had an odd thousand dollars to their credit at the bank, which was a somewhat unusual thing in the case of men of their calling. the venture they contemplated would not have been justified now, for the government has lately erected creameries where there is a reasonable demand for them. in a few moments nevis, a little astonished at his companions' silence, spoke again. "you have heard my views, gentlemen," he said. "i'm prepared to find you half the money on the terms laid down. it remains for you to decide whether you will bring my scheme before the next meeting--in which case it will, no doubt, be adopted." still nobody said anything and he leaned on the back of a chair with a strip of paper in one hand, watching them out of keen, dark eyes. as usual, he was almost too neatly dressed in light, tight-fitting clothes, and this and his white, soft-skinned hands emphasized the contrast between him and his audience. among the latter were one or two men of liberal education, but their faces, like those of the others, were darkened by exposure to stinging frosts and scorching sun and their hands were hard and brown. they looked what they were, men who lived very plainly and spent their days in unremitting toil. two, indeed, wore old, soil-stained jackets over their coarse blue shirts, and there was no attempt at elegance in the attire of the others. hunter, whose appearance was wholly inconspicuous, sat at the head of the table with a quiet face, waiting for somebody to speak, though the reticence of his companions did not astonish him. nevis was a power in that district, and hunter had grounds for believing that three of those present were in his debt. this made it reasonably evident that they would not care to offend a man who was generally understood to be an exacting creditor. hunter had their case in his mind when at length he spoke. "mr. nevis's scheme seems perfectly clear, on the face of it, and we have now to make up our minds whether we'll support it or not. if none of you have any questions to put we'll ask him to excuse us for a few minutes while we consider the matter and vote on it. i would suggest a ballot--to be decided by a simple majority." a gleam which hunter noticed crept into nevis's eyes and hinted that the suggestion did not meet with his approval. it is possible he had expected that some of the men would not care to vote against him openly. "that," said one briefly, "strikes me as the squarest way; i'll second the proposition." "well," assented nevis, "i won't embarrass you if you want to talk it over. you can send for me when you want me. i'll go down for a smoke." there was less reserve when he withdrew, and they discussed his plan guardedly without arriving at any decision until hunter laid six little strips of paper and a pencil on the table. "we'll vote on the scheme--the words for or against will be sufficient without your names," he said. each wrote on a scrap of paper and flung it into a hat in turn, but two of them, it was noticeable, hesitated for a moment or so. then hunter shook out the papers and counted them. "it's even--three for and three against," he announced. "since that's the case i'll exercise my chairman's option. it's against." there was satisfaction in some of the faces and in the others uncertainty, which, however, scarcely suggested much regret. then they decided on hunter's recommendation to raise what capital they could among their friends, even if they had to content themselves with a smaller outlay. nevis, who was called in, heard the result with an easy indifference. "well," he said, "i can't complain. there was a risk in the thing, anyway, and i guess you know what you want best." he went out again, and soon afterward the meeting broke up; but hunter, who remained after the others had gone, was not astonished when nevis presently strolled into the room. he sat down opposite hunter and lighted a cigar. "i suppose i have you to thank for this," he began. "you mean the choosing of the alternative scheme? how did you find out that you owed it to me?" it was a difficult question, put with a disconcerting quietness. as it happened, none of the committee had informed nevis that the matter had been decided by the chairman's vote, and he was naturally reluctant to admit that three of them were under his influence. "i didn't find out," he answered. "i assumed it." "on what grounds?" this was still more troublesome to parry, as it appeared quite possible to nevis that if he furnished hunter with a hint of the truth the latter would find means of getting rid of men who might under pressure be tempted to betray the confidence of their comrades. he was beginning to realize that the plain, brown-faced farmer with the unwavering eyes was a match for him, which was a fact he had not suspected hitherto, though he had been acquainted with him for some time. then hunter smiled significantly. "we'll let it pass," he said. "i don't mind admitting that you were correct in your surmise. the thing turned upon my vote and i gave it against your scheme. what follows?" it was not a conciliatory answer, but it at least furnished nevis with the lead he desired. "your decision isn't quite final yet," he declared. "you have to report it to a general meeting, and a good deal will depend on whether you merely lay your views before those present or urge them upon them. now, as my proposition isn't an unreasonable one, i'll ask you right out what your objections to it are?" "i haven't any--to the scheme. as you say, it's reasonable, and it would save our raising a good deal of money." nevis was not particularly sensitive, but something in his companion's manner brought the blood to his cheek. "then you object to me--personally. will you explain why?" "since you insist," replied hunter. "to begin with, we propose to start the creamery for the benefit of the stock-raising farmers in this district, and several things lead me to believe that if you once get your grip on the management it will in process of time be run for your benefit exclusively. that is one reason i voted against your scheme, and i'm rather glad the decision rested with me, because"--he paused a moment--"i, at least, don't owe you any money." nevis with difficulty repressed a start at this. if hunter was not in his debt his wife undoubtedly was, and something might be made of the fact by and by. in the meanwhile he was keenly anxious to secure an interest in the creamery. once he could manage it, he apprehended no insuperable difficulty in obtaining control; but he could not get the necessary footing in the face of hunter's opposition. "it strikes me we're only working around the point and shifting ground," he said. "what makes you believe i don't mean to act straight?" "what happened in langton's and winthrop's case?" nevis sat silent a moment or two. there was a vein of vindictiveness in him, but he was avaricious first of all, and he could generally keep his resentment in the background when it was a question of money. "are you a friend of either of them?" he asked. "not exactly; but i took a certain interest in winthrop--i liked the man. in fact, i helped him out of a tight place once or twice, and might have done it again, only that i realized the one result would be to put a few more dollars into your pocket. that"--and hunter smiled--"didn't seem worth while." "it was a straight deal; i lent him the money at the usual interest. he couldn't have got it cheaper from anybody else." hunter looked at him in a curious manner and nevis wondered somewhat uneasily how much this farmer knew. he had been correct as far as he had gone, but he had, as he recognized, left one opening for attack when he had foreclosed on winthrop's stock and homestead. there are exemption laws in parts of canada which to some extent protect the small farmer's possessions from seizure for debt unless he has actually mortgaged them. winthrop had done this, but the mortgage was not a heavy one, and nevis had afterward lent him further money, with the deliberate intention of breaking him. when the value of the possessions pledged greatly exceeds what has been advanced on them, which is generally the case, it is now and then profitable to foreclose, even though any excess above the loan realized at the sale must ostensibly be handed to the borrower. there, are, however, means of preventing him from getting very much of it, and though the process is sometimes risky this did not count for much with nevis. "well," said hunter quietly, "i'm not sure that what you tell me has any bearing on the matter." this might mean anything or nothing, and nevis, determining to force an issue, leaned forward confidentially. "let's face the point," he replied. "i want a share in this creamery--i can make it pay. there's only you who really counts against me. i may as well own it. now, can't we come to terms somehow? i merely want you to abandon your opposition, and you would have no difficulty in preventing my doing anything that appeared against the stockholders' interests." "i've already made up my mind that it would be safer to keep you out of it." "that's your last word?" "yes. i don't mean to be offensive. it's a matter of business." his companion took up his hat. he had failed, as indeed he had half expected to do, but he bade hunter good-evening tranquilly and went out with strong resentment in his heart. henceforward he meant to adopt an aggressive policy, and the farmer who had thwarted him must stand upon his guard. this decision, however, was largely prompted by business reasons, for nevis had now no doubt that hunter, who was looked up to as a leader by his neighbors, would use his influence against him in other matters besides the creamery scheme unless something could be done to embarrass or discredit him. the farmer, he thought, was open to attack in two ways--through his wife and through the defaulting debtor he had befriended. when hunter walked out of the hotel a few minutes afterward he also was thinking of winthrop. he found thorne harnessing his team. "did winthrop ever show you his mortgage deed or any other papers relating to his deal with nevis?" he asked. "no," answered thorne; "i was only in his place three or four times. why do you ask?" "there's a point in connection with it that occurs to me; but i dare say he took them with him." hunter paused and flashed a quick glance at his companion. "do you know where he is?" "i don't. as a matter of fact, i don't want to, though it's possible that i could find out. the trouble is that if i made inquiries it might set other people--nevis, for instance--on his trail." "yes," assented hunter, "there's a good deal in that. on the whole, it might be wiser if you kept carefully clear of the thing, particularly if corporal slaney feels inclined to move any further in the matter. well, as i've a long drive before me i must be getting on." he turned away toward the stables and thorne grinned cheerfully. he had a respect for the astuteness of this quiet, steady-eyed farmer, and he was disposed to fancy that nevis would share it before the struggle which he forecasted was over. what was more, he was quite ready to act in any way as hunter's ally, and he believed that between them they could give the plotter something to think about. it was getting dark when hunter reached home and found his wife waiting for him in the general living room. she was evidently a little out of temper. "you are very late," she said. "i suppose you have been to one of those creamery meetings again?" hunter sat down where the lamplight fell upon his face, and there was a trace of weariness in it. "yes," he answered; "i had to go. on the whole, i'm glad i did." "a crisis of some kind? you haven't been increasing your interest in the scheme?" "no," replied hunter with a smile; "not in money, anyway. you will, no doubt, be pleased to hear it." "i am," retorted florence. "if you had been ready to give those people anything they asked for it wouldn't have been flattering. you're not remarkably generous where i'm concerned." hunter made a gesture of protest. "i'm not giving them anything at all. once we make it a success i can get back the money i'm putting into the undertaking at any time; and if i don't i expect every bit of it to earn me something." he looked around at her directly, for he knew where the grievance lay. "that's a very different matter from handing you a big check for your expenses in toronto or montreal." "oh, yes," pouted florence; "the latter would give me pleasure." she paused and there was a sudden change in her expression. "elcot," she added, "can't you realize that now and then you can lay out money without getting anything back for it, and yet find that it pays you well?" the man looked at her hesitatingly. he knew what this question meant and he was half disposed to yield. living simply and toiling hard, he had treated her generously in comparison with his means, which, after all, were not large; but he remembered that he had yielded rather often of late and that each concession had merely led to a fresh demand. "there's a limit, flo," he said. "still, if three hundred dollars will meet the case i might stretch a point. i suppose you are determined on that visit to toronto?" the woman knew that any further attempt to win him round would fail, and, this being so, it seemed a pity to waste energy on him. the three hundred dollars would by no means suffice for the purpose. this in itself was unpleasant, but in the fact that he could not be induced to make what appeared to be a small sacrifice for her pleasure there lay an extra sting. it was, perhaps, a pity that she had of late given him small cause for suspecting anything of the kind. "it would be better than nothing," she said coldly, and then leaned back in her chair in a sudden fit of impatience with him and the whole situation. "i sometimes wonder how i stand with you!" she exclaimed. "first," declared the man, and he spoke the simple truth; but unfortunately he was not wise enough to content himself with the brief assurance. "still," he added, "i have other duties." "to maverick thorne, and winthrop, and everybody in the district generally!" "well," replied hunter, with the hint of weariness creeping back into his expression, "i suppose that more or less fits the case. you have all along been first with me, and i think i have done what i could to please you--and done it willingly. still, there are these others--i owe them something. when i came here, a poor man, they held out their hands to me; one lent me a team, another, when i had no mower, cut and carried in my hay, and some came over night after night to build my log barn. i think i should have gone under if it hadn't been for them." he looked up at his wife with resolute eyes. "now that i can pay them back without, in all probability, its costing me a dollar i'm at least going to try." florence's lips set scornfully. she had no liking for the surrounding farmers. they were, in her estimation, mere unlettered toilers--simple, unimaginative, brown-faced men who thought about nothing but the seasons and the price of wheat. what was, perhaps, as much to the purpose, she had a suspicion that most of them were not greatly impressed in her favor. now her husband was, it seemed, anxious to waste his means for their benefit. "elcot," she asked abruptly, "has it never occurred to you that you could make more of your life than you are doing here?" hunter faced the question humorously. "it would be astonishing if it hadn't, since you have suggested it more than once, but the answer is in the negative. this place is paying pretty well, and my means would certainly not keep us in winnipeg, toronto or montreal; anyway, not in the comfort with which, after all, you have been surrounded. of course, i might, for instance, try to run a store, but it doesn't strike me that this would be of much benefit to you. would the kind of people you like welcome you as readily if your husband were retailing hats or groceries in the neighborhood?" florence knew that it was most improbable, though she would not confess it. instead, she decided to see if it were possible to irritate him. "after all," she retorted, "there is no great difference between a storekeeper and a farmer. all my city friends know what you are, and i can find no fault with the way they treat me." hunter laughed as he glanced down at his hard brown hands and dusty attire. "the point is that in your case the farmer husband does not put in an appearance. it might be different if he did." florence looked at him in silence for a moment or two. though he had been to the creamery meeting he was very plainly dressed; his bronzed face and battered nails told their own tale of arduous toil in the open, and there was no doubt that he looked a prairie farmer. yet he was, as she realized now and then, well favored in a way; a man who might have made his mark in a different station, widely read and quietly forceful. indeed, his inflexibility on certain points, though it sometimes angered her, compelled her deference. "oh," she cried at length, "it doesn't cost you much self-denial to stay behind. it's easy for you to be content. you like this life." "yes," returned hunter quietly; "i'm thankful that i do. it's what i was made for. however, i don't wish to force too much of it on you, and so i'll give you a check for the three hundred dollars." he crossed the room and, opening a desk, sat down at it for a minute or two. then he came back and laid a strip of paper on the table in front of florence. "after all," she conceded, "as i was away a good deal of last winter, it's rather liberal, elcot." hunter, without answering her, went quietly out. chapter xiii nevis picks up a clue a week had slipped by since the meeting of the creamery committee and it was about the middle of the afternoon when nevis lay, cigar in hand, in the shadow of a straggling bluff. it was pleasantly cool there and scorching sunshine beat down upon the prairie, across which he had plodded during the last half hour, and he had still some miles to go before he could reach the farm at which he expected to borrow a team. he was not fond of walking, but the man who had driven him out from the settlement, being in haste to reach graham's bluff, had set him down some distance from the homestead he desired to visit. nevis found it advisable to look his clients up every now and then and see how they were getting on. this enabled him to sell to those who were not too deeply in his debt implements and stores at top prices, and to put judicious pressure upon the ones whose payments had fallen behind. he was, however, thinking of hunter as he lay full length among the grass with a frown on his face. it seemed desirable to let the man who had deprived him of what looked like a promising opportunity for lining his pockets feel that it would be wiser to refrain from interfering with his affairs in future, and he fancied that if winthrop, whom hunter had confessed to befriending, should be brought to trial it would convey a useful hint. this course was also advisable for other reasons. it must be admitted that the bondholder does not always come out on top, especially in bad seasons, and nevis had already decided that the arrest of winthrop would serve as a warning to any of his neighbors who might feel tempted to evade their liabilities in a similar fashion. he was still on the absconder's trail, though as yet it had not led him very far. by and by he heard a soft beat of hoofs and a rattle of wheels, and looking up was pleased to see mrs. hunter drive around a corner of the bluff. he had of late been conscious of a growing delight in her company, and, what was almost as much to the purpose, he had partly thought out a plan of attacking her husband through her. he had, however, too much tact to force himself on her, and he lay still, apparently unobservant of her approach until she pulled up the horse. "what are you doing here?" she asked. "resting," replied nevis, rising to his feet. "i'm going across to jordan's place. walking's no doubt healthy, but i'm afraid i'm not fond of it." he waited to see whether she would take the hint, which he had made as plain as possible, and as he did so a gleam crept into his eyes. florence had an eye for color and an artistic taste in dress, and she was attired then in filmy draperies of a faint, shimmering green--the color of clear sea-water rippling over sand. they suggested the fine contour of her form and emphasized the shifting tones of burnished copper in her hair and the clearness of her eyes. what she saw in his expression did not appear, but she smiled at him. "then if you will get in i can drive you part of the way," she said graciously. nevis did not wait for a second invitation and she turned to him when he had taken his place at her side. "you haven't come back to call on us." "no," responded nevis; "i saw your husband at one of the creamery meetings and i'm sorry to own there were one or two matters upon which we couldn't agree." he watched her to see how she would receive this, but she laughed. "i'm not responsible for all elcot's opinions, and i must do him the justice to say that he seldom attempts to force them on me. for all that, i shouldn't wonder if he were right." nevis was far too astute to disparage the man he did not like openly to his wife, so he made a sign of assent. "yes," he said thoughtfully, "it's possible that he was. in one sense, he generally is. elcot's what one might call altruistic; he has a finer perception of ethical right than the rest of us, and one could fancy it occasionally makes difficulties for him. indeed, it's bound to when he rubs against ordinary mortals who're content to look out for what's going to benefit them." his companion recognized the truth of this, and, as he had expected, it irritated her. deep down in her nature there was a hidden respect for the quiet, resolute man who, though he seldom proclaimed them, lived in what she now and then considered too strict compliance with his principles. he recognized his duty toward her and had discharged it, in most respects, with a conscientious thoroughness; but that accomplished, he had also recognized his duty to others, and had unwaveringly insisted on fulfilling this in turn. there, as nevis had cunningly suggested, lay the grievance. it would have been more pleasant for her, and--she confessed this--in many little ways also for him, had she stood alone in his eyes, instead of merely standing first. there was a marked and often inconvenient distinction between the two things. now and then his point of view appealed to her, but more often her pride received a jar and she thought of him bitterly when he befriended his neighbors, as she tried to convince herself, at her expense. she could, she felt, have loved the man, and perhaps have made an unconditional surrender to him, but he must first be hers altogether and think of nobody else. then nevis interrupted her thoughts with a veiled purpose, and once more touched the tender spot. "most of the boys think a good deal of elcot, and i guess it's natural. he has given quite a few of them a lift now and then. there's winthrop and thorne, for instance--he guaranteed maverick for a thousand dollars, somebody told me--and now he's putting a good deal more into this creamery scheme. from experience of their habits, i should say he must find that kind of thing expensive now and then. perhaps, if one might suggest it, that is why he lives as plainly as he does. in a way, it's rather fine of him, though it wouldn't appeal to me." there was no doubt that any self-denial on her husband's part in which she might be compelled to share did not appeal to florence either, but she noticed the tact with which nevis had refrained from supporting his statement by a reference to his loan or the unpaid bills. "well," she declared, "i, at least, believe in getting the most one can out of life." "that," said nevis, "is my own idea, and it leads up to the question why you haven't gone away yet? have your husband's benefactions made it impossible?" he had at last attained his object. florence had longed for the visit, and had resented the fact that elcot had not been willing to indulge her in it at any cost. he had certainly given her a check, but, while toronto is a cheaper place than montreal, three hundred dollars will not go very far in any canadian city, at least when one is satisfied with only the best that is obtainable. "they have certainly helped," she replied curtly. nevis recognized that she would not have admitted this had she not been disposed to treat him on a confidential footing, and it was clear that the indignation she had displayed in her answer was directed against her husband and had not been occasioned by his presumption. "then," he suggested, "if you really wish to go, there's a way in which it could be managed; though it's an act of self-sacrifice on my part to further such an object." florence swallowed the last suggestion and looked at him sharply. "you mean?" "i could find you the money--on the same terms as the last." he added the explanation hastily lest her pride should take alarm. there was silence for a moment, and during it florence's resentment against her husband grew stronger. she was anxious for the visit, but had he been poor she would have given it up more or less willingly. that, however, was not the case, for, as her companion had cunningly hinted, he was at least rich enough to bestow his favors on men like winthrop, the absconder, and the pedler thorne. now she blamed him for driving her into borrowing from the man at her side. "i should be glad to have it on those conditions," she said at length. she pulled up the horse presently while nevis took out a fountain-pen and his pocketbook, and when she drove on again she held a check of his in her hand. twenty minutes later he looked around at her as the horse plodded more slowly up a slight rise. "i think i'll get out here," he said. "it's only half a mile to jordan's place; you can see the house from the top." there was not a great deal in the words, but florence grasped their hidden significance. they conveyed a delicate suggestion that it might not be desirable for her to be seen in his company, and she was quite aware that to fall in with it would imply that there was already something in their relations that must be kept concealed from their neighbors' gaze. for a moment she felt inclined to insist on driving him up to the homestead door, and then the feel of his check in her hand restrained her. she stopped the horse and smiled when he got down. "thank you again," she said. "that's a little superfluous," returned the man. "it's a business deal; but if you can spare a few minutes when you are in toronto you might manage to write a line. after all, i can, perhaps, ask that much." "i won't promise," florence laughed. "still, it's possible that i may make the effort." she drove away and nevis climbed the rise feeling very well satisfied. he had got a firmer hold on hunter now and he meant to break ground for the next attack by picking up winthrop's trail. in this also, fortune favored him, for when he drew up his hired rig outside farquhar's house on the following evening he found that both he and his wife were out. alison was in, however, and when she said that they would probably reach home shortly he got down and sat a while talking with her on the stoop, which in the summer frequently serves the purpose of a drawing-room at a prairie homestead. alison had met him once or twice before and was sensible of a slight dislike toward the man, though she could not deny that he was an amusing companion. by and by a girl drove along the trail two or three hundred yards away in a wagon, and he gazed rather hard at her. "she recognized you, didn't she?" he questioned. "i can't quite fix her." "lucy calvert," alison informed him. "it's rather curious that i haven't seen her before, as i should certainly have remembered it, though i had once or twice a deal with her father." alison was conscious of a slight irritation, which, indeed, any reference to the girl in question usually aroused in her. "then," she said, "if lucy has any say in the matter you are scarcely likely to do any further business with the family." nevis raised his eyebrows. "i wonder what you mean?" "only that it's generally supposed miss calvert was to have married winthrop. whether she still intends to do so is more than i know." she was puzzled by the sudden intentness of the man's face and for no particular cause half regretted the speech. "it's the first time i've heard of it," he said thoughtfully. then he smiled. "anyway, she can't be very wise if she's anxious to marry him." alison, who had watched him closely, fancied that his smile was meant to cover his interest in the information she had given him. she also noticed how quickly he changed the subject, and they talked about other matters until at last, as farquhar did not make his appearance, he stood up. "i'll look in another time," he told her. "it's getting late, and i'm due at the bluff to-night." soon after he had driven away farquhar turned up with his wife and thorne, and alison noticed the frown on the latter's face when she informed mrs. farquhar of nevis's visit. "i'm astonished that you have him here at all," he broke out. "why shouldn't i?" his hostess asked. "that question," returned thorne, "strikes me as a little superfluous, considering that he's an utterly unscrupulous, scoundrelly vampire. still, i dare say you can forgive him a good deal for the sake of his appearance." mrs. farquhar laughed. "the last, i suppose, is after all his chief offense." alison saw that this shot had reached its mark by the way thorne drew down his brows. the man, as she had heard, had a quick temper, but she was not displeased that he should obviously resent the fact that nevis had spent half an hour in her company. then, remembering that winthrop was a friend of thorne's, she felt a little guilty, and when later on they all sauntered out across the prairie, she drew him aside. "there's something i think i should mention," she said. "i told nevis that miss calvert was to have married winthrop. he seemed unusually interested." thorne started and looked hard at her. "what on earth made you do that?" he asked sharply. "did he lead up to it?" "no," replied alison with some reluctance, "i don't think he did. so far as i can remember, i volunteered the information." there was no doubt about the man's displeasure. "he certainly would be interested, and i'm very much afraid you have made trouble. but you haven't told me why you did it." "i spoke on the spur of the moment--without thinking." "without thinking clearly," thorne corrected. "for all that, it's possible you had a kind of subconscious motive. you can't deny that you are prejudiced against winthrop." alison was sensible of a certain relief, and she smiled at him. the man had shown some insight, but he had not gone quite far enough in his surmises, for it was not winthrop but lucy calvert against whom she was prejudiced. "what have i done?" she asked. "if it's any harm, i'm sorry." her companion's face relaxed. he never cherished his anger long. "well," he explained, "i'm afraid you have put nevis on winthrop's trail, though the thing's not certain. after all, it's possible that there's another reason for his interest." "and that is?" "he's a man with a weakness for pretty faces, which will probably get him into trouble by and by, though he's generally supposed to be a clever--philanderer. it's not quite the thing to abuse any one you don't like when he's absent, but in spite of that i can't help saying that he's absolutely unprincipled and should be avoided by every self-respecting woman." again alison smiled. he had spoken strongly, though he had carefully picked his words, and she had little difficulty in following the workings of his mind, which on the whole were amusing. he had meant the speech as a warning to her. "i suppose miss calvert could be called good-looking?" she suggested. "that," answered thorne, with a trace of sharpness, "is not quite the point. she's a girl who has a good deal to contend with and is making a very plucky fight. whether she's wise in being as fond of winthrop as she seems to be is another matter; one that doesn't concern us. anyway, she has difficulties enough without it. it's not easy for two women to make a living out of a farm of the kind they're running when it's burdened with a heavy debt." alison could forgive him a good deal for his chivalrous pity, though the fact that it was lucy calvert who had excited it still somewhat irritated her. it seemed, however, that he had a little more to say. "in any case," he added, "i'm glad you told me." then he turned back toward the others and she had no opportunity for further speech with him. she noticed, however, that he seemed unusually thoughtful during the rest of the evening. chapter xiv winthrop's letter after breakfast the next morning alison sat sewing in a thoughtful mood. she now genuinely regretted having given nevis the information about lucy calvert, and in addition to this thorne's reserve on the previous evening somewhat troubled her. he had not thought fit to tell her what he meant to do, but she was convinced that he would do something, and the most obvious course would be to warn lucy against any attempt which nevis might make to trace her lover. it was possible that the man might cunningly entrap her into some admission that would be of assistance to him. on the other hand, alison realized that thorne's task was not so simple as it appeared on the face of it. though quick-witted, he was, she suspected, by no means subtle, and she supposed that he would find it difficult to put lucy on her guard without betraying the part that she had played in the matter. she was quite sure that nothing would induce him to let this become apparent. it was, however, necessary that lucy should be warned as soon as possible, and alison decided that as she was the one who had made the trouble it was she who should set it right. this would be only an act of justice, besides which it would give her an opportunity for forming a clearer opinion of lucy than she had as yet been able to do. as the result of it all, she obtained mrs. farquhar's permission to visit the calvert homestead, which was not very far away, during the afternoon. in the meanwhile nevis had been considering how he could best make use of the information she had supplied him, and his mind was still occupied with the question when he drove across the prairie that afternoon. it was a fiercely hot day, and the wide grassland, which had turned dusty white again, was flooded with dazzling light. the usual invigorating breeze was still, and nevis's horse had fallen to a walk, pursued by a cloud of flies, when he made out the mail-carrier plodding slowly down the rut-marked trail in front of him. nevis was quite aware that a prairie mail-carrier is usually more or less acquainted with the affairs of every farmer in the district he visits, and he pulled up when he overtook him. "what's the matter with your horse?" he asked. "isn't it stipulated that you should keep one?" "that's so," assented the man. "the trouble is that you can't get a horse that won't go lame on a round like this. i had to leave him at stretton's an hour ago." "going far?" nevis asked. "round by mrs. calvert's to the ravine." nevis decided that he was fortunate, but he carefully concealed any sign of satisfaction. "i can give you a lift as far as the first place, if you like to get in." the man was glad to do so, and nevis presently handed him a cigar. "do you get letters for all the farms every round?" "no," replied his companion; "i'm quite glad i don't; guess i'd use up two horses if i did. it saves me a league or two when i can cut out some of my visits." "yes," agreed nevis, who had a purpose in pursuing the topic. "one can understand that. it's the people back from the trail who will give you most trouble. it must be a morning's ride to boyton's or walthew's; and mrs. calvert's is almost as much off your round. do you have to go there often?" the question was asked casually, with no show of interest, and the mail-carrier evidently suspected nothing. "most every trip the last few weeks," he replied. nevis felt that the scent was getting hot. he made a sign of sympathy. "that's rough on you; anyway, if you have to pack out any weight," he said. "some of these people get a good many implement catalogues and circulars from winnipeg, no doubt?" "in mrs. calvert's case it's one blamed letter takes me most a league off the trail." nevis asked no more questions; they did not seem necessary. he had discovered that somebody wrote to mrs. calvert or her daughter once a week, and he had no trouble in deciding who it must be. he also remembered that letters bore postmarks, and he had a strong desire to ascertain where winthrop was then located. "if you like, i'll hand that letter in," he offered. "i'm calling on mrs. calvert anyway, and you can go straight to the next place if you give it to me." the man hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. "i'm sorry it can't be done," he said. "it's safer to stick to the regulations, and then if you have any trouble nobody can turn round on you." nevis was too wise to urge the point, though he meant, if it could by any means be managed, to get the letter into his hands. "well," he assented, "i guess you're right in that." they drove on to the calvert homestead, which was rudely built of birch logs sawed in a neighboring bluff, and nevis sprang down first when an elderly woman with a careworn face appeared in the doorway. the mail-carrier, who followed him more slowly, stood still a moment fumbling in his bag until the woman spoke to him. "got something to-day, steve?" "i've got it all right," was the answer. "letter for lucy. the trouble is to find the thing." nevis, standing nearer the house, waited until the man took out an envelope. then he stretched out his hand, as though willing to save him the trouble of walking up to the door, but the mail-carrier either did not notice the action or was too punctilious in the execution of his duty to deliver the letter to him. "here it is, mrs. calvert," he said. "thank you, mr. nevis." he strode away and nevis turned to the woman with a smile. "may i come in?" he asked. "i'll leave the horse here; he'll stand quietly." mrs. calvert made no objections, though he noticed that she laid the envelope on a table across the room when he sat down. "it's two or three years since i was in this house," he began. "three," corrected the woman. "i suppose it is," acknowledged nevis, who seemed to reflect. "i got on with your husband pleasantly, and i'm sorry in several ways that our connection has been broken off. i don't think the thing was any fault of mine." mrs. calvert did not answer at once. winthrop was not a great favorite of hers, and although she had made no attempt to turn lucy against him she had on the other hand not altogether sympathized with the latter's views concerning her present visitor. she remembered that her husband had liked the man, and there was no doubt that the goods he supplied were of excellent quality. nevis was certainly not scrupulous, and he had treated some of those who dealt with him with harshness, but he at least never descended to any petty trickery over the sale of a machine. for one thing, he was too clever; he recognized that it was not worth his while. "well," he added, "i don't like for old friends to leave me, and i decided to look you up again. will you want a new binder or a back-set plow this fall?" "we'll want a binder," answered his hostess, who was a woman of somewhat yielding nature. "still, i guess we'll get it from grantly." "his things are good enough, though he stands out for the top price," responded nevis, who was too wise to disparage openly a rival's goods. "just now, however, i'm rather loaded up, and the orders aren't coming along, so i'm making a special cut. i'll knock an extra four dollars off the list figure for the binder, and wait for the money until you have hauled in your wheat." nobody would have suspected that he did not care in the least whether he secured the order or not, or that he had long ago decided that any business he was likely to do with the woman was not worth his attention. she, however, appeared to consider the offer. "it's cheap, and that's a fact," she said. "it's most a pity i can't buy the thing from you." "i suppose that trouble over winthrop has turned miss calvert against me?" "you have got it," was the answer. "lucy's mad with you. she runs this place, and she deals with grantly." this was the lead nevis had been waiting for, and he seized upon it. "if she's about, i'd like a talk with her. i might reason her out of her prejudice against me." "it wouldn't be easy. she drove over to the bluff, but she should be back at any time now." nevis had no particular desire to see miss calvert, but he had made up his mind to wait for an opportunity to examine the postmark on the letter, if it could be managed. taking a catalogue out of his pocket, he proceeded to talk about the machines and implements described in it, until at length there was a rattle of wheels outside and, somewhat to his astonishment, alison walked in. he rose when she greeted mrs. calvert, and noticed that there was something which suggested hostility in her eyes when for a moment she let them rest on him. "farquhar's hired man brought me; he's going to bagshaw's place," she announced. "i came over to see lucy, but she seems to be out." mrs. calvert asked her to wait a little, and when she was seated nevis sat down again. alison, however, noticed that he had now moved to another chair which was nearer the table than the one he had previously occupied, and she wondered whether he could have had any particular motive for changing his place. then, leaning one elbow on the table, she looked around the room. there was only one window in it, for even with double casements it is difficult enough to keep a small prairie homestead warm in winter, and the place was somewhat shadowy. the log walls were uncovered, and she could see the chinking of moss and clay which had been driven into the crevices in them; and there was, as usual, nothing on the very roughly boarded floor. one bright ray of sunshine, however, streamed in, and fell dazzlingly across the table, upon which an apparently unopened letter lay. the white envelope which caught the light seized her attention, and she remembered that the mail-carrier visited the district that day. as lucy calvert was not in, it was reasonable to suppose that the letter was addressed to her, which would explain why her mother had not opened it, and this supposition carried her a little farther. the most likely person to write to the girl was her lover, and alison was almost sure that it was a man who had inscribed the address on the envelope. by and by she saw nevis glance at the square of paper in what did not appear to be an altogether casual fashion, and the half-formed idea in her mind grew into definite shape. there was a reason why he should be interested in the letter, and she decided to sit him out. she opened a conversation with mrs. calvert, and some time had slipped away when a distant rattle of wheels rose out of the prairie. nevis, rising, addressed his hostess. "i guess that's miss calvert, and as there's a point or two about our binder which i believe i forgot to mention, i'd like to explain the thing before she turns up," he said. "i want to get on again as soon as possible after i've had a word with her. no doubt miss leigh will excuse us for a minute." he moved forward toward the table with what appeared to be a photograph of some harvesting machinery in his hand, and as he did so alison, who remembered that they had been laughing and speaking rather loudly during the last three or four minutes, fancied she heard a footstep outside the open window. she was, however, not quite sure of this, and she watched the man with every sense strung up as he approached her hostess. it struck her that his object was to get near enough to see the writing or the postmark on the envelope, which would probably be impossible after lucy arrived. leaning forward a little, she rested one arm farther on the table, which was covered with a light cloth, and drew the latter toward her with a slight movement of her elbow until a wider strip of it overhung the edge. she could not warn her hostess in the hearing of the man, when she had only suspicion to act on, but she was determined that he should not discover winthrop's whereabouts if she could help it. nevis's eyes, as she noticed, were fixed on the envelope, but he was evidently still too far off to read the postmark, and she waited another moment, watching him with mingled disgust and anger at the means he used. in the meanwhile it was clear that mrs. calvert had no suspicion of what was going forward, for there was nothing to show that alison's heart was beating a good deal faster than it generally did, or that the man was conscious of a vindictive satisfaction. his approach had been ostensibly careless, and there was only a faintly suggestive hardness in his eyes. the girl sat very still, and if her face was a little more intent than usual her hostess did not notice it. alison fancied that she heard a sound outside the window again, but she paid no heed to it, and as nevis was about to lay his hand on the table and lean over it she moved her elbow sharply. the next moment the cloth slid down into a heap on the floor, and the letter disappeared. nevis closed one hand viciously, but he opened it again immediately as he turned to alison. the man was quick, and held himself well in hand, and she felt a certain satisfaction in outwitting him, for it was clear that he had not suspected her of having any motive for jerking the cloth off. "am i accountable for the accident?" he asked. "no," replied alison; "it was my fault." the danger, however, was not quite over. alison quietly felt with one little, lightly shod foot beneath the cloth, part of which had caught and rested on her dress. her shoe touched something that seemed harder than the soft fabric, and she contrived to draw it toward her. "you knocked a letter off the table," said nevis. "it must have fallen somewhere near. permit me." he stooped to pick up the cloth, and alison saw that mrs. calvert was at last uneasy. it was obvious that she did not wish nevis to lay his hands on the envelope. he raised the cloth, and after a glance beneath it moved a pace or two and shook it vigorously, but nothing fell out, and alison quietly pushed back her chair. "it's here beneath my skirt." she picked it up and handed it to mrs. calvert, who laid it on a shelf across the room. after that there was a moment's silence, during which the two women looked at each other curiously, while nevis, whose face was expressionless, looked at them both. then the awkward stillness was broken by the entrance of thorne. ignoring nevis completely, he turned to mrs. calvert with a smile. "i don't know whether i need an excuse for this visit, but it occurred to me that i could drive miss leigh home," he explained. "i was hauling in logs for gillow when farquhar's hired man came along and told me he'd brought miss leigh over but wasn't sure when he could come back for her. lucy will be here in a minute." he leaned on a chair, talking about the wheat crop, until the rattle of wheels, which had been growing louder, stopped, when he moved toward the door, saying that he would help lucy with the team. it was some time before he reappeared with her, and then the girl turned imperiously to nevis. "you here!" she exclaimed. "what do you want?" "i was trying to sell your mother a binder," nevis answered blandly. lucy, standing very straight, looked at him with a snap in her eyes. "then i guess you're wasting time. while there are implements to be had anywhere between here and winnipeg we'll buy none from you." nevis favored her with a single swift glance, and then took up his hat. "in that case i may as well get on again. i dare say your mother and miss leigh will excuse me." he did not offer to shake hands with either of them, which may have been due to the fact that mrs. calvert's face was now hard and suspicious, and alison carefully looked away from him. there was, also, a gleam of ironical amusement, which probably had some effect, in thorne's eyes. soon after he disappeared, mrs. calvert asked thorne to come out and look at a mower which she said the hired man had had some trouble with, and when they left the room lucy leaned back in her chair with her eyes fixed on alison in a significant manner. they were of a clear blue, and alison admitted that, with the somewhat unusual color in her cheeks and the light on her mass of gleaming hair, the girl was aggressively pretty. "i'm glad they've gone--i guess i have to thank you for what you did," she said. "it was right smart, and i'm not sure my mother caught on to the thing." "how did you know?" alison asked in rather disturbed astonishment. lucy laughed. "mavy saw you through the window. the mail-carrier told him nevis was here, and it was quite easy to figure what he was after. that's why mavy hitched his team behind the willows and crept up quiet to see what was going on, so he could spoil his game, but he left it to you when he saw that you were on to it. said he felt quite sure you could fix the man." alison remembered the footstep at the window, but she was curious about another aspect of the matter. "why did he tell you?" she asked. lucy's manner changed, and there was a hint of hardness in her expression. "well," she answered, "perhaps he wanted me to know what you had done, and, anyway, he had to put me on my guard. still, though mavy's quick, they're none of them very smart after all, and there was a point that didn't seem to strike him. he wasn't clear as to why nevis would try to pick up jake's trail through me." the last words were flung sharply at the listener, and alison made a gesture of appeal. "of course," she returned, "he wouldn't tell you that." "no," declared lucy; "nothing would have got it out of him. that's the kind of man he is." she paused a moment. "what made you send nevis after me?" "it was done without thinking. i couldn't foresee that it might make trouble. i was sorry afterward; i am sorry now." her companion looked at her with disconcerting steadiness. "we'll let it go at that. there's just this to say--you haven't any reason to be afraid of me. i don't know a straighter man than mavy thorne--but i don't want him! jake's quite enough for me, and there's trouble in front of him, with nevis on his trail." it cost alison an effort to retain a befitting composure. this plain-speaking girl had obviously taken a good deal for granted, but alison was uneasily conscious that she had certainly arrived at the truth. it was a relief to her when mrs. calvert and thorne presently entered the room together. chapter xv on the trail nevis was not, as a rule, easily turned aside when he had taken a task in hand, and his failure at the calvert homestead only made him more determined to run winthrop down. besides, he had not failed altogether, for he had at least caught a glimpse of the stamp on the letter, and he had no doubt that it was a canadian one. there was an appreciable difference in the design and color of the american stamps. this indicated that in all probability winthrop was still in canada, in which case there would be no difficulty in arresting him once his whereabouts could be discovered. the tracing of the latter promised to be less easy, but nevis set about it, and shortly afterward fortune once more favored him. his business was an extensive one; he had money laid out here and there over a wide stretch of country, and he had already discovered that it required a good deal of watching. as a matter of fact, the latter was advisable, for some of the men to whom he lent it were addicted to disappearing without leaving any address or intimation as to what they had done with the movable portion of their hypothecated possessions. it is true that they generally had repaid nevis a large part of his loan, as well as an exorbitant interest for a considerable time, but then had abandoned the struggle in despair. from his point of view, however, neither fact had any particular bearing on the matter. he expected a good deal more than the value of a hundred cents when he laid down a dollar. one night a week or two after he called on mrs. calvert, he strolled out on to the platform of a train that had been run on to a lonely side-track beside a galvanized iron shed and a big water-tank. he was leaning on the rails, when the conductor came out of the vestibule behind him. "we're not scheduled to stop," he commented. "no, sir," replied the conductor. "guess the company had once a notion of making a station here, but they cut it out. it's used as a section-depot and side-track, and now and then a freight pulls up for water. there's a soft spring here, and you can't get good water right along the line. any kind won't do in a locomotive boiler." the man was unusually loquacious for a western railroad hand, and nevis, who had been glancing out at the shadowy sweep of prairie, amid which the straight track lost itself, felt inclined to talk. "but what's holding us up?" he asked. "montreal express. she's on the next section, and it's quite a long one. they side-track everything to let her through." a thought took shape in nevis's mind. the point that suggested itself appeared at least worth attention, and he asked a question: "would a wire to anybody in the district be sent to the station ahead?" the conductor said that it would, and added that the man in charge of the place where they were then stopping was called up only in case of necessity to hold a train on the side-track. he explained that although the instruments clicked out any message sent right along the circuit the operators, as a rule, listened only when they got their particular signal. this had a certain significance to nevis. "is there often a freight-train waiting here when you come along?" he asked. "that's so," said his companion. "we take the section if the atlantic flyer's late, and they have to cut out the pick-up freight if she's in front of us. when she was standing yonder one night a little while back i saw what struck me as quite a curious thing. just as we struck the tail switches a man dropped off a caboose coupled on behind the freight-cars; it was good clear moonlight, and i watched him. he kept the train between him and the shack behind you, and started out over the prairie as fast as he could. then we ran in behind the freight-cars, but as soon as we were clear the engineer pulled them out, and as i looked back the man dropped into the grass like a stone. bill, who runs this place, was standing outside his shack, and that may have had something to do with it." "it sounds strange," commented nevis. "can you remember when it was?" the conductor contrived to do so, and nevis was not astonished when he heard the date. he decided that it would be wise to compare his conclusion with any views his companion might have about the matter. "it's possible it was only one of the boys stealing a ride," he suggested. "in that case he needn't have been so scared of bill," was the answer. "it's most unlikely he'd have got out on the prairie after him. strikes me the man was mighty anxious nobody should see him. anyway, i thought no more about the thing, and only remembered it to-night." just then the scream of a whistle came ringing up the track, and the conductor pointed to a fan-shaped blaze of brightness which swept up out of the prairie. "the express; i'll have to get along. we'll be off in two or three minutes now." nevis lighted a cigar as soon as he was left alone, and by the time the great express had flashed by with a clash and clatter he felt convinced that corporal slaney had erred in assuming that winthrop had escaped across the frontier. having arrived at this decision, he strolled back into the lighted car as the train crept out across the switches on to the waste of prairie. he had now something to act upon. in the meanwhile, a weary man, dressed in somewhat ragged duck, sat one evening outside a tent pitched in the hollow of a prairie coulée, with a letter in his hand. his attitude was suggestive of dejection, but he clenched the paper in hard, brown fingers, and there was an ominous look in his weather-darkened face. it was careworn, though he was young, and his general appearance and expression seemed to indicate that he was a simple man who had borne a burden too heavy for him, until at last he had revolted in desperation against the intolerable load. a new branch line crept along the side of the shallow coulée, which wound deviously across the great white sea of grass, and the trestles of a half-finished bridge rose, a gaunt skeleton of timber, above the creek that flowed through the valley. a cluster of tents and a galvanized iron shack, with a funnel projecting above it, crowned the crest of a neighboring ridge, and a murmur of voices and laughter rose faintly from the groups of men who lay about them. winthrop, however, had pitched his camp a little distance from the others, so as to be nearer his work, which consisted in removing the soil from the side of the coulée to make room for the road-bed. he had obtained a team from a neighboring rancher, and a satisfactory rate of payment from the railroad contractor. indeed, during the last few weeks he had almost fancied that he was at last leaving his troubles behind him, and then that afternoon another blow had suddenly fallen. the letter from lucy calvert contained the disturbing news that nevis, who seemed to have discovered that he had not left canada, was still in pursuit of him. presently two of his comrades from the camp strolled up to his tent and stretched themselves out on the harsh, white grass in front of it. they were attired as he was, and they had toiled hard under a scorching sun all day handling heavy rails, but one was a man of excellent education, and the other had owned a wheat farm until the frost had reaped his crop and ruined him. "you're looking blue to-night," commented the latter. "well," acknowledged winthrop grimly, "there's a reason. i've put quite a lot of work in on that road-bed the last few weeks, but the trouble is i won't get a dollar unless i stay with it and keep up to specification until next pay-day." "of course!" said the man who had spoken. "why should you want to quit?" winthrop glanced at the letter. "i've had a warning. guess i'll have to pull out again sudden one of these days." there was silence for a few moments after this. the men had gone on well together, and within certain limits the toilers in a track-grading camp make friends rapidly, but for all that there are unwritten rules of etiquette in such places, and questions on some points are apt to be resented. still, winthrop's face was troubled, and his expression hinted that it might be a consolation to take somebody into his confidence. "creditors?" one of his companions ventured to suggest. "you've hit it first time, drakesford. bondholder who's been bleeding me quite a few years now. raked in what i made each harvest--left me not quite enough to live on--until i began to see that i'd have to work a lifetime to get clear of him. when i knocked a little off the debt one good year he piled up something else on me. then i was short last payment, and he shut down on my farm." drakesford turned to his companion. "ever hear anything like that before, watson?" there was a trace of dryness in the other man's smile. "i have," he answered; "it's not quite new on the prairie. one or two of the boys i know have been through that mill." he turned toward winthrop. "how did the blamed insect first get hold of you?" "i'd a notion of getting married, and meant to raise a record crop. went along to the blood-sucker, who was quite willing to back me, and took out a mortgage. pledged him all the place and stock for what he let me have." "probably a third of its value," interposed drakesford. "about that," winthrop agreed. "a big crop might have cleared me then, but we had frost that year, and he commenced to play me. made me insure stock and homestead in his company--and i guess he stuck me over that. then i had to buy implements and any stores he sold from him, at about twice the usual figure; and one way or another the debt kept piling up." "couldn't you have gone short in your payments before it got too big, and let him sell the place?" suggested drakesford. "in that case, anything over and above what he advanced would have had to be refunded to you. still, the man you dealt with would probably have provided for that difficulty." watson grinned. "a sure thing! he wouldn't shut down until it was a year when wheat was cheap and farms were bringing mighty little. then he'd sell him up and buy the place in through a dummy, 'way down beneath its value. after that he'd rent it out until wheat went up and he'd get twice what he gave for it from some sucker." it is possible that the farmer had arrived at something very near the truth, but his companion, who still seemed thoughtful, looked at winthrop. "when you got notice of foreclosure i suppose you cleared out and left him the place," he said. "how does that give him a hold on you?" "i sold the team and stock first," replied winthrop grimly. "he sent the police after me." the man made a sign of comprehension. "naturally! but haven't you got some homestead exemption laws in this part of the country?" "they don't apply to mortgaged property," watson broke in. then he looked up sharply. "but, i guess you've hit it. the debt secured by mortgage wasn't a big one, and the man piled up more on to it afterward. the law would exempt from seizure on that." winthrop considered this moodily. "well," he answered at length, "suppose you're right. who's going to take up my case, and where am i to get the money to put up a fight? the only lawyer in the district wouldn't act against the bondholder, and i couldn't get at my mortgage deed anyway. it's in the man's hands, and i haven't a copy. i got out with the price of a few beasts, and left the rest to him." he paused, and clenched a big, brown hand. "if he's wise he'll be content with that, and quit; but you can't satisfy that man. he's got my farm; he's made my life bitter; brought three years of trouble on the girl i meant to marry; and now he's after me again. seems to me i've laid down under it about long enough!" he broke off and sat silent a while, gazing out across the prairie toward where the red glow of sunset burned far off on the lonely grassland's rim. iron shack and clustered tents stood out against it sharply now, and the faint sound of voices that came up through the still, clear air seemed to jar on the man. "they can laugh," he complained. "i could, once." then watson changed the subject. "butler had a notion he'd try a shot or two to-morrow where the road goes through the rise, and he sent some giant-powder along. he wants you to clinch the detonators on the fuses and put them in." now dynamite is not often used in prairie railroading, but winthrop had once handled it in another part of the country, and had mentioned the fact to a foreman who was disposed to experiment with it. "it's no use in that loose stuff," he pointed out. "butler wants to try it," answered watson. "there's no reason why you shouldn't let him. i dumped the magazine he sent you in the coulée. i didn't want to lie about smoking too near the detonators." he walked away a little distance and came back with a case, out of which winthrop took what looked like several yellow wax candles. then he cut off three or four pieces of fuse, and carefully pinched down a big copper cap on the end of each of them. these he inserted into different sticks of the semi-plastic giant-powder in turn, and his companions drew a little away from him as he did so. it was getting dark now, but they could still see his face, and it was very hard and grim. it impressed them unpleasantly as they watched him handle the yellow rolls which contained imprisoned within them such tremendous powers. giant-powder is a somewhat unstable product, as winthrop knew from experience and the other two had heard, and in case of a premature explosion there was very little doubt as to what the fate of the party would be. annihilation in its most literal sense was the only word that would describe it, for there was force enough in those yellow sticks to transform material flesh and blood into unsubstantial gases. the fulminate in the detonators he cautiously imbedded was even more terrible, and sitting with his bent form outlined darkly against the shadowy waste of grass, he looked curiously sinister. he finished his task at last and handed one of them the magazine. "shouldn't there be another stick?" watson asked. "have you left it in the grass?" "you can look," said winthrop curtly, as he moved aside. watson glanced round the place where he had been sitting. "i can't see it, anyway. i dare say i couldn't have brought another one, after all." he moved away with drakesford and looked at the latter when they were some distance from the tent. "it's curious about that stick," he observed. "i'm not convinced yet that i've got as many as i brought with me." "why should he want to keep one?" his companion asked. "i don't know," watson confessed. "but there was something in his face that didn't please me." "yes," agreed drakesford; "i've once or twice seen overdriven men look like that, and so far as i can remember there was trouble afterward." they said nothing further, and while they proceeded along the crest of the coulée winthrop, still sitting beside his tent, took a stick of giant-powder from his pocket. chapter xvi corporal slaney's defeat the sun had just dipped, and there was a wonderful invigorating coolness in the dew-chilled air. winthrop sat in the cook-shed which was built against the back of the iron store-shack. outside, as he could see through the doorway, the prairie ran back, a vast gray-white stretch, to the horizon, beneath as vast a sweep of green transparency. the little shed, however, was growing shadowy, and a red twinkle showed through the front of the stove in which the sinking fire was still burning. the cook was somewhere outside talking with the boys, and winthrop, who wished to beg a cotton flour-bag from him to use in mending his clothes, sat quietly smoking while he waited until he should come back. he felt no inclination to join the others, for he had grown anxious and morose since lucy's warning had reached him a week or two earlier. he was quite aware that there was some danger in remaining at his work, but pay-day was approaching and he meant at least to wait until he could collect the money due him. after that he would disappear again if anything transpired to render it necessary. just then watson looked into the shed. "i guess you'd better come right out," he said hurriedly. "there are two strangers riding into camp." winthrop was on his feet in a moment, and the haste with which he rose betrayed his anxiety. going out, he ran forward until he could obtain an uninterrupted view of the plain. the waste of grass was growing dim, but two mounted figures showed up black on it. watson indicated them with outstretched hand. "notice anything interesting about them?" "yes," winthrop answered grimly; "they ride like police troopers." "that's just how it seemed to me," exclaimed drakesford. "they're coming from southward, and if they'd left the trunk line soon after the vancouver train came in they would get here about now. they could have borrowed horses from the rancher near the station." winthrop watched them steadily before he spoke. "they're troopers, sure," he said at length. "the short one looks like corporal slaney, who's out after me; and they'll be in before i could catch either of my horses. i turned them out in the soft grass some way back in the coulée." "you have got to do something," declared watson, "and do it right now!" winthrop glanced out across the great, level plain, and his face grew set. "they'd sure search the coulée, and, except for that, there isn't cover for a coyote for a league or two. it won't be dark for half an hour yet, and they'd ride me down in three or four minutes in the open." this was obvious, and silence followed until winthrop spoke again. "i haven't a gun of any kind." "that's fortunate," said drakesford. "what do you want a gun for, anyway? plugging one of the troopers wouldn't help you." in the meanwhile, the mounted figures were rapidly drawing nearer. the three men stood tensely watching them until winthrop suddenly swung round toward his companions. "you can tell them where my tent is, and they'll waste some minutes going there. that's all i want you to do." watson looked at him inquiringly, but he made a sign of impatience. "i'm going back to the cook-shed. you can't help any. keep out of this trouble." moving away from them, he disappeared into the shadowy interior of the shed, and his companions waited until the rest of the men came running up as the police rode in. the latter asked a few questions which watson answered truthfully, and then they rode off toward winthrop's tent. presently one dismounted trooper reappeared, and proceeded to search the other tents, amid ironical banter and a few protests. this took him some time, and darkness was not far off when he reached the iron shack, the door of which was unusually difficult to open, though watson, who had visited it in the meanwhile, could have explained the cause of it. then the other trooper came back, and led both horses out upon the prairie. leaving them there, he joined his comrade, who addressed the men. "boys," he said, "we're holding a warrant for your partner, and we've got to have him." "nobody's stopping you," one of them answered. "we haven't a place to hide him in unless he's crawled down a gopher-hole." as a gopher is smaller than an ordinary squirrel, the point of this was evident, and while a laugh went up the policemen conferred together in front of the iron shack; then, after looking in, they walked around to the back of it. they had no doubt already noticed the cook-shed, but as it was very small and the door stood partly open, it appeared a most unpromising place for the fugitive to seek refuge. now, however, they moved close to it, and winthrop, sitting back in the shadow, became dimly visible. "come out! we've got you!" one trooper cried. the man did not move, but he had something in his hand, which was stretched out toward the stove. one of the pot-holes in the top of the stove was open, and a faint glow shone upon the object he held clenched in his fingers. it bore, as corporal slaney noticed, no resemblance to a pistol. "come out!" he repeated. "there's no use in making trouble." winthrop laughed in a jarring fashion. "i guess i'll stay a while right where i am." then he raised his voice. "if you're wise you'll wait outside, corporal." slaney stood still just outside the door, peering into the shed; and the trooper behind him had his carbine ready. "don't be foolish, jake. we've got you sure," he called. he moved a pace nearer, and winthrop leaned forward a little farther over the pot-hole. "see what this is?" he inquired, glancing down at the object in his hand. "it's not a gun, anyway," said the trooper to his superior. "it's a stick of giant-powder. there's a detonator in it and an inch or two of fuse. as soon as you're inside the door i drop it in the stove." slaney promptly recoiled a yard or two. having had some experience in dealing with men driven to extremities, he knew that winthrop's warning was not empty bluff. there was something in the man's voice that convinced him that he meant what he said. for the next few moments he and the trooper stood irresolutely still, wondering what they should do, while the motionless figure quietly watched them through the doorway. the corporal was by no means timid or overcautious, and had winthrop held a pistol it is highly probable that he would have attempted to rush him. except in the hands of a master of it, the short-barreled weapon is singularly unreliable, and shots fired by a man disturbed by fear or anger as a rule go wide; but the stick of dynamite meant certain death. slaney had not the nerve to face that, and, besides, as he rightfully reflected, it would serve no purpose except to nip in the bud the career of a promising police officer. then winthrop spoke again. "you'll have to haul off this time, corporal. letting this thing drop is quicker than shooting, even if you had me covered." "we could plug you from a distance through the shack," slaney pointed out. "that's so," winthrop assented calmly; "i guess you could; but i'm not sure your bosses would thank you for doing it." there was, as the corporal recognized, some truth in this. the police would be held blameless for shooting down a fugitive who refused to surrender, but after all the exploit would not count to their credit unless the man were a desperado guilty of some particularly serious offense. it was their business to capture the person for whom they had a warrant. drawing back a little farther, the corporal conferred with the trooper, who suggested several ways of getting over the difficulty, none of which, however, appeared altogether practicable. for one thing, he said, they could wait, sleeping in turn, until from utter weariness winthrop's vigilance relaxed; but that, it was evident, would most likely take more time than they could spare. they could also seek the assistance of the trackgraders and arrange with them to make a diversion while they crept up unobserved. against this there was, however, as the corporal pointed out, the probability that the men were more or less in sympathy with the fugitive, and that as a result any assistance they might be commanded to render could not be depended on. he added that he would rather wait for daylight, and then, if it should be absolutely necessary, fire into the shed. in the meantime watson was discussing the affair with drakesford. "that man has some kind of plan in his mind, though i can't tell you what it is," he declared. "anyway, it would be better that the troopers hadn't their horses handy in case he gets out in the dark and makes a break for the prairie." "they're back behind the tents," observed drakesford, pointedly. "picketed," grinned watson. "they should have knee-hobbled them. a horse will now and then pull a picket out when the soil's light." it was too dark to see his companion's face clearly, but drakesford appeared to smile in a manner that suggested comprehension, and they strolled a little nearer the corporal, who had just sent for the cook. the corporal explained that he had ridden a long way since his dinner, and asked for a can of coffee and some eatables, and the cook proceeded dubiously toward the shed. he came back empty-handed in a minute or two. "i can't get you anything," he said. "the man you're after won't let me in." the corporal expressed his feelings somewhat freely, but the cook grinned. "you want to be reasonable," he protested. "how do you expect me to get in, when he's holding off the two of you, and you've got arms?" watson touched his companion's shoulder. "it's my opinion that our friend would better get out to-night," he whispered. "the boys are holding off in the meanwhile, but if they can't get their breakfast there'll probably be trouble." drakesford agreed with this, and shortly afterward he proceeded circuitously toward the troopers' horses. in the meanwhile, slaney and his subordinate sat down on the grass well apart from each other and about sixty yards from the cook-shed, and, rolling their blankets about them, prepared to spend the night as comfortably as possible. it was not very dark, though there was no moon, and a slight haze, which promised an increased obscurity, was now creeping across the sky. they could see the black shape of the shed, and it was evident that nobody could slip out from it without their observation; and they had their carbines handy. slaney would have crept up a little nearer, only that he felt it desirable to keep outside the striking range of the giant-powder, in case winthrop happened to get drowsy and drop it in the stove. after a while the track-graders, who had sat among the grass smoking and watching the troopers, began to drift away to their sleeping-quarters. the drama was interesting, but they had no part in it, and they would certainly have to rise soon after sunup to a long day's arduous toil. in the meanwhile, their attitude could best be described as reluctantly neutral. there were a few toughs among them who had no doubt sufficient reason for not loving a policeman of any kind, but the rest recognized the inadvisability of any interference with constituted authority. on the other hand, though they did not know the rights or wrongs of the matter, the desperate, cold-blooded courage of the hard-pressed man appealed to them, and they decided that corporal slaney need not look for any effective assistance which it might be in their power to render. most of them were simple men who lived and toiled in the open, and, as is usual with their kind, their sympathies were with the weaker party. in an hour or two the last of them had vanished, and if a few still watched outside their tents there was, at least, nothing that suggested their presence to corporal slaney. he lay resting on one elbow, with his eyes fixed on the shed, while a little chilly breeze set the dry grasses rustling about him. it was now slightly darker than it usually is on the prairie in summer-time, for the haze had gradually spread across most of the sky. the tents had faded almost out of sight, though the black shape of the shack remained, and now and then, when the breeze sank away, the silence grew almost oppressive. once the corporal started as he heard a sound in the shed, but he sank down again when he recognized the clatter and rattle that succeeded it. winthrop, who evidently did not mean to neglect any precaution, was, he decided, putting more fuel into the stove. after that the howl of a coyote came faintly up the breeze, which grew stronger, and the low murmur of the grasses began once more. a pearly light was growing clearer on the eastern rim of the prairie when at length slaney, damp with the dew, rose to his feet with a shiver and softly called the trooper, who announced that he had heard nothing suspicious during the night. after a brief parley they crept up cautiously a little nearer the shed, but there was, so far as they could make out, no sign of life within. indeed, the stillness was becoming suspicious. moving nearer still, they could look into part of the shed through the open door, and, for the light was getting clearer, it became evident that winthrop was no longer sitting beside the stove. this was encouraging, because it looked as if he had fallen asleep. making a short detour, so as to keep to one side of the entrance, they crept up closer, with faces set and hearts beating a good deal faster than usual; but there was no sound except a faint crackle, apparently from the stove. then slaney lay down in the grass and crawled up to the doorway, where he rose and suddenly sprang into the shed. the next moment his voice rang out hoarse with anger, for the place was empty. he waited until the trooper joined him, and then pointed to a little door in the back of the larger building. "that explains the thing!" he exclaimed. "you looked round the shack?" "i did," the trooper admitted, and added, somewhat tactlessly, "so did you." slaney frowned at this reminder, but it was evident that a discussion as to whose fault it was that winthrop had got away would in no way assist them in his capture, and they proceeded into the larger building, where they had no trouble in finding an explanation of his escape. men working on the prairie or in the bush of canada are usually boarded by their employers at a weekly charge, and there were a good many of them engaged on the track. as a result of it, the iron shack was partly filled with provisions, and when slaney and the trooper entered by the front they had seen a pile of cases and flour-bags apparently built up against one wall. it was, however, growing dark then, and neither of them had noticed that there was a narrow space behind the provisions which had been left to facilitate the entrance of the cook. winthrop, it was clear, had slipped out through it in the darkness, and the shack had prevented either of the watchers from seeing him crawl away across the prairie. it occurred to slaney that from the position of the tents it was scarcely likely he had got away quite unnoticed, but he had reasons for believing that it would be difficult to elicit any reliable information on that point from the man's comrades. there was only one thing to be done, and that was to mount as soon as possible and endeavor to pick up the fugitive's trail; but when they reached the spot where they had left their horses there was no sign of them, and it was half an hour before the trooper came upon them some distance up the coulée. slaney was quite convinced that neither of the beasts had succeeded in dragging the picket out of the ground unassisted, but this was a thing he could not prove; and when the cook had supplied them with a hastily prepared breakfast he and the trooper rode away across the prairie. chapter xvii a compromise thorne was driving alison home from graham's bluff one afternoon about a week after winthrop's escape when a couple of horsemen became visible on the crest of a low rise. the girl glanced at them from under her white parasol, which shone dazzlingly in the fierce sunlight, and then fixed her eyes on her companion. "they're coming this way, aren't they?" she asked. "they seem to be," replied thorne. "one of them looks like the corporal, and i shouldn't wonder if he wanted a word with me." he saw the girl's slight start, but was not greatly flattered, as he could not be sure whether it resulted from concern on his behalf or mere annoyance. he knew what she thought of winthrop. "there's no cause for alarm," he added with a laugh. "i haven't done anything particularly unlawful for some time." he had half expected alison to explain that she was not alarmed at all, but she disappointed him, and he wondered whether there was any significance in this. he had already discovered that she did not invariably reveal exactly what she felt. "what can he want?" she asked. "it probably concerns winthrop. i don't think i told you that they almost caught him a little while ago, though he got away again." "you didn't. was that because you were afraid you could not trust me?" a tinge of deeper color crept into her companion's face, and she decided rightly that this was due to displeasure. in the encounters which were not altogether infrequent between them she now and then delivered a galling thrust, but this, he thought, was striking below the guard. "what a question, miss leigh!" "it wouldn't have been unnatural if you had considered it wiser to be reticent. what happened on the last occasion would have justified it." "if you are referring to nevis's visit to mrs. calvert, i should be quite willing to leave you to outwit him again. the way you secured the letter was masterly. still, in view of the opinions you expressed about winthrop, i don't understand why you did it, and, so far as i can remember, you haven't explained the thing." "i meant his visit to the farquhar homestead when i told him about lucy; but i'll try to answer you. for one reason, i wanted to make amends for my previous--rashness." alison paused at the word, as she remembered that lucy had suggested that what she now termed rashness was jealousy. "well," laughed thorne, "you were certainly rash, but i feel inclined to wonder whether you were anything else. your hesitation just now was--significant." alison recognized that she had a quick-witted antagonist. "i believe i have already admitted that i was prejudiced against winthrop." "that," returned thorne, "is, perhaps, from your point of view, no more than natural. in fact, i'm not sure i could say he was right in everything he has done." he paused a moment. "but, i shouldn't like to think that your prejudice extends to lucy." alison had not expected this, and she wondered with some resentment exactly what he meant to imply. "of course," he added, "some of her ideas and some of the things she says might jar on you, but that doesn't count for very much, after all. the girl's staunch all through, and the way she has stuck to winthrop in his trouble and the way she has run the farm would compel the respect of any one who understood what she has had to put up with." alison wondered whether he wished to reassure her concerning lucy's devotion to her lover, which, as she remembered, the girl herself had already done; but she scarcely fancied that he would adopt such a course as this. it would, at least, be very much out of harmony with his usual conduct. "i venture to believe that lucy and i will be good friends in the future," she said. slaney and the trooper were now rapidly approaching, and a minute or two later thorne pulled up and turned to the corporal, who reined in his horse close beside the wagon. "you have something to say to me?" he asked. "yes," replied slaney; "it's this: do you know where jake winthrop is?" "no," answered thorne; "on the whole, i'm glad i don't. what's more, i haven't the least suspicion." they looked at each other steadily, and it struck alison that the little gesture slaney made was a striking testimonial to her companion's character. it indicated that the corporal had no hesitation in taking the word of the man with whom he was at variance. though she and thorne occupied the same seat they were far enough apart for her to see his face, and as he sat with his broad hat tilted back, smiling down at slaney, she recognized that in spite of the old blue duck he wore there was a virile grace in every line of his figure. in addition to this, by contrast with the smartly uniformed corporal, he looked, as she felt it could most fittingly be described, thoroughbred, and there was something in his half-whimsical manner that curiously pleased her. "i guess you heard what happened up the track?" slaney next inquired. "i did. rather amusing in some respects, wasn't it? i understand that you and the trooper sat out most of the night watching an empty shack." "well," asserted slaney grimly, "there was nothing very amusing about the giant-powder. i tell you the man meant to drop it into the fire." "from what i know of winthrop, i'm inclined to believe he did. in fact, in my opinion, it would be considerably wiser of nevis if he left that man alone. i'm not sure he has a very good case against him, anyway; though, of course, that's no concern of yours or mine. you can't pick up his trail?" "that's a cold fact," declared the corporal. "i guess you wouldn't mind getting down and walking along a few yards with me?" "it's not worth while. i've no objections to miss leigh's hearing what you have to say, and i'm afraid volador wouldn't stand unless i kept the reins. the flies are bothering him, and he doesn't seem quite easy when you're in the neighborhood." thorne paused and laughed. "in a way, that's not astonishing." slaney disregarded the last observation. "then," he said, "i'm not the man to make useless trouble--anyway, unless it's going to give me a shove up toward promotion--but you're worrying me. the fact is, wherever i pick up winthrop's trail i strike yours too. now there was a night some while back when we ran one of you down close to the frontier." thorne saw alison glance sharply at the corporal, and he smiled. "why should i ride for the frontier with the police after me?" "that's what i don't exactly know, but i have my views. i want to say that we picked up a black plug hat when we were coming back along the trail. the point is that the thing was new. then we found a brown duck jacket with a tear in it, but i figured the tear had been made quite lately." "i don't think you could prove very much from that." "well," said slaney, "i could try. it would look bad if i put the other matter of the horse winthrop found near your homestead alongside it. now i'll ask you right out--are you going to mix yourself up with jake's affairs any more?" "in return, i'd like to hear whether you have any notion of carrying your investigations further?" thorne parried. they looked rather hard at each other, and then slaney smiled. "i guess it will depend a good deal on your answer; that is, unless nevis gets hold of the thing." "then it's my intention to drop jake winthrop now. there's very little probability of his wanting any further assistance that i could render him." "well, let it go at that," replied slaney simply. "i guess it will save you trouble. good-day to you." he rode away, and alison turned to her companion when they drove on again. "one could have imagined that you and the corporal were making a bargain," she suggested. thorne laughed. "well," he admitted, "i'm afraid it was quite illegal, but it amounted to something very much like that. the bargain, however, is only a provisional one. if nevis chances on the truth, he may upset it by forcing slaney's hand." "but, after all, you gave each other only a vague hint. it would be difficult even to reproach the corporal if, as you say, he went back on it." "oh, yes," assented thorne dryly. "still, i haven't the least reason for believing that probable." alison made no comment, though the attitude of both men appealed to her. they were enemies in some respects, and yet once the indefinite understanding had been arrived at neither seemed to have the slightest fear that the other would violate it. they were, she remembered, men who lived in the open, who broke and rode wild horses, and who faced exposure and strenuous toil. why this should be conducive to reliability of character was not very clear, but it apparently had that result. then she remembered what the corporal had mentioned. "you have been doing something to help winthrop to escape since the night you let him have the horse?" thorne admitted it, and when she pressed him for the story he told it whimsically; but this time alison felt no anger. a few plain words spoken by lucy calvert had obviated that, for it was now quite clear that the man had been prompted by mere chivalrous pity and lust of excitement, and had no desire to win the girl's favor. "that was splendid!" she exclaimed. thorne smiled, though he looked at her in a somewhat curious fashion. then at her request he related how winthrop had held off the police. as it happened, he could tell a story with dramatic force, and both the brief narratives had their effect on alison. she had imagination, and could picture the man who now sat beside her smashing furiously through the tangled bluff in the blackness of the night, and the other sitting grimly resolute beside the stove with the stick of giant-powder in his hand. after all, they were, she realized, the doings of primitive men; but charity that did not stop to count the cost, and steadfast, unflinching valor, were rudimentary too, and all the progress of a complex civilization had evolved nothing finer. man could add nothing to them. they were perfect gifts to him, though there was reason for believing that they were not distributed broadcast. then they chatted about other matters, and alison was almost sorry when the farquhar homestead and its barns and stables rose, girt about with a sweep of tall green wheat, out of the prairie. thorne stayed for supper, and he was standing beside his team with farquhar an hour afterward when the latter suddenly made an excuse and moved away as his wife came out of the doorway. thorne grinned at this, and there was still a gleam of amusement in his eyes when his hostess stopped beside him. he indicated the retreating farquhar with a wave of his hand. "harry remembered that he'd want the wagon to-morrow, and there's a bolt loose," he explained. "it didn't seem to occur to him until he noticed you. i suppose one could call it a coincidence." "have you any different ideas on the subject?" mrs. farquhar inquired. "since you ask the question, it looks rather like collusion." "well," laughed mrs. farquhar, "i certainly wanted a little talk with you. to begin with, i should like to point out that we have had a good deal of your company lately." "that's a fact. perhaps i'd better say that quite apart from the pleasure of spending an evening with you and harry there's another reason." "the thing has been perfectly obvious for some time; indeed, it has had my serious consideration. you see, i hold myself responsible for alison to some extent." "you feel that you stand _in loco parentis_--i believe that's the correct phrase--but in one way it doesn't seem to apply. nobody would believe you were old enough to be her mother." mrs. farquhar glanced at him in half-amused impatience, but his manner swiftly changed. "it's my intention to marry alison as soon as things permit," he added. "anyway, that is what i should like to do, but whether i'll ever get any farther is, of course, another matter. it's one on which i'd be glad to have your opinion; and that suggests a question. can my views have been perfectly obvious to alison?" his companion looked thoughtful. "that's a little difficult to answer; though i feel inclined to say that they certainly ought to have been. on the other hand, it's possible that she may believe you merely saw in her what we'll call an intellectual equal--somebody you would have more in common with than you would, for example, with lucy. this seems the more likely because i don't think that marriage in itself has any great attraction for her. indeed, i'm inclined to fancy that it was rather a shock to her to discover how it is regarded by some people in this country. it's unfortunate that she fell in with one hasty suitor who was anxious to marry her offhand immediately on her arrival. that being the case, it strikes me that you had better proceed cautiously and avoid anything that may suggest a too materialistic point of view." thorne made a gesture of comprehensive repudiation. "i'm thankful that nobody could call me smugly practical. but, it must be admitted that, as she is situated, marriage seems to be her only vocation in this country." "if you let her see that you think that, you may as well give up your project." mrs. farquhar hesitated a moment. "have you ever tried to formulate what you expect from alison?" thorne's smile made it evident that he guessed what was in her mind. "i can at least tell you what i don't expect. i've no hankering for a house and domestic comforts--in my experience they're singularly apt to pall on one. i don't want a woman to mend my clothes and prepare me tempting meals--that way of looking at the thing strikes one as almost unthinkable, and there never was a banquet where the fare was half as good as what you turn out of the blackened spider in the birch bluff. i want alison, with her english graces and english prejudices; her only, and nothing else." "that is a sentiment which would no doubt appeal to her; but one has to be practical; and you would in any case have to do a good deal before you got her. she couldn't, for instance, dress in flour-bags and live in the wagon. nor do i think that bishop would feel equal to entertaining a married couple during the winter." "the point of all this is that you want to be satisfied that i can give up my vagabond habits?" suggested thorne. "well, i must try to convince you, though i want to say that it was a willing sacrifice. haven't i gone into harness--yoked myself down to a house and land, with a mortgage on both of them; haven't i slept for several months now under at least a partly shingled roof? if any more proof is wanted, haven't i come to terms with corporal slaney and given up the excitement of bluffing the police; and haven't i decided, as far as it's possible for me, to leave nevis unmolested? aren't all these things foreign to my nature?" mrs. farquhar laughed. "mavy," she asked, "do you find living in some degree of comfort, and devoting your intelligence to a task that will probably pay you, so very intolerable?" thorne smiled and made a little, confidential gesture. "i must confess that i don't find it quite as unpleasant as i had expected. but you haven't given me your opinion on the point that concerns me most." "then," said mrs. farquhar, with an air of reflection, "while alison has naturally not said anything to me on the subject, i don't think you need consider your case as altogether desperate." she smiled at thorne, who swung himself up into his wagon and drove away. chapter xviii nevis's visitor florence hunter had lately returned from toronto and was sitting on the veranda toward the middle of the afternoon in an unusually thoughtful mood. among other reasons for this, there was the fact that she had spent a good deal of money while she was away, and she was far from sure that she had received its full value. most of the people she had met in toronto appeared to be endued with irritatingly respectable, old-fashioned views, and as a result of it they could not be induced to forget that she was a married woman separated for a few weeks from a self-sacrificing husband. indeed, one or two of them went so far as to condole with her for his absence, and their general attitude imposed on her an unwelcome restraint. there was certainly one exception, but this man had no tact, and the lady who stood sponsor for her openly frowned at his too marked devotion, while some of the others laughed. florence at length got rid of him summarily, and then half regretted it when nobody else aspired to fill his place. it had, further, occurred to her in elcot's absence that he had a number of strong points, after all. he was quiet and steadfast, not to be moved from his purpose by anger or cajolery, and though this was sometimes troublesome, there was no doubt that he was a man who could be relied upon. she had nothing to fear, except, perhaps, her own imprudence, while she was in his care. then, although she would hardly have expected it before she went away, she found the spacious wooden house pleasantly cool and quiet after the stir and rush of life in the hot city, and elcot's unobtrusive regard for her comfort soothing. he never fussed, but when she wanted anything done he was almost invariably at hand. she determined to be more gracious to him in the future, for she was troubled with a slightly uncomfortable feeling that he might have had something to complain of in this respect in the past. on the whole, her thoughts were far from pleasant, and in addition to this the temperature, which was a good deal higher than usual, had a depressing effect on her. there was no breeze that afternoon, and the air was still and heavy; the white prairie flung back a trying light, even on to the shaded veranda, and she felt restless, captious and irritable. at length, however, she took up a book and endeavored to become engrossed in it. she so far succeeded that she did not hear a buggy drive up, and it was with a start that she straightened herself in her chair as nevis walked quietly on to the veranda. "i never expected you!" she exclaimed. the man smiled in a deprecatory fashion. "i heard at the station that you arrived yesterday." florence frowned at this. the inference was too obvious; he evidently wished to imply that it would have been unnatural had he delayed his visit. "well," she said, "you startled me. do you generally walk into places that way--like a pickpocket?" nevis laughed, and when he sat down rather close to her, uninvited, she favored him with a gaze of careful and undisguised scrutiny. florence could be openly rude upon occasion, and though his visits hitherto had afforded her some satisfaction, she now felt that she would have been better pleased had he stayed away. he was, as usual, tastefully dressed; there was no doubt that his clothes became him; but somehow it struck her that, although she had not realized this earlier, the man looked cheap, which on consideration seemed the best word for it. "i suppose you enjoyed yourself while you were away?" he began. "no," replied florence; "on the whole, i don't think i did." she broke off and added irritably: "why do you always come at this time? if you drove over in the evening you would find elcot at home." she was genuinely provoked by her companion's smile. it so tactlessly implied that she did not mean what she had said. his signal lack of delicacy jarred on her now, though she remembered with faint wonder that she had on previous occasions found a relish in his conversation. "well," he answered, "for one reason, i generally call here when i'm going to the bluff. it's convenient to get there for supper." florence was annoyed at the opening words. the hint that there was a stronger reason which he had not mentioned was so crude that it savored of mere impertinence. somehow she felt disappointed in the man. she had, as she realized at length, expected clever compliments from him, firmly finished, subtle boldness that would be just sufficiently apparent to convey a pleasurable thrill, and, with the latter exception, a wholly respectful homage. as to what he had expected she was far from clear, but that was a point of much less account. the polish, however, seemed suddenly to have been rubbed off him, and there was nothing into which she cared to look beneath. even elcot would have been capable of something more skilful than his too familiar inanities. what had brought about this change in the way she regarded him she did not know, but there was no doubt that she felt all at once disillusioned. she was in her caprices essentially variable. "your supper is evidently a matter of importance to you," she said. nevis looked at her sharply. "not more than it is to most other men. in return, i wonder if i might point out that you don't seem quite as amiable as usual to-day?" florence laughed. "as a matter of fact, i'm not. nobody could feel very pleasant at this temperature; and i'm disappointed--with several things." she leaned back languidly in her chair with an air of weariness. "when that happens it's a relief to be disagreeable to anybody who comes along. besides, you're not in the least entertaining this afternoon." there was something in her manner that stung the man, and he ventured upon an impertinence. "i suppose that means that elcot hasn't proved amenable, as usual; but it's a little rough on me that i should have to meet the bill after a long and scorching drive." florence laughed again, scornfully. "elcot," she retorted, "is accustomed to carrying his own load, and on occasion other people's too, which is a weakness with which i'd never credit you. besides, if he'd traveled for a week to see me he wouldn't think of reminding me of it." "you seem inclined to drag his virtues out and parade them to-day." there was no doubt that the man was going too far, and that led florence to wonder whether he could be driven into going any farther. "that," she replied, "would be quite unnecessary in elcot's case. in fact, his virtues have an almost exasperating habit of meeting you in the face, which is no doubt why it's rather pleasant to get away from them--occasionally." "you prefer something different on the off-days?" "yes," florence answered reflectively, "i like a change; but it must be admitted that i invariably feel an increased respect for elcot after it." nevis winced at this. she had made it clear that it was his part to amuse her at irregular intervals and enhance her husband's finer qualities by the contrast. it was not, however, one that appealed to him, and he had a vindictive temper. as it happened, she presently gave him an opportunity for indulging it. "i wish i'd never gone to toronto," she said petulantly. "considering everything, that's quite a pity," nevis pointed out. "the visit probably cost you a good deal of money; and"--he added this with a grim suggestiveness--"wheat is steadily going down." florence gazed at him with a hardening face. he evidently meant it as a reminder that she owed him money. the man was becoming intolerable. "is it?" she asked indifferently. "in any case, i shall no doubt manage to meet my debts when they fall due." nevis had reasons for believing that it would be more difficult than she seemed to anticipate, but he talked about something else, and then, finding that his companion did not favor him with very much attention, he took his leave. when he was getting into his buggy hunter came up and stopped him. "i'm rather busy, but i can spare you a few minutes if it's necessary," he said. nevis looked at him with a provocative smile. "it isn't," he answered. "it was your wife i came to see; she entrusted me with the arranging of a little matter." he gathered up the reins, and added, as though to explain his departure: "there are several things i want to get through with at the bluff this evening." "then i won't try to keep you." hunter walked up on the veranda and, leaning on the balustrade, looked at his wife. "you have had a deal of some kind with that man?" a flush of anger swept into florence's cheek. "he told you that?" she exclaimed; and then added, with a harsh laugh, "as it happens, he was quite correct." hunter stood still with an expressionless face for a moment or two, apparently waiting in case she had anything else to say; and then, with a gesture which might have meant anything, he moved away along the veranda. florence's conscience accused her when he disappeared into the house; but she was most clearly sensible that she was now a little afraid of nevis and disposed to hate him. however, she lay quietly in her basket-chair until word was brought her that supper was ready. two or three days later nevis sat late one night in his office at the railroad settlement. it was situated at the back of his implement store, on the ground floor of a very ugly wooden building which had a false front that rose a little beyond the ridge of roof. one door opened directly on to the prairie; the other led into the store, from which there exuded a pungent smell of paint and varnish. a nickeled lamp hung over nevis's head, and the little room was unpleasantly hot, so hot, indeed, that he sat in his shirt-sleeves before a table littered with papers. not far away a small safe stood open. this contained further papers tied up in several bundles and neatly endorsed. there was nothing else in the room except a few shelves filled with account books; and there was no covering on the floor. nevis, like most commercial men in the small western towns, wasted very little money on superfluous accessories. he found that he could employ it much more profitably. he had, as it happened, a troublesome matter to decide on, and seeing no way out of the difficulties which complicated it, he rose at length, and, lighting a cigar, opened the outer door and stood leaning against it. it was cooler there, and he noticed that the night was unusually dark. the stream of light that flowed out past him, forcing up his figure in a sharp, black silhouette, only intensified the thick obscurity in which it was almost immediately lost. it was also very still, and he could hear his white shirt crackle at each slight movement of the hand that held the cigar. everybody in the little wooden town was, he surmised, already asleep, though he knew that a west-bound train would stop there in half an hour or so. he did not know how long he remained in the doorway, but by degrees the stillness became oppressive, and at last he started as a sound rose suddenly out of the darkness. it was a faint, metallic rattle, and he leaned forward a little, listening in strained attention. the noise was so unexpected that it jarred on him. then he recollected that some of his neighbors were addicted to dumping empty provision cans and similar refuse into a clump of willows which straggled close up to the back of the town not far away, and he decided that one of them had fallen down or rolled over. after that he went back to his table, leaving the door open for the sake of coolness, and he was once more occupied with his papers when he heard a sharp knocking at the front of the store. pushing his chair back he took out his watch. somebody who was going west by the train that was almost due apparently desired to see him, though it seemed a curious thing that the man had not called earlier. he rose and entered the store, where he fell against the projecting handle of a plow in the darkness. this ruffled his temper, and he spent some time impatiently fumbling for and undoing the fastenings of the outer door. then he flung it open somewhat violently, and strode out into the darkness. there was, so far as he could see, nobody in the vicinity, and when, moving forward a few paces he called out, he got no answer. feeling slightly uneasy as well as astonished, he stood still for, perhaps, a minute, gazing about him. he could dimly see the houses across the street, with the tall false fronts of one or two cutting black against the sky, but there was not a light in any of them, and there was certainly no sound of footsteps. he was neither a nervous nor a fanciful man, and it scarcely seemed possible that his ears had deceived him. swinging around suddenly, he went back into the store and fastened the outer door before he reentered his office. the door at the back of the office and the safe stood open just as he had left them. crossing the room he looked into the safe. as a rule, a man's possessions are as secure in a small prairie town as they would be in, for example, london or montreal, but nevis seldom kept much money in his safe. he usually made his collections after harvest, and remitted the proceeds to a bank in winnipeg. a small iron cash-box, however, occupied one shelf, and it was at once evident that this had not been touched, which seemed to prove that nobody with dishonest intentions had entered the place in his absence. this was satisfactory, but a few moments later it struck him that one of the bundles of docketed papers was not lying exactly where he had last placed it. he could not be quite sure of this, though he was methodical in his habits, and he took the bundle up and examined it. the tape around it was securely tied and the papers did not seem to have been disturbed. besides this, they were in no sense marketable securities. he laid them down again and closed the safe. then, locking the outer door behind him, he proceeded through the silent town toward the track. as he did so the clanging of a locomotive bell broke through a slackening clatter of wheels, and when after a smart run he reached the station, hot and somewhat breathless, the lights of the long train were just sliding out of it. he strode up to the agent, who stood in the doorway of his office shack with a lantern in his hand. "did anybody get on board?" he asked. "no," replied the agent. "nobody got off, either. did you expect to catch up any one?" "i fancied somebody called at the store a few minutes ago. it occurred to me that the man might want to leave some message and had forgotten it until he was going to catch the train." "i guess it must have been a delusion," remarked the agent. nevis had almost arrived at the same conclusion. he waited a few minutes, and then they walked back together through the settlement. the agent left him outside the store, above which he had a room, and dismissing the matter from his mind he went tranquilly to sleep half an hour later. chapter xix the mortgage deed alison was sitting alone in the general living-room of the farquhar homestead about an hour after breakfast when she laid down her sewing with a start as a man whom she had not heard approaching suddenly appeared in the doorway. he stood there, looking at her with what she felt was a very suspicious curiosity, and there was no doubt that his appearance was decidedly against him. his clothing, which had been rudely patched with cotton flour-bags, was old and stained with soil; his face was hard and grim; and she grew apprehensive under his fixed scrutiny. "where's the rest of you?" he asked after an unpleasant silence of a few moments. alison felt that it would be singularly injudicious to inform him, and while she hesitated, wondering what to answer, he strode into the room and fell heavily into the nearest chair. "you'll excuse me," he apologized. "i'm played out." the signs of weariness were plain on him, and alison became a little reassured. after all, she remembered, there was nothing of very much value in the homestead; and she had never as yet had any reason to fear the men she had come across upon the prairie. in fact, though one had wanted to marry her offhand, their general conduct compared very favorably with that of one or two whom she had met in english cities. "have you come far?" she asked. "from the railroad--on my feet," answered the man. "i left it about midnight two nights ago, and since then i've only had a morsel of food." then he smiled at her. "you haven't told me yet where harry farquhar and his wife have gone." it was clear that he had already satisfied himself that they were out, and alison reluctantly admitted it. "mrs. farquhar has driven over to the bluff," she said. "she took her husband with her, but she was to drop him at the ravine where the birches are. he wanted to cut some poles." the look of annoyance in the man's face further reassured her, as it implied that he regretted farquhar's absence almost as much as she had done a few moments earlier. "it's a sure thing i can't wait till they come back, and the trouble is i can't make mrs. calvert's place without a rest, either." he paused and gazed searchingly at alison. "you're miss leigh, aren't you? i guess you could be trusted; i've heard of you." alison's astonishment was evident, and he smiled. "it's quite likely," he added dryly, "that you've heard of me. my name's jake winthrop." alison sat very still, and it was a moment or two before she spoke. "what do you want?" she asked. "breakfast, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. then, as farquhar's out, there's a piece of paper i'd like to give you. guess it would be safer out of my hands; the police troopers are after me." alison set the kettle and frying-pan on the stove. she was compassionate by nature, and the man looked very jaded and weary. when she sat down again he handed her a rather bulky folded paper which appeared to be some kind of legal document. "what am i to do with this?" she asked. "you can give it to farquhar, or keep it and hide it," said the man. "i guess the last would be wisest. nobody would figure you had the thing, and i can't give it to lucy, because nevis would sure get after her." "is it very important?" "it might be. i can't go and ask a lawyer now. guess the man would feel it was his duty to put slaney on my trail, and i couldn't go near the settlement in daylight without doing the same. anyway, it's my mortgage deed, and i have a notion that it might give me a pull on nevis if the troopers get me. if i'm right, he'll be mighty anxious to get it back again." "i don't understand," returned alison. "if he was afraid of your using it against him, he wouldn't have given it to you at all." winthrop grinned. "he didn't. i got him out of his office late at night and crept in for it. i knew where he kept the thing because i'd seen him put it in his safe." alison was far from pleased with this confession, but while she considered it another point occurred to her. "but don't people generally get a duplicate of a paper of this kind?" she asked. "i had one, but nevis wanted me to do something that didn't seem quite what we had agreed on, and i went over with the deed to show him he was wrong. he said i'd better leave it, and somehow or other i could never get it out of his hands again." "ah," said alison softly, "i think i wouldn't mind helping you against that man. but you must tell me exactly what you mean to do." "i'm going across to see lucy--and out west somewhere after that. if i can get away, and strike anything that will pay me, it's quite likely that i'll leave nevis alone. if i can't, or there's a reason for it later, i'll write you, and farquhar or thorne could take the deed to a lawyer and see if he could get at nevis with it. in the meanwhile it would be wiser if you just hid the thing away. if farquhar knows nothing about it, i guess it would save him trouble." alison did not answer for a moment or two. she felt that she was acting imprudently in allowing herself to be drawn into the affair, but she was sorry for the man. he was a friend of thorne's, and that counted for a good deal in his favor. in addition to this, the idea of playing a part, and possibly a leading part, in something of the nature of a complicated drama appealed to her, and there was, half formulated at the back of her mind, the desire to prove to thorne just what she was capable of. "well," she said at length, "you may leave it with me." then she set about getting him a meal, and a little while later he limped wearily away. he left her with the impression that it would be wise of nevis to abandon his pursuit of him, for there was something in the man's manner which indicated that he might prove dangerous if pressed too hard. the morning had slipped away before she could get the thought of him out of her mind. in the meanwhile, he was plodding across the white wilderness under a scorching sun. the atmosphere was crystallinely clear, and an almost intolerable brightness flooded the wide levels. a birch bluff miles away was etched in clean-cut tracery upon the horizon, but though the weary man kept his eyes sharply open he felt reasonably safe from observation, which it seemed desirable to avoid. he did not believe that any of the scattered farmers would betray him, even if some pressure should be put upon them with the view of extracting information, but it was clear that they would be better able to evade any attempts nevis or slaney might make to entrap them into some incautious admission if they had none to impart. winthrop based this decision on the fact that a man certainly cannot tell what he does not know. it was consoling to remember that the wide, open prairie is by no means a bad place to hide in. a mounted figure or a team and wagon shows up for a vast distance against the skyline, while a few grass tussocks less than a foot in height will effectually conceal a man who lies down among them with the outline of his body broken by the blades from anybody passing within two or three hundred yards of him. winthrop was aware, however, that it would be different if he attempted to run away; and once he dropped like a stone when a buggy rose unexpectedly out of a ravine. the man who drove it was an acquaintance of his, but he seemed to gaze right at the spot where winthrop was stretched out without seeing him. the latter was not disturbed again, but he cast rather dubious glances round him as he resumed his march. there was another long journey in front of him that night, and he did not like the signs of the weather. it struck him as ominously clear. he was, as it happened, not the only person who noticed this, for other people who had at different times suffered severely in pocket from the vagaries of the climate had arrived at much the same opinion that afternoon, with more or less uneasiness according to their temperament. the wheat was everywhere standing tall and green, and the season had been on the whole so propitious that from bitter experience they almost expected a change. as the small cultivator has discovered, the simile of a beneficent nature is a singularly misleading one, for the stern truth was proclaimed in ages long ago that man must toil with painful effort for the bread he eats, and must subdue the earth before he can render it fruitful. in the new west he has made himself many big machines, including the great gang-plows that rip their multiple furrows through the prairie soil, but he still lies defenseless against the fickle elements. elcot hunter, at least, was anxious that night as he sat in the general living-room of his homestead opposite his wife. she was not greatly interested in the book she held, and she glanced at him now and then as he sat poring over a newspaper which was noted for its crop and market reports. they afforded hunter very little satisfaction, for they made it clear that the west would produce enough wheat that season to flood an already lifeless market. the windows of the room were open wide, and the smell of sun-baked soil damped by the heavy dew came in with the sound made by the movements of a restless horse or two. the fall of hoofs appeared unusually distinct. the wooden house, which had lain baking under a scorching sun all day, was still very hot, but the faint puffs of air which flowed in were delightfully cool, and at length florence, who was very lightly clad, shivered as one that was stronger than the rest lifted a sheet of hunter's paper. "it is positively getting cold," she remarked. "cold?" returned hunter. "i wouldn't call it that." he resumed his reading, and three or four minutes had slipped by when florence turned to him with irritation in her manner. "haven't you anything to say, elcot?" she broke out. "are those crop statistics so very fascinating?" hunter looked up at her with a rather grim smile. she lay in a low cane chair beneath the lamp, with her figure falling into long sweeping lines, attired in costly fripperies lately purchased in the east, but there was not the least doubt that they became her. indeed, with the satiny whiteness of her neck and arms half revealed beneath the gauzy draperies, and her hair gleaming lustrously about a face that had been carefully shielded from the ravages of the weather, she seemed strangely out of place in the primitively furnished room of a western homestead. the man noticed it, as he had done on other occasions, with a pang of regret. there had been a time when he had expected her to rejoice in his successes and console him in his defeats, and it had hurt when she had made it clear that any reference to his occupation only irritated her. he had got over that, as he had borne other troubles, with an uncomplaining quietness, and, though she had never suspected this, he had often felt sorry for her. still, he was a man of somewhat unyielding character, and there was occasionally friction when he did what he considered most fitting, in spite of her protests. "well," he said in answer to her question, "they have, anyway, some interest to a farmer who has a good deal at stake." he threw the paper down. "things in general aren't very promising, and i may be rather tightly fixed after the harvest. i seem to have been spending a great deal of money lately." florence felt guilty. after all, as she was the principal cause of his expenses, it was generous of him to put it as he had done. indeed, she decided to make a confession about the loan from nevis sometime when he appeared to be in an unusually favorable mood. "you have a splendid crop, haven't you?" she asked. "the trouble is that i may not get much for it, and a wheat crop is never quite safe until it's thrashed out. i'm uncertain about the weather." "the aneroid has gone up; i looked at it." "it's gone up too much and too suddenly," said hunter. "that sometimes means a bad outbreak from the north." florence was moved by a sudden impulse. the man was bronzed and toughened by labor, but there was, as she had noticed since she came home, a jaded look in his face. "elcot," she asked, "do you think i oughtn't to have gone away?" the man seemed to consider this. "no," he answered, "i don't think that, so long as you were able to manage it with the little help i could give you." he paused a moment, and looked puzzled, for there was a suspicion of heightened color in florence's face. "on the whole, i'm glad you went, if you enjoyed the visit." "you don't seem very sure. wasn't it rather dull for you here?" it was, so far as he could remember, the first time she had displayed any interest on this point, and he smiled. "oh, i had the place to look after, as usual. it's fortunate that it occupies a good deal of my attention." florence leaned forward suddenly. "elcot, won't you tell me exactly how much you mean by that?" it was a moment or two before hunter answered. "well," he said gravely, "since you have suggested it, perhaps i better had, though it means the dragging in of questions we've talked over quite often already. i took up farming because i couldn't stand the cities and it seemed the thing i was most fitted for. on that point i haven't changed my opinions. where i did wrong was in marrying you." he checked her with a lifted hand as she was about to speak. "if you had never met me, you would probably have taken the next man with means who came along." "yes," admitted florence, meeting his gaze. "i think that's true. having gone so far, hadn't you better proceed?" "i'm trying to look at it from your standpoint; i've never been sorry on my own account." florence laughed in a strained fashion. "that's a little difficult to believe. still, one must do you the justice to own that you have, at least, never mentioned your regrets." "i don't think i've often mentioned my expectations either. that's one reason i'm speaking now. you seem--approachable--to-night." "i suppose they were not fulfilled?" "if they were not, it was my own fault. i took you out of the environment you were suited to and content with." "i wasn't," florence declared sharply. "things were horribly unpleasant to me then. i was struggling desperately to earn a living, and had to put up with a good deal from most disagreeable people." again a faint, grim smile crept into her husband's eyes. "after all, perfect candor is a little painful now and then; but let me go on. at least, i brought you into an environment with which you were not content. the kind of life i led was irksome to you; you could not help me in it; even to hear me talk of what i did each day was burdensome to you. i couldn't speak of my plans for the future, or the difficulties that must be met and faced continually. for a while i felt it badly." "yes," florence acknowledged, "it must have been hard on you, elcot." "it could be borne, but there was another side of the matter. it was clear that you were longing for company, stir, gaiety--and i could not give them to you. as i've often said, i'm not rich enough to make a mark in any of the cities, unless i went into business, for which i've neither the training nor inclination, and most of my money is sunk in the land here. it's difficult to sell a farm of this size for anything like its value unless wheat is dear. besides, the friends you would wish to make wouldn't take to me. that is certain; i lived among people of their description before i met you. i couldn't in any way have helped you to make yourself a leading place in the only kind of society that would satisfy you. all this has stood between us--no doubt it was unavoidable--but it made the troubles i could share with no one a little worse to bear, and my few successes of less account to me. after all, since i could, at least, send you to the cities now and then, it was fortunate that i had my farm." he stopped a moment and added deprecatingly: "whether you will be able to get away next winter is more than i know. as i said, the outlook is far from promising in the meanwhile." florence did not answer immediately. at last, she could clearly grasp the man's point of view. indeed, she realized that during the few years they had lived together she had taken all he had to offer and had given practically nothing in return. she felt almost impelled to tell him that her last visit to the cities had brought her very little pleasure, and that she would be willing to spend the next winter with him at the lonely homestead; but she could not do so. a surrender of any kind was difficult to her, and she had by degrees built up a barrier of reserve between them that could not immediately be thrown down. besides, there was in the background the memory of nevis's loan. "things may look better by and by," she said lamely. neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and it seemed to florence that the room grew perceptibly colder, while once or twice a little puff of air struck with a sudden chill upon her face. then there was a sharp drumming, which ceased again abruptly, upon the shingled roof, and she followed hunter when he strode out on the veranda. an impenetrable darkness now overhung most of the sky, and there was a wild beat of hoofs as three or four invisible horses dashed across the paddock. florence knew that the beasts were young, and understood that they were valuable. her husband moved toward the steps. "i'll put them into the stable, or, if i can't manage that, turn them out on the prairie," he said. "i'm afraid of the new fence. they're not accustomed to it yet, and there are two barbed strands in it." "take one of the hired men with you," florence called after him, but he made no answer, and the next moment a mad beat of hoofs once more broke out as the uneasy horses galloped furiously back across the fenced-in space. chapter xx hail the air had grown very still again when florence leaned on the veranda balustrade, gazing into the darkness, which was now intense. the brief shower of heavy rain had wet the grass, and waves of warm moisture charged with an odor like that of a hothouse seemed to flow about her and recede again, leaving her almost shivering in her gauzy dress, for between whiles it was by contrast strangely cold. she could hear hunter calling to the horses, which apparently broke away from him now and then in short, savage rushes, but she could see nothing of him or them. presently the sharp cries of one of the hired men broke in, and florence, who felt her nerves tingling, became conscious of an unpleasant tension. then for a second, or part of it, the figures of moving men and beasts became visible, etched hard and black against an overwhelming brightness, as a blaze of lightning smote the prairie. the glare of it was dazzling, and when it vanished florence was left gripping the balustrade, bewildered and wrapped in an intolerable darkness. after that a drumming of hoofs and a hoarse cry broke upon her ears, but both were drowned and lost in a deafening crash of thunder. it rolled far back into the distance in great reverberations, and while her light skirt fluttered about her in an icy draught another sound emerged from them as they died away. it grew nearer and louder in a persistent, portentous crescendo, for at first it suggested the galloping of a squadron of horse, then a regiment, and at length the furious approach of a division of cavalry. holding fast to the balustrade, she could even imagine that there were mingled with it the crash of jolting wheels and a clamor of wild voices as of a host behind pressing onward to the onslaught. the din was scarcely drowned by a tremendous rumbling that twice filled the air; and there was forced upon her a vague perception of the fact that it was a very real attack upon the things that enabled her to have the ease she loved. wheat and cattle, stables and homestead must, it almost seemed, go down, and there were, as sole and pitiful defense, two men somewhere out in the darkness exposed to the outbreak of elemental fury. there was now no sign of her husband or his companion. it was quite impossible to hear any sound they made, and she stood quivering, until, loosing her hold of the balustrade with an effort, she ran down the steps. "elcot!" she cried. no answer reached her. she knew it was useless to call, but an overmastering fear came upon her as she remembered the mad flight of the terrified horses, and she ran on a few paces over the wet grass, crying out again. then she was beaten back, gasping, with her hands raised in a futile attempt to shield her face and her dress driven flat against her, as a merciless shower of ice broke out of the darkness. it swept the veranda like the storm of lead from a volley, only it did not cease; crashing upon the balustrade and lashing the front of the house, while the very building seemed to rock in the savage blast. she staggered back before it, too dazed and bewildered to notice where she was going, until she struck the wall and cowered against the boards. there was a narrow roof above her, but it did not keep off much of the wind-driven hail, and she could not be sure that the whole of it was now standing. the veranda was wrapped in darkness, for the lamp had blown out. she never remembered how long she stood there. for a time, every sense was concentrated on an effort to shelter her face from the hail which fell upon her thinly covered arms and shoulders like a scourge of knotted wire. then, faint and breathless, she crept forward toward where she supposed the door must be, and staggered into the unlighted room. she struck a chair, and sank into it, to sit shivering and listening appalled to the cataclysm of sound. then a terror which had been driven out of her mind for the last few minutes crept back. elcot was out amid the rush of hurtling ice; and she knew him well enough to feel certain that he would stay in the paddock until the horses were secured. she could picture him trying to guide the maddened beasts out between the slip-rails, heading them off from the perilous fence they rushed down upon at a terror-stricken gallop, or, perhaps, lying upon the hail-swept grass with a broken limb. it was horrible to contemplate, and she became conscious of a torturing anxiety concerning the safety of the man for whose comfort she had scarcely spared a thought since she married him. though it was difficult, she contrived to shut the door and window, and to relight the lamp, and then she glanced round the room. elcot's paper had fallen to pieces and had been scattered here and there, while a long pile of hail lay melting on the floor. she could understand now why she felt bruised all over except where the fullness of her dress had protected her, for she had never seen hail like this in england. the jagged lumps were of all shapes, and most of them seemed the size of hazelnuts. then she became conscious that her hair was streaming about her face and that her dress clung saturated to her limbs. this, however, appeared of no moment, for her anxiety about her husband was becoming intolerable. nerving herself for an effort, she moved toward the door. it was flung back upon her when she lifted the latch, and she staggered beneath the blow. then, panting hard, she forced it to again and went back limply to her chair. it was utterly impossible for her to face that hail. she had the will to do so, and she was no coward, but the flesh she had pampered and shielded failed her, which was in no way astonishing. wheat-growers, herders, police troopers, and, unfortunately, patient women learn that the body must be sternly brought into subjection to the mind by long repression before one can face wind-driven ice, snow-laden blizzard, or the awful cold which now and then descends upon the vast spaces of western canada. in a few more minutes the uproar subsided. the drumming on the walls and roof suddenly ceased and the wind no longer buffeted the house. the tumult receded in gradations of sinking sound, until at last there was silence, except for the drip from the veranda eaves. it was shortly broken by quick footsteps and florence turned toward the door as hunter came in. his face showed where the hail had beaten it, for his hat had gone; the water ran from him, and one hand was bleeding. he looked limp and exhausted, but what struck her most was the sternness of his expression. "are you hurt?" she asked. hunter glanced down at his reddened hand. "nothing to speak of. i got a rip from the fence somehow, and one leg's a little stiff; one of the horses must have kicked me. guess i'll know more about it to-morrow." "and the horses?" "we managed to get them out. but what were you doing outside? your dress is dripping." florence hesitated. it seemed extraordinary that while she had seldom felt the least diffidence in dealing as appeared expedient with any of the men she had known, she was unable to inform her husband that she had been driven into the storm by anxiety for his safety; but somehow she could not get the words out. she recognized that it had never occurred to him that she could have been actuated by any motive of this kind, though she was forced to own that, considering everything, this was no more than natural. the thought brought a half-bitter smile into her eyes. "i was on the steps when the hail began, and i could scarcely get back into the house," she said. "can it have done very much harm?" hunter made a gesture of dejection. "that's a point i'm most afraid to investigate, and it can't be done to-night. in the meanwhile, hadn't you better get those wet things off?" his preoccupied manner indicated that he was in no mood for conversation, and florence left him standing moodily still. it was some minutes before he felt chilly and went upstairs to change his clothes, but he came back almost immediately and took some papers and a couple of account books from a bureau. after this he lighted his pipe and sat down to make copious extracts, with a view to discovering how he stood. he had no great trouble in ascertaining his liabilities, for he was a methodical man, but it was different when he came to consider what he had to set off against them. he had counted on his wheat crop to leave him a certain surplus, but it now seemed unfortunately probable that there would be no harvest at all that year. admitting this, he busied himself with figures in an attempt to discover how far it might be possible to convert what promised to be a crushing disaster into a temporary defeat, and several hours slipped by before any means of doing so occurred to him. his expenses had been unusually heavy, there were many points to consider and balance against each other, and a gray light was breaking low down on the rim of the prairie when at length he rose and thrust the books back into the bureau. the night's labor had at least convinced him that if he were to hold his own during the next twelve months it could be only by persistent effort and stern economy, and he had misgivings as to how his wife would regard the prospect of the latter. on going out on to the veranda a few minutes later he was astonished to hear footsteps behind him, and when he turned and waited florence came out of the doorway. "i heard you moving and i came down," she said. "are you going to look at the wheat?" "yes," replied hunter. "i'm afraid there won't be very much of it to see." the light was growing a little clearer and florence noticed the weariness of his face. he seemed to hold himself slackly and she had never seen him fall into that dejected attitude. the man was, however, physically jaded, for a day of severe labor had preceded the struggle in the paddock and the hours he had spent in anxious thought, and he had, as he was quite aware, a heavy blow to face. "may i go with you?" she asked hesitatingly. "why?" the question was not encouraging, nor was his manner, and florence felt reluctant to explain that her request had been prompted by a desire to share his troubles. she was conscious that a statement to this effect would probably appear somewhat astonishing, as she had never offered to do anything of the kind hitherto. "if you must have a reason, i'm as anxious to see what damage the hail has done as you are. it can't very well affect you without affecting me." "yes," agreed hunter, "that's undoubtedly the case. i'm afraid you'll have to put up with me and the homestead for the next twelve months. it's quite likely that there'll be very few new dresses, either." florence endeavored to keep her patience. it was not often that she felt in a penitent mood, and he did not seem disposed to make it any easier for her. "do you suppose new dresses are a matter of vital importance to me?" she asked. "well," answered hunter, "since you put the question, several things almost lead me to believe it." he turned abruptly toward the steps. "if you are coming with me, we may as well go along." they crossed the wet paddock together, and now and then florence glanced covertly at her husband's face. it was set and anxious, but there was no sign of surrender in it. she had, however, not expected to see the latter, for she knew that elcot was one who could, when occasion demanded it, make a very stubborn fight. at length they stopped and stood looking out across what at sunset had been a vast sea of tall, green wheat. now it had gone down, parts of it as before the knife of a reaper, while the rest lay crushed and flung this way and that, as though an army had marched through it. lush blades and half-formed ears were smashed into the mire and the odd clusters of battered stalks that stood leaning above the tangled chaos only served to heighten the suggestion of widespread ruin. florence watched her husband, but she did not care to speak, for there are times when expressions of sympathy are superfluous. when he walked slowly forward along the edge of the grain she followed him, without noticing that her thin shoes were saturated and her light skirt was trailing in the harsh wet grass. the ground rose slightly, and stopping when they reached the highest point he answered her inquiring glance. "it looks pretty bad," he said. "some of it--a very little--may fill out and ripen and we might get the binders through it, but the thing's going to be difficult." "will this hit you very hard, elcot?" hunter turned and looked at her with gravely searching eyes, and she shrank from his gaze while a warmth crept into her face. "oh," she broke out indignantly, "i'm not thinking--now--of what i might have to do without. still, i suppose it was only natural that you should suspect it." the man's gesture seemed to imply that this was after all a matter of minor importance, and it jarred on her. "well," he answered, "i guess i can weather the trouble, though it will mean a long, stiff pull and a general whittling down of expenses. i spent most of last night figuring on the latter, and i've got my plans worked out, though it was troublesome to see where i was to begin." florence's heart smote her. her allowance was a liberal one, but she knew it would only be when every other expedient had failed that he would think of touching that. it would have been a relief to tell him he could begin with it, but she remembered nevis's loan. the thought of that loan was becoming a burden, and she felt that it must be wiped off somehow at any cost. "yes," she sympathized, "it must have been difficult. you don't spend much money unnecessarily, elcot." he did not answer, and she glanced at his hands, which were hard and roughened like those of a workman. there was an untended red gash which the fence had made across the back of one. another glance at his clothing carried her a little farther along the same line of thought, for his garments were old and shabby and faded by the weather. "anyway," he said, apparently without having heeded her last observation, "i'm thankful i have no debts just now." it was an unconscious thrust, but florence winced, for it wounded her, and she began to see how nevis had with deliberate purpose strengthened the barrier between her and her husband. what was more, she determined that the man should regret it. why she had ever encouraged him she did not know, but there was no doubt that she was anxious to get rid of him now. she would have made an open confession about the loan then and there, but the time was singularly inopportune. it was out of the question that she should add to her husband's anxiety. "after all, it doesn't often hail," she encouraged him. "another good year will set you straight again." the man seemed lost in thought, but he looked up when she spoke. "we can make a bid for it," he replied. "i must have bigger and newer machines. like most of the rest, i've been too afraid of launching out and have clung to old-fashioned means. there will have to be a change and a clearance before next season." it was very matter-of-fact, but florence knew him well enough to realize what it implied. defeat could not crush him; it only nerved him to a more resolute fight, for which he meant to equip himself at any sacrifice with more efficient weapons. again she was conscious of a growing respect for him. "i'm afraid i have been a drag on you, elcot, but in this case you can count upon my doing--what i can." he scarcely seemed to hear her, and she realized with a trace of bitter amusement that her assurance did not appear of any particular consequence to him. "i have teams enough," he continued, picking up the course of thought where he had broken off. "anyway, one should get something for the old machines." florence set her lips as they turned back toward the house. this was a matter in which she evidently did not count; but there was no doubt that in the light of past events the man's attitude was justified. it would be necessary to prove that he was wrong, and, with nevis's loan still to be met, that promised to be difficult. "elcot," she said, "i don't think i've told you yet how sorry i am." he looked at her in a manner which implied that his mind was still busy with his plans. "yes--of course," he replied. chapter xxi a point of honor florence hunter sat in her wagon in front of the grocery store at graham's bluff waiting until the man who kept it should bring out various goods she had ordered. though a fresh breeze swept the surrounding prairie the little town was very hot, and it looked singularly unattractive with the dust blowing through its one unpaved street. in one place a gaily striped shade, which flapped and fluttered in the wind, had been stretched above the window of an ambitious store; but with this exception the unlovely wooden buildings boldly fronted the weather, with the sun-glare on their thin, rent boarding and the roofing shingles crackling overhead, as they had done when they had borne the scourge of snow-laden gales and the almost arctic frost. they were square and squat, as destitute, most of them, of paint as they were of any attempt at adornment; and in hot weather the newer ones were permeated with a pungent, resinous smell. where florence sat, however, the odors that flowed out of the store were more diffuse, for the fragrance of perspiring cheese was mingled with that of pork which had gained flavor and lost its stiffness in the heat, and the aroma of what was sold as coffee at graham's bluff. florence, indeed, had been glad to escape from the store, which resembled an oven with savory cooking going on, though after all it was not a great deal better in the wagon. the dust was beginning to gather in the folds of her dainty dress, the wind plucked at her veil, and the fierce sun smote her face. on the whole, she was displeased with things in general and inclined to regret that she had driven into the settlement, which she had done in a fit of compunction. hitherto she had contented herself with sending the storekeeper an order for goods to be supplied, without any attempt to investigate his charges, but now, with elcot's harvest ruined it had appeared her duty to consider carefully the subject of housekeeping accounts. she rather resented the fact that her first experiment had proved unpleasant, for she had shrunk from the sight of the slabs of half-melted pork flung down for her inspection, and having hitherto shopped only in england and eastern canada she had found the naïve abruptness of the western storekeeper somewhat hard on her temper. retail dealers in the prairie settlements seldom defer to their customers. if the latter do not like their goods or charges they are generally favored with a hint that they would better go somewhere else, and there is an end of the matter. it really did not look as if much encouragement was held out to those who aspired to cultivate the domestic virtues. at length the storekeeper appeared with several large packages. "you want to cover this one up; it's the butter," he cautioned. "guess you're going to have some trouble in keeping it in the wagon if the sun gets on to it. better bring a big can next time, same as your hired man does." the warning was justified, because when the inexperienced customer brings nothing to put it in, butter is usually retailed in light baskets made of wood, in spite of the fact that it is addicted to running out of them in the heat of the day. the man next deposited a heavy cotton bag in the wagon, and while a thin cloud of flour which followed its fall descended upon florence he laid his hands on the wheel and looked at her confidentially. "i guess if your husband meant to let up on that creamery scheme you would have heard of it," he suggested. "yes," replied florence; "i don't think he has any intention of doing so." the man made a sign of assent. "that's just what i was telling the boys last night. there were two or three of them from traverse staying at the hotel, and when we got to talking about the hail they allowed that he'd have to cut the creamery plan out. i said that when elcot hunter took a thing up he stayed with it until he put it through." his words had their effect on florence. this, it seemed, was what the men who dealt with elcot thought of him. after a few more general observations about the creamery her companion went back into his store, and as he did so nevis came out of a house near by. he stopped beside her team. "i didn't know you were in the settlement," he said, and his manner implied that had he been acquainted with the fact he would have sought her out. florence glanced at him sharply as she gathered up the reins. the man seemed disposed to be more amiable than he had shown himself on the last occasion, but she now cherished two strong grievances against him. he had cunningly saddled her with a debt which was becoming horribly embarrassing, and he had given her husband a hint that she had dealings of some kind with him. as the latter course was, on the face of it, clearly not calculated to earn her gratitude, she surmised that he must have had some ulterior object in adopting it. "i've been buying stores," she answered indifferently. "that's a new departure, isn't it?" nevis suggested. "you generally contented yourself with sending in for them." florence did not like his tone, and he seemed suspiciously well informed about her habits. this indicated that he had been making inquiries about her, and she naturally resented it. she disregarded the speech, however. "i suppose you're here on business?" "yes," answered nevis, and there was something significant in his manner; "i thought it wiser to look up my clients after the hail we had two nights ago. it's going to make things very tight for many of the prairie farmers." "and a disaster naturally brings you on the field. rather like the vultures, isn't it?" she was about to drive on, but nevis suddenly laid his hand on the rein. "i think you ought to give me a minute or two, if only to answer that," he said with a laugh. "you compared me to a pickpocket not long ago, and i'm not prepared to own that you have chosen a very fortunate simile now." "no? after the fact you mentioned it struck me as rather apposite; but i may have been wrong. the point's hardly worth discussing, and i'm going on to the hotel." she had expected him to take the hint and drop the rein, but he showed no intention of doing so, and it suddenly dawned on her that he meant to keep her talking as long as possible. everybody in the settlement who cared to look out could see them, and she had no doubt that the women in the place were keenly observant. it almost seemed as if he wished the fact that they had a good deal to say to each other to attract attention, with the idea that this might serve to give him a further hold on her. it was an opposite policy to the one he had pursued when she had driven him across the prairie some time ago, but the man had become bolder and more aggressive since then. "will you let that rein go?" she asked directly. nevis did not comply, and though he made a gesture of deprecation the look in his eyes warned her that he meant to let her feel his power. "won't you give me an opportunity for convincing you that i'm not like the vultures first? you see, they gather round the carrion, and i don't suppose you would care to apply that term to the farmers in our vicinity. most of them aren't more than moribund yet." it struck florence that he was indifferent as to whether she took offense at this or not; and he was undoubtedly determined to stick fast to the rein. there were already one or two loungers watching them, and, if he persisted, she could not start the team without some highly undesirable display of force. the man, she fancied, realized this, and an angry warmth crept into her face. then, somewhat to her relief, she saw thorne strolling down the street behind her companion. he wore a battered, wide gray hat, a blue shirt which hung open at the neck, duck trousers and long boots, and though he was freely sprinkled with dust he looked distinctly picturesque. what was more to the purpose, he seemed to be regarding nevis with suspicion, and she knew that he was a man of quick resource. in any case, the situation was becoming intolerable, and she flashed a quick glance at him. she fancied that he would understand it as an intimation that he was wanted, and the expectation was justified, for although she had never been gracious to him he approached a little faster. in the meanwhile nevis, who had seen nothing of all this, talked on. "there are, of course," he added, "people who are prejudiced against me; but on the other hand i have set a good many of the small farmers on their feet again." "presumably you made them pay for it?" the man had no opportunity for answering this, for just then thorne's hand fell heavily upon his shoulder. "you here, nevis?" he cried. nevis dropped the rein as he swung around and florence wasted no time in starting her team. as the wagon jolted away down the rutted street nevis, standing still, somewhat flushed in face, gazed at thorne. "well," he demanded, "what do you want?" thorne leaned against the front of the store with sardonic amusement in his eyes. "oh," he replied, "it merely occurred to me that mrs. hunter wished to drive on. i thought i'd better point it out to you." nevis glanced at him savagely and then strode away, which was, indeed, all that he could do. an altercation would serve no useful purpose, and his antagonist was notoriously quick at repartee. thorne proceeded toward the wooden hotel and crossing the veranda he entered a long roughly boarded room, where he found alison and mrs. farquhar as well as florence hunter waiting for supper. mrs. farquhar told him that supper would be served to them before the regular customers came in for theirs. they chatted a while and then a young lad appeared in the doorway and stopped hesitatingly. "i'm sorry if i'm intruding," he apologized. "i meant to have supper with the boys, and symonds didn't tell me there was anybody in the room." thorne turned to mrs. farquhar, and she smiled. "then unless you would prefer to take it with the boys, dave, there's no reason why you should run away," he said. he led the lad toward alison when mrs. farquhar had spoken to him. "i think you will remember him, miss leigh. he's the young man who boiled the fowls whole at the raising." alison laughed and shook hands with him, but after a word or two with her he looked at thorne significantly and moved a few paces toward the door. "did you know that winthrop was in the neighborhood?" he whispered. alison still stood near them and thorne fancied that she started slightly, which implied that she had overheard, though why the news should cause her concern was far from clear to him. "i didn't," he said sharply. "it's a little difficult to believe it now. you're quite sure?" "i saw him," the lad persisted. "i was riding here along the trail and i'd come to the ravine. it's quite likely the birches had hidden me, for when i came out of them he was sitting on the edge of the sloo on the south side, near enough for me to recognize him, eating something. the next moment he rolled over into the grass and vanished." "then you didn't speak to him?" "he was too quick. it looked as if he didn't want me to see him, and i rode on. i had to call at forrester's and i found corporal slaney there. one or two things he said made it clear that he hadn't the faintest notion that winthrop was within a mile or two of him." he was apparently about to add something further when thorne looked at him warningly. they were standing near the entrance, the approach to which led through the veranda, and the next moment nevis walked into the room. "have you been picking up interesting news?" he asked. "i believe i caught winthrop's name." it was spoken sharply, in the expectation, thorne fancied, that his companion, taken off his guard, would blurt out some fresh information; but the lad turned toward nevis with an air of cold resentment. "i was talking to mr. thorne," he replied. nevis laughed, though thorne noticed that he did not do it easily. "well," he said, "i'm sorry if i interrupted you." then he turned toward the others as if he had just noticed them. "i didn't know that symonds had placed the room at your disposal; i've no doubt that will excuse me." nobody invited him to remain, but he withdrew gracefully, and when he had gone thorne led the lad out on to the veranda. it was unoccupied, but as it stood some little height above the ground he walked to the edge of it and looked over before he spoke. "now, dave, i want you to tell me one or two things as clearly as you can." the lad answered his questions, and in a minute or two thorne nodded as if satisfied. then he pointed to the room. "go in and talk to mrs. farquhar. keep clear of nevis, and ride home as soon as you can after supper. if you feel compelled to mention the thing, there's no reason why you shouldn't to-morrow. it won't do much harm then." he went down the steps and along the street, and when he came back some time later he found alison waiting for him on the veranda. "so you heard what dave told me? i thought you did," he said. "yes," assented alison. "the question is whether nevis heard him too." "he certainly heard part, but there are one or two things he can't very well know. for instance, it was slaney's intention to ride in to the railroad as soon as he'd had supper." "forrester's place must be at least two leagues from here," commented alison. "about that," thorne agreed with a smile. "it's far enough to make it exceedingly probable that anybody who started from this settlement when he'd had his supper would only get there after winthrop had gone." "but nevis might send a messenger immediately." thorne shook his head. "it strikes me as very unlikely that he'd get any one to go. there are only one or two horses in the place, and i've been round to see the men to whom they belong." alison's eyes sparkled approvingly. "but suppose he goes himself?" "he won't until after supper. nevis is not the man to deny himself unless it seems absolutely necessary, and he'll naturally assume that slaney is spending the night with forrester. but there's a certain probability of his setting out immediately after the meal." "and what are you going to do about it?" thorne's expression became regretful. "i'm very much afraid i can't do anything. you see, the--arrangement--with corporal slaney stands in the way." "you never thought that winthrop would come back here when you made it," alison suggested. "no," acknowledged thorne; "the point is that the corporal didn't either." alison appeared to reflect, and he watched her with quiet amusement. "i've changed my mind about winthrop," she told him at length. "i want him to get away." thorne made no answer, and she continued: "lucy calvert is, no doubt, a good deal more anxious than i am that he should escape, and it would be only natural if you wished to earn her thanks. i think she could be very nice, and her eyes are wonderfully blue." thorne met her inquiring gaze with one of contemplative scrutiny. "yours," he said, "are usually delightfully still and gray--like a pool on a moorland stream at home under a faintly clouded sky; but now and then they gleam with a golden light as the water does when the sun comes through." his companion hastily abandoned that line of attack. his defense was too vigorous for her to follow it up. "you feel that your hands are absolutely tied by the hint you gave slaney that afternoon?" she asked. "that's how it strikes me," thorne declared. "in this case i'm afraid i'll have to stand aside and content myself with looking on." "but haven't you already made it difficult for nevis to get a messenger?" "i've certainly given a couple of men a hint that i'd rather they didn't do any errand of his to-night. that may have been going too far--i can't tell." he paused and laughed softly. "except when it's a case of selling patent medicines, i'm not a casuist." alison realized his point of view and in several ways it appealed to her. he had treated the matter humorously, but, though so little had been said by either of the men, it was clear that he felt he had pledged himself to slaney, and was not to be moved. "well," she urged, "somebody must stop nevis from driving over to forrester's." "it would be very desirable," thorne admitted dryly. "the most annoying thing is that it could have been managed with very little trouble." "how?" alison asked with assumed indifference. thorne, suspecting nothing, fell into the trap. "nevis's hired buggy is a rather rickety affair. it wouldn't astonish anybody if, when he wished to start, there was a bolt short." a look of satisfaction flashed into alison's eyes. "then he will certainly have to put up with any trouble the absence of that bolt is capable of causing. as there doesn't seem to be any other way, i'll pull it out myself. your scruples won't compel you to forbid me?" the man expostulated, but she was quietly determined. "if you won't tell me what to do, i'll get dave," she laughed. "i've no doubt he'd be willing to help me." thorne thought it highly undesirable that they should take a third person into their confidence, and he reluctantly yielded. "then," he advised, "it would be wiser to set about it while the boys are getting supper; there'll be nobody about the back of the hotel then. in the meanwhile, we'd better go in again and talk to the others." chapter xxii alison spoils her gloves mrs. farquhar and her friends had finished supper, and the men who got their meals there were trooping into the hotel, when alison found thorne waiting on the veranda. "you're ready, i suppose?" "i've no intention of keeping you waiting, anyway," thorne replied. alison looked at him with a hint of sharpness. "if you would very much rather stay here, why should you come at all? now that you have told me what to do, it really isn't necessary." thorne smiled. "well," he said, "on the whole, it strikes me as advisable." he walked down the steps with her, and, sauntering a few yards along the street, they turned down an opening between the houses and stopped at the back of the hotel. there were only two windows in that part of the building, and the rude wooden stable would shield anybody standing close beneath one side of it from observation. several gigs stood there to wait until their owners were ready to drive back to their outlying farms, and behind them the gray-white prairie ran back into the distance, empty and unbroken except for the riband of rutted trail. there was no sound from the hotel, for the average westerner eats in silent, strenuous haste, and the two could hear only the movements of a restless horse in the stable. alison walked up to a somewhat dilapidated buggy and inspected it dubiously. "this must be the one, and i suppose that's the bolt," she said. "there seems to be a big nut beneath it, and i don't quite see how i'm to get it off. would your scruples prevent your making any suggestion?" thorne appeared to consider, though there was a twinkle in his eyes. "i might go so far as to point out that if you went into the stable you would find a spanner on the ledge behind the door. it's an instrument that's made for screwing off nuts with." alison disappeared into the stable and came back with the spanner in her hand. thorne noticed that she had put on a pair of rather shabby light gloves, with the object, he supposed, of protecting her fingers. stooping down behind the buggy she stretched out an arm beneath the seat, and became desperately busy, to judge from the tapping and clinking she made. then she straightened herself and looked up at him, hot and a trifle flushed. "it won't go on to the nut," she complained. "is it quite out of the question that you should help me?" she saw the constraint in his face, and was pleased with it. she did not wish the man to break his pledge, and it is probable that she would have refused his assistance; but she was, on the other hand, very human in most respects, and she greatly desired to ascertain how strong the temptation to help her was. "in the first place, you might try turning the screw on the spanner a little," he advised. "it will make the opening wider." she did so, and had no more difficulty on that point, but the bolt was rusty and the nut very stiff. while she struggled with it there was a sound of footsteps, and thorne, moving suddenly forward, snatched the tool from her. "stay there until i make it possible for you to slip away!" he whispered sharply; then he stepped swiftly back a few paces and leaned against a wagon with the spanner in his hand. he had scarcely done so when a man came out of the opening between the houses, and alison felt her heart throb unpleasantly fast. if the newcomer should look around toward the stables it seemed impossible that he should fail to notice thorne. the latter, however, stood quietly still, with his shoulders resting against the wagon wheel, and the spanner in full view in front of him. the other man drew abreast of them, but he did not look around, and alison gasped with relief when he vanished behind one of the neighboring buildings. then she turned impulsively to her companion. "oh," she cried, "you meant him to see you!" thorne raised his hand in expostulation. "hadn't you better get the thing out before somebody else comes along?" there was no doubt that he was right in this, and alison attacked the nut again. in two or three more minutes she moved away from the buggy with the bolt in her hand. "what had i better do with it?" she asked. "i might suggest dropping it into a thick clump of grass. if you don't mind, we'll stroll out a little way on the prairie. there's too much dust to be pleasant blowing down the street." they had left the wooden buildings some distance behind when alison next spoke to him. "that was a generous thing you did just now." thorne looked confused, but he made no attempt to evade an answer. "it was necessary." "if the man had seen you with the spanner, corporal slaney would, no doubt, have heard of it afterward. that would have hurt you?" "it certainly wouldn't have pleased me." "then why did you do what you did?" "i think i have just told you." "you said it was necessary," replied alison, looking at him with eyes which just then had what he thought a very wonderful light in them. "you haven't convinced me that it wasn't--rather fine of you." thorne was manifestly more embarrassed, and embarrassment of any kind was somewhat unusual with him. "then," he said, "you compel me to try. if we had remained standing as we did when the man first came out from behind the houses and he had noticed you, it's exceedingly probable that he would have noticed me. even if he hadn't, it's almost certain that several people must have seen you leave the hotel in my company. they wouldn't have had much trouble in figuring out the thing." "of course!" exclaimed alison, a little astonished that this had not occurred to her earlier. then her face grew suddenly warm. "you mean they would have recognized that i was acting--on your instructions?" thorne looked at her with a disconcerting steadiness. "you haven't quite grasped the most important fact yet. they would have wondered how i was able to get you to do it--in other words, what gave me such a hold on you. the trouble is that there's an explanation that would naturally suggest itself." "yes," murmured alison, with her eyes turned away from him; "that would have been unpleasant--for both of us." thorne did not quite know what to make of the pause, though he had a shadowy idea that it somehow rendered her assertion less positive, and left the point open to doubt. in any case, it set his heart beating fast, and he had some trouble in holding himself in hand. outwardly, however, he was graver than usual. "well," he added, "i didn't think it desirable in several ways. you see, a pedler is, after all, a person of no account in this part of canada. he has no particular interest in the fortune of the country; he doesn't help its progress; his calling benefits nobody." "but you are a farmer now," protested alison, glancing at him covertly. "strictly on probation. in fact, there's very little doubt that my new venture is generally regarded as a harmless eccentricity. it will be some time before my neighbors realize that i'm capable of anything that's not connected with an amusing frolic." he stopped a moment, and smiled at her. "on the whole, i can't reasonably blame them. my situation's a very precarious one; a frozen crop would break me." alison wondered what the drift of these observations could be, for she imagined that he must have had some particular purpose in saying so much. it was, so far as her experience went, a very unusual thing for a man to confess that he was an object of amusement to his neighbors, or that there was a probability of his failing to make his mark in his profession. "i suppose," she suggested, to help him out, "you're not content with such a state of things?" "that is just the point. it's my intention to alter it as soon as possible, and a bonanza harvest this year would go a long way toward setting me on my feet. in the meanwhile, it seems only fitting that i should put up with popular opinion, and try to bear in mind my disabilities." he was far from explicit, but explicitness was, after all, not what alison desired, and she fancied she understood him. it had not been without a sufficient reason that he had, to his friends' astonishment, turned farmer, and now he meant to wait until he had made a success of it, and had shown that he could hold his own with the best of them, before going any farther. this naturally suggested the question as to what he meant to do then, and she fancied that she could supply the answer. she had already confessed to herself that she liked the man, and this was sufficient for the time being. "i heard that your wheat escaped, as farquhar's did." thorne, glancing at her, surmised that this was a lead, and that he was not expected to pursue the previous subject. "yes," he replied, "i'm thankful to say it did. most of the grain a few miles to the west of us was blotted out, including hunter's--i'm sorry for him. the storm seems to have traveled straight down into dakota, destroying everything in its path. my place lay just outside it, and at present everything promises a record crop." he broke off, and glanced down at her hands. "have you noticed your glove?" alison held it up and displayed a large rusty stain across the palm and part of the back of it. "yes," she answered; "i did that getting the bolt out, and i'm rather vexed about it. mrs. farquhar will, no doubt, notice the stain, and i don't feel anxious to explain how it was done." "then you'll have to take the glove off," advised thorne. alison smiled. "i'm not sure that simple expedient would get over the difficulty. of course, i might leave them behind altogether." then she shook her head. "no; the person who found them would see the stain and guess whose they were. i don't think that would do, either." "it wouldn't," thorne agreed. then they began to talk of something else, and presently they turned back together toward the hotel. when they reached it, florence hunter and mrs. farquhar were sitting on the veranda, while two or three men occupied the lower steps, and another group lounged about near them, pipe in hand. a few minutes later nevis appeared striding down the street with his lips set and some signs of temper. he stopped in front of the hotel, and alison glanced at thorne significantly when he turned to the lounging men. "you folks seem mighty prosperous in spite of the hail," he sneered. "i can't find a man in this town who's open to earn a couple of dollars." some of them grinned, but none made any answer. his tone was offensive, in the first place, and, while nobody is overburdened with riches on the prairie, the average westerner has his own ideas as to what is becoming. nevis signed to one of them. "get my buggy, bill!" the man hesitated, and though he strolled off toward the stables, nevis's sharpness cost him several minutes' unnecessary delay. eventually the buggy was brought out, and nobody said anything when nevis got in and flicked the horse smartly with a whip, though the tilt of the seat must have been evident to most of the lookers-on. alison touched thorne's arm. "hadn't you better call to him?" she suggested. the next moment the warning was rendered unnecessary, for there was a crash, and the seat of the buggy collapsed. nevis lurched violently forward, but he managed to recover his balance and pull up the horse. then he swung himself down, and after crawling under the vehicle, stood up with a frowning face while the loungers began to gather about him. "there's a bolt out. i didn't notice it when i drove up," he grumbled. "it's three-eighths by the hole, i think. ask bill if he's got anything of the kind in the stable." bill, who had been standing near, sauntered away, and it was at least five minutes before he came back, empty-handed. "i've nothing that will fit," he announced. "then go in and see if they've got one at the hardware store," ordered nevis. "i ought to have thought of that earlier." bill was away a long while this time, and when he returned he held up an unusually long bolt for inspection. "guess it won't be any use," he said. "thread doesn't go far enough to let the nut to the plate." "then what in thunder did you bring it for?" nevis asked with rising anger. alison looked at thorne and laughed. "have you been giving that man a hint?" she inquired. "no," answered thorne, smiling; "it would have been wasted in any case. nevis has succeeded in riling him. he couldn't have managed the thing better if i had prompted him." in the meanwhile bill languidly affected to consider nevis's question. "i guess i wanted to be quite sure it wouldn't fit," he replied at length. "if it doesn't, i could see if he has got a shorter one in another package." nevis flung out his arms in savage expostulation. "well," he cried, "i've never yet struck anybody quite as thick as you. couldn't you have brought the shorter one along?" "those bolts," bill answered solemnly, "don't run many to the dollar, and i'd a kind of notion i might find a big nut or some washers i could fill up with in the stables." "no," snapped nevis; "you have wasted time enough! if it won't do, take the thing back into the store and ask bevan to cut the thread farther along it!" bill strolled away at a particularly leisurely gait, and thorne took out his watch. "it's highly probable that slaney will have left forrester's before our friend gets off," he said. "in that case, it will no doubt be noon to-morrow before the police make their first attempt to get on winthrop's trail. i wonder whether anybody except dave can have seen him." "i did," alison told him; "the morning before the hail." thorne turned toward her with a start. "where?" "at the homestead. farquhar and his wife were out." "what brought winthrop there?" "that," smiled alison, "i may tell you some day, but not just now. i wonder what has kept him in the neighborhood?" "it's easily figured out. he'd head for mrs. calvert's, and probably stay an hour or two there; then he'd go on to brayton's place--they're friends--at night. jardine's would be his next call, and he'd be striking west away from the larger settlements when dave came across him." this struck alison as probable, but just then bill came out of the store again. "beavan hasn't anything shorter, and he's doing up his accounts. he can't cut threads on bolts, anyway," he announced. "it's pete who does that kind of thing for him." judging from his face, it cost nevis a determined effort to check an outbreak of fury. "then where in thunder is pete?" he shouted. it appeared that the man had gone home to supper, and a quarter of an hour passed before he came upon the scene. then it took him quite as long to operate on the bolt and fit it in the buggy, and nevis's face was very hot and red when he flung himself into the vehicle. he used the whip savagely, and there was some derisive applause and laughter when the horse went down the street at a gallop with the buggy jolting dangerously in the ruts behind it. thorne descended the steps and disappeared. when he came back mrs. farquhar's wagon was being brought out, and he walked up to alison with a parcel in his hand. "i think," he said, "that's the best way of hiding the stain." alison opened the parcel, and was conscious of a curious thrill, in which pleasure and embarrassment were mingled, when she found a pair of gloves inside. it was the first gift he had made her. "thank you," she murmured. "they fit me, too. how did you guess the size?" "oh," laughed thorne, "it was very simple. i just asked for the smallest pair they had in the store." then mrs. farquhar came up, and he helped her and alison into the wagon. chapter xxiii an unexpected disaster several weeks had slipped away since the evening nevis drove out of graham's bluff in search of corporal slaney, and there had been no news of winthrop, when thorne plodded across the prairie beside his team, hauling in a load of dressed lumber for the new creamery. hunter had contracted with him to convey the necessary material from the railroad, and in the interval between sowing and reaping thorne had found the arrangement a profitable one. he had a use for every dollar he could raise, and all through the heat of the summer he had worked double tides. it was blazing hot that afternoon, and the wide plain lay scorching under a pitiless glare. thorne was not sorry when the farquhar homestead with its encircling sea of wheat took shape ahead. the trail led past it, and, though time was precious to him then, he felt that he could put up with an hour or two's delay in case mrs. farquhar invited him to wait for supper. it was now a fortnight since he had seen alison. the wooden buildings rose very slowly, though he several times urged the jaded horses. they had made a long haul that day, and the man, who had trudged at their head since early morning, was almost as weary. on the odd days that they had spent in the stable he had toiled arduously on his house and half-finished barn, beginning with the dawn and ceasing at dark. now he was grimed with dust and dripping with perspiration, and a tantalizing cloud of flies hovered over him. all this was a decided change from driving a few hours daily in a lightly loaded wagon, but what at first had appeared an almost unexplainable liking for the constant effort had grown upon him. he would not have abandoned it now had that course been open to him. by degrees the sea of grain grew nearer, its edge rising in a clean-cut ridge above the flat white sweep of dazzling plain. it had changed from green to pale yellow in the past few weeks, but there were here and there vivid coppery gleams in it. it promised a bounteous yield when thrashing was over, and he thought of his own splendid crop with the clean pride of accomplishment. then he noticed that a buggy was approaching from the opposite direction, and when he reached the homestead a man in white shirt and store clothes had just pulled up his horse. he shook hands with thorne, who had already recognized him as a dealer in implements and general farming supplies from the railroad settlement. "glad i met you. it will save my going on to your place," he said. thorne noticed that the man, who was usually optimistic and cheerful, looked depressed. "did you want to see me about something, grantly?" he asked. "yes. to cut it short, i'm going out of business." the full significance of this announcement did not immediately dawn upon thorne. "i expect most of the boys will regret it as much as i do," he said. "one could rely on anything sent out from your store, and there's no doubt that you have always treated us liberally." "that's just the trouble. i've been too blamed easy with some of you. if i'd kept a tighter hand on the folks who owed me money it's quite likely i'd have been able to meet my bills." "is it as bad as that?" thorne inquired with genuine sympathy. grantly turned to farquhar, who had joined them in the meanwhile. "the fact is, things have been going against me the last three years. nevis has been steadily cutting into my trade; but i held on somehow, expecting that a record harvest or a high market would put me straight. i'd have been able to get some of my money in again then. in the meanwhile i was getting behind with the makers who supplied me, and now one or two of them have pulled me up; i guess it was the hail that decided them. it's a private compromise, but the point is that nevis takes over my liabilities." thorne's face suddenly hardened, and farquhar looked grave. "it's bad news," said the latter. "is he paying cash?" "part," grantly answered. "the rest in bills. he has brand, of winnipeg, behind him, and he's good enough. in fact, i believe the man has been backing nevis right along." he turned to thorne. "anyway, i've got to give the store up, and you'll have nevis for a creditor instead of me. that's really what brought me over. the note you gave me calls for a good many dollars and it's due very soon." thorne endeavored to brace himself after the blow, which had been as unexpected as it was heavy. he had obtained all his implements and most of the materials he required for his house-building from grantly, giving him a claim upon his possessions as security, in addition to a promise to pay at a date by which harvest was usually over; but owing to an exceptionally cold spring, harvest was late that year. "it was understood that you wouldn't press me if i should be a few weeks behind," he reminded him. "that's quite right," grantly assented. "the trouble is that it was only a verbal promise, and it won't count for much with nevis. he's been after you for some time, and i guess he'll stick to the date on the note. if you're not ready with the money he'll break you." farquhar made a sign of concurrence. "i'm afraid it's very probable. what are you going to do about it, mavy?" thorne stood silent for almost a minute, and the bronze faded a little in his face, which was very grim. "that note will have to be met. you told grantly i was to be relied upon, and i'm not going back on you. it's not my intention to let nevis do what he likes with me, either. in a general way, i'd have gone to hunter, and i've no doubt that he would have financed me; but that's quite out of the question now. he has all the trouble he's fit to stand on his hands already." "a sure thing," farquhar agreed. "well," thorne added, "the oats are about ripe, and though i'd rather they had stood another week or so, i'll put the binder into them at sunup to-morrow. the wheat should be nearly ready by the time i'm through, and i'll hire the help i could have borrowed if i had been able to wait a while. i'll have to let up on the haulage contract and work right on, almost without stopping, until i can get the thrashers in; but i'll put the crop on the market before the note is due!" "you couldn't do it, mavy, if you worked all night." thorne laughed in a harsh fashion. "just wait and see! it has to be done! in the meanwhile, please make my excuses to mrs. farquhar for not calling. i must be getting on." "you can't do anything to-night," farquhar objected. "i can ride over to hall's and get back to my place by sunup with his team." he called to his horses, and with a creaking of suddenly tightened harness the wagon jolted on, but as he passed the door of the homestead alison came out. thorne stopped, while the team slowly plodded forward, and it seemed to her that there was a striking change in the man. nothing in his manner suggested that he had ever regarded life as a frolic and taken his part in it with careless gaiety. his eyes were very grave and there was a look she had never seen in them before, while his face seemed to have set in sharper lines. he looked strangely determined and forceful; almost, as she thought of it, dominant. "what is the matter? you are in some trouble?" she exclaimed. "yes," said thorne simply. "farquhar will no doubt explain the thing. there's a very tough fight in front of me. i don't think i could have undertaken it six months ago." he spread out his hands. "it's unthinkable that i should be beaten!" alison felt strangely stirred by something in his voice. "then," she urged, "you will have to win! you must; i want you to!" thorne looked at her with a gleam in his eyes that set her heart throbbing painfully fast. "now," he laughed, "the thing seems almost easy!" he turned away after his wagon, and alison waited until farquhar came up with grantly. "what has thorne undertaken?" she asked. farquhar smiled. "i'll try to tell you after supper. in the meanwhile, i can only say that he seems determined on breaking himself up by attempting a task that in my opinion is beyond the power of any man on the prairie." he went into the house with grantly, and it was an hour or two later before alison was able to form a fairly accurate idea of the situation. then her heart grew very soft toward thorne, and she thought of him with a sense of pride. it was for her sake he had braced himself for this most unequal fight, and she knew that he meant to win. in the meanwhile thorne was urging on his team, and dusk was closing in when he flung down the lumber from his wagon. after that, he drove through the soft darkness for two or three hours, and finally roused an outlying neighbor from his well-earned slumber. the man, descending, roundly abused him, but became a little mollified when he heard his story. "the thing surely can't be done, and just now you can't count on much help, either. the ontario boys are only just starting west, and the first of them will be snapped up before they get to brandon. anyway, i'll come along with you and do what i can." he moved toward a cupboard. "if you left farquhar's when you said, you couldn't have got your supper." "now that you mention it," laughed thorne, "i don't think i did." his friend set food before him, and an hour later they drove off in the darkness, leaving thorne's jaded team behind them. eventually they reached his homestead in the early dawn, and thorne, who had been on foot most of the time since sunrise on the previous morning, sat down wearily on the stoop and took out his pipe while he looked about him. eager as he was to get to work, he could not begin just yet, for the night had been clear and cold, and the grain was dripping with the heavy dew. he had his back to the house, which was at last almost ready for habitation, but the half-finished barn and the rude sod stable rose before him blackly against the growing light. beyond these, the sweep of grain stretched back, a darker patch on the shadowy prairie, with another dusky oblong just discernible on the short grass some distance away. determined as he was, his heart sank as he gazed at them. he had undertaken a task that looked utterly beyond his powers. had he been content to begin on his hundred-and-sixty-acre holding on the scale usual in the case of men with scanty means, he would probably have had no great trouble in harvesting all the crop he could have raised; but he had seen enough during his journeyings up and down the prairie to convince him that there was remarkably little to be made in this fashion. as a result he had staked boldly, breaking practically all his land, with hired assistance and the most modern implements that could be purchased, though this necessitated the borrowing of money. he had, in addition, secured the use of a neighboring holding, part of which had been under grain before, from a man who had worked it long enough to secure his patent and had then discovered that he could earn considerably more as a subcontractor on a new branch railroad. in consequence of this, thorne had a large crop to garner, and very little time in which to do it, for he was convinced that nevis would press for payment immediately the note was due. it could not be met until the grain was thrashed and sold, and he realized that any delay would place him in the power of a man who would not fail to make the utmost use of the opportunity. besides this, it would render it impossible for him to obtain any further loans, and he scarcely expected to finance his operations unassisted for some time yet. it was only hunter's guarantee that had made the venture possible, and there was no doubt in his mind that unless he could satisfy nevis's claim his career as a farmer would terminate abruptly before the next month was over. then he recalled the months of determined labor he had expended upon the house and holding, the noonday heat in which he had toiled, and the chilly dawns when he had gone out, aching all over after a very insufficient sleep, to begin his task again. sixteen and often eighteen hours comprised his working day, and out of them he had spared very few minutes for cookery. his clothes had gone unmended, and it must be confessed that he had not infrequently slept in them when he was too weary to take them off, and that they were by no means regularly washed. in fact, once or twice when he was about to drive over to the farquhar homestead he remembered with a slight shock that it was several days since he had made any attempt worth mentioning at a toilet. in the meanwhile, he had grown leaner and harder and browner, while there had by degrees crept into his face that curious look which one may see now and then in the faces of monks, highly trained athletes, and even of those who unconsciously practise asceticism from love of a calling that makes stern demands on them; a look which, though it does not always suggest the final triumph of the mind over the body, is never a characteristic of full-fed, ease-loving men. his eyes were strikingly clear and unwavering, his weather-darkened skin was singularly clean, and his whole face had grown, as it were, refined, though the man was as quickly moved to anger, impatience, or laughter as he had always been. it would seem that a good many purely human impulses usually survive the partial subjugation of the flesh, which is, after all, no doubt fortunate. he rose stiffly, damp with the dew, when he had smoked one pipe out, and gazed toward where the sun was rising fiery red above the rim of the prairie. his expression was very resolute. "a low dawn, hall; we'll have all the heat we want by noon," he commented. "the oats will be drying by the time we're ready with the team. if you'll look after them i'll oil the binder." his companion grinned. "it strikes me the first thing is to set the stove going. guess if i'm going to get on a record hustle i want my breakfast." thorne frowned impatiently, but he carried an armful of birch billets into the house, and when half an hour later he called in his companion, the latter glanced with undisguised disgust at the provisions on the table and the contents of the frying-pan. "well," he ejaculated, "if you can raise steam on that kind of truck, i most certainly can't. the first of the boys who drives by to the settlement is going to bring us out something fit to eat, if i have to pay for it." "what's the matter with this?" thorne asked indifferently. hall raised a fragment of half-raw pork upon his fork. "it would be wasting time to tell you, if you can't smell it," he retorted. then he took up a block of bread and banged it down on the table. "not a crack in it! you want to bake some more and sell it to the railroad for locomotive brakes." thorne laughed. "send for anything you like. hunter's hired man will probably be going in." chapter xxiv lucy goes to the rescue about four o'clock in the afternoon of the day following the beginning of his harvest, thorne sat heavy-eyed in the saddle of a binder which three horses hauled along the edge of the grain. he had been at work since sunrise, except for a brief rest at midday, and he was wondering whether the team could hold out until nightfall. the binder had not quite reached its present efficiency then, and the traction was heavy. it was fiercely hot, and there was only the faintest breeze, while a thin cloud of dust that made his eyes smart and crept into his nostrils eddied about him. the whirling wooden arms of the machine flashed in the midst of it as they flung out the sheaves, and there was a sharp clash and tinkle as the knife rasped through the tall oat stalks. as he neared a corner, driving wearily, he turned and glanced back along the rows of piled-up sheaves which stood blazing with light down the belt of gleaming stubble. the latter was narrow, for although it was the result of two days' determined labor, he had somehow accomplished less than he had anticipated. half the time he had spent, turn about with hall, in the saddle and the rest gathering up the tossed-out sheaves in the wake of the machine. it was desirable to keep pace with the binder, though the task is one that is beyond the strength of a single man in a heavy crop, and it was only by toiling with a savage persistency that he and his companion had partially accomplished it. now, however, his heart sank as he looked round at the sea of grain. it rose in a great oblong, glowing with tints of ochre, silvery gray and cadmium, relieved here and there by coppery flashes and delicate pencilings of warm sienna, and over it there hung a cloudless vault of blue. it looked very large, and there was another oblong yet unbroken some distance away. thorne's head ached, and his eyes ached, and his back hurt him at each jolt of the machine. he had been almost worn-out when he began the task, and since then he had lain down for only a few hours, and then had not been able to sleep. beyond the grain, the prairie stretched away, intolerably white in the sun-glare, to the horizon. thorne fancied that he had seen a moving object upon it some time earlier. the machine had, however, engrossed most of his attention, and he was not sure. he reached the turning and was proceeding away from the house when a voice hailed him, and as he pulled up the team lucy calvert appeared. "what brought you over?" he asked in dull astonishment. lucy smiled coquettishly. "it's generally allowed that you and i are friends. anyway, if you'd rather, i can go home again." thorne looked at her with drawn-down brows. he was worn-out, his brain was heavy, and he did not feel equal to any attempt at repartee. "you had better stop for supper first," he suggested. "i guess i'm going to," lucy laughed. "still, you won't want it for two hours yet, and it looks as if there's something to be done in the meanwhile. i didn't come over for supper or to talk to you; i met farquhar on the prairie, and he told me all about the thing." she turned and pointed to a row of sheaves which were still lying prone. "why haven't you got those on end? where's hall?" "gone over to his place for my team." "then," said lucy, "you can get off that machine right now and set the sheaves up while i drive. i'll stay on until it's too dark to see, and come round again first thing in the morning. we don't expect to get our binders in for a week yet." thorne was touched, and his face made it plain. he needed assistance badly, and did not know where to obtain it, for his friends whose crops the hail had spared were either beginning their own harvest or preparing for it. besides, there was not the slightest doubt that lucy was capable. "get down right away!" she ordered laughingly. "i don't want thanks from--you." thorne was never sure afterward whether he attempted to offer her any, but he set to work among the sheaves when she took her place in the saddle and the binder went clinking and clashing on again. in spite of his efforts, it drew farther and farther away, though he toiled in half-breathless haste and the perspiration dripped from him. as he was facing then, the sun beat upon his back and shoulders intolerably hot. at length, when the shadows of the stooked sheaves had lengthened across the crackling stubble in which he floundered, lucy stopped her team a moment and looked back at him. "i'll unyoke them at the corner and get supper," she said. "you get into the shade there and lie down and smoke. if i see you move before i call you, i'll go home again." she drove away before he could protest, but it was, after all, a relief to obey her, and flinging himself down with his back to a cluster of the sheaves, he took out his pipe. it was a little cooler there, and his eyes were closing when a summons reached him across the grain. getting up with an effort, he walked toward the house, and was hazily astonished when he entered it. exactly what lucy had done he could not tell, but the place looked different. for the first time it seemed comfortably habitable. there was a cloth, which was a thing he did not possess, on the table, and his simple crockery, which shone absolutely white, and his indurated ware made a neat display. the provisions laid out on it looked tempting, too; in fact, he did not think that hall could have found any fault with them, and it presently struck him that they included articles which he did not remember purchasing. he sat down when lucy told him to, and it was pleasant to find what he required ready at hand, instead of having to walk backward and forward between the table and the stove. he did not remember what she said, but they both laughed every now and then, and after the meal was over he was content to sit still a while when she bade him. the presence of the girl somehow changed the whole aspect of the room; but he was conscious of a regret that it was she and not another who occupied the place opposite him across his table. it was not lucy calvert he had often pictured sitting there. at length he pointed through the doorway to the grain. "lucy," he said, "that crop doesn't look by any means as hard to reap as it did an hour ago." "i guess it's the supper," lucy suggested cheerfully. "i don't think it's that exactly, though there's no doubt it's the best meal i've had for a considerable time." lucy leaned back in her chair. "well," she observed, "it's company you want, and it's quite nice being here. you and i kind of hit it, don't we, mavy?" "of course. we always did," thorne assented, though there was a hint of astonishment in his tone. "then if you'll get rid of hall--send him off again for something--i'll get supper for you the next two or three evenings." "i don't see why he should be done out of his share," protested thorne cautiously. he felt that lucy was more gracious than there was any occasion for. "don't you, mavy?" she asked, with lifted brows. "now, i've a notion that anybody else would kind of spoil things." until lately thorne had seldom shrunk from any harmless gallantry, but he did not respond just then with the readiness which the girl seemed to expect. "it's a relief to hear you say it," he declared. "i'm afraid i'm a dull companion to-night." lucy nodded sympathetically. "well," she replied, "i have seen you brighter, but you're anxious and played out. sit nice and still for half an hour while i talk to you." "i ought to be stooking those sheaves," thorne answered dubiously. "you can do it by and by," lucy urged. "it won't be dark for quite a while yet." she adroitly led him on to talk, and presently bade him light his pipe. he had always hated any unnecessary reserve and ceremony, and by degrees his natural gaiety once more asserted itself. at length, when they were both laughing over a narrative of his, he stretched his arm out across the table and it happened by merest accident that their hands met. lucy did not draw hers away; she looked up at him with a smile. "mavy," she teased, "i wonder what miss leigh would say if she could see you." thorne straightened himself somewhat hastily in his chair. nothing in the shape of a tactful answer occurred to him, and he grew uneasy under his companion's smile. "would you like to see her walk right in just now?" she persisted. there was no doubt that this would not have afforded the man the slightest pleasure, but he could not admit it. "it's scarcely likely to happen," he evaded awkwardly. then to his relief lucy laughed. "mavy, i've sure got you fixed. the curious thing is they allow at the settlement that you could most talk the head off any of the boys." "i really don't see what satisfaction you expected it to afford you," thorne rejoined. "i guessed it would help to put nevis out of your mind. i'd an idea you wanted cheering up--and i felt a little like that myself." the girl's manner changed abruptly as she rose, and there was only concern in her eyes. "i wonder," she added softly, "where jake is and what he is doing now." thorne felt that he had been favored with a hint. "you haven't heard from him?" "he hasn't sent a line; it wouldn't have been safe. it's kind of wearing, mavy." "i'm sorry," sympathized thorne. "but it's most unlikely that the troopers will get him." lucy, without answering this, went out, and when they reached the binder thorne turned to her with a smile. "lucy," he said, "i don't quite understand yet what possessed you a little while ago." "did you never feel so worried that it was kind of soothing to do something mad?" "i'm afraid i have once or twice," thorne confessed. "on the other hand, my experience wouldn't justify me in advising other people to indulge in outbreaks of the kind. suppose i'd been--we'll say equal to the occasion?" lucy laughed, but there was a snap in her eyes. "then," she retorted, "it's a sure thing you would never have tried to be equal to it again. anyway, i didn't feel anxious about you. you looked real amusing, mavy." "perhaps i did. still, i don't quite think you need have pointed it out." they set to work after this, lucy guiding the team along the edge of the grain and thorne stooping among the sheaves in the wake of the machine. they were thus engaged, oblivious to everything but their task, when mrs. farquhar reined in her team close beside them, and alison gazed with somewhat confused sensations at the pair. lucy had obviously made her dress herself, of the cheapest kind of print, but it was light in hue, as was her big hat, and in addition to falling in with the flood of vivid color through which she moved it flowed about her in becoming lines, and when she pulled up her horses and turned partly toward the wagon her pose was expressive of a curious virile grace. behind her, straight-cut along its paler upper edge, where the feathery tassels of the oats shone with a silvery luster against the cold blue of the sky, the yellow grain glowed in the warm evening light. the glaring vermilion paint on the binder added to the general effect, and it occurred to alison that the girl, with her brown face and hands and the signs of a splendid vitality plain upon her, was very much in harmony with her surroundings. the lean figure of the man stooping among the sheaves, lightly clad in blue that had lost its harshness by long exposure to the weather, formed a fit and necessary complement of the picture. they were, alison recognized, engaged upon humanity's most natural and beneficent task, and as she remembered how she had seen that soil lying waste, covered only with the harsh wild grasses, in the early spring, it was borne in upon her that there could be no greater reward than the bounteous harvest for man's arduous toil. then she became troubled by a vague perception of the fact that this breaking of the wilderness and rendering the good soil fruitful was one of the sternest and most real tests of man's efficiency. meretricious graces, paltry accomplishments, and the pretenses of civilization availed one nothing here. the only things that counted were the elemental qualities: slow endurance, faith that held fast through all the vagaries of the weather, and the power of toughened muscle that might ache but must in spite of that yield due obedience to the will. alison regarded lucy, who could play her part in the reaping, with a troubled feeling that was not far from envy. then thorne looked up, partly dazzled with the level sunrays in his eyes, and walked toward the wagon. when he stopped beside it mrs. farquhar greeted him. "we have been across to shafter's place," she explained. "harry asked me to drive round and see how you were getting on. he'll try to send you over his hired man in a day or two." thorne pointed to the rows of stooked sheaves. "thanks; i haven't done as much as i should have liked. hall has gone back for my other team, and if it hadn't been for lucy i'd have been a good deal farther behind." "how much has she cut?" mrs. farquhar asked. thorne was quite aware that an answer would fix the time the girl had spent with him. before he could speak, however, lucy had approached the wagon and she broke in. "i guess mrs. shafter would give you supper?" mrs. farquhar said that she had done so, and lucy smiled. "that's going to save some trouble. mavy and i had ours together most an hour ago and the stove's out by now." thorne imagined that this intimation, which struck him as a trifle superfluous, was made with a deliberate purpose; but one of the binder horses, tormented by the flies, began to kick just then, and he turned away to quiet it, while lucy, who stood beside the wagon, smiled provocatively at alison. "you'll have to excuse mavy--he's been hustling round since sunup, and he's played out," she said. "still, you needn't get anxious. i'll look after him." mrs. farquhar laughed, while alison's attitude grew distinctly prim. she considered that in taking her anxiety for granted and alluding to it openly lucy had gone too far. she also felt inclined to resent the girl's last consolatory assurance. "can i drive you home?" mrs. farquhar inquired. "i suppose you will be going soon, and it won't make a very big round." "no," replied lucy decisively, "you needn't trouble. i've a horse here, and i guess mavy's not going to make love to me. for one thing, he's too busy. besides, i want to cut round that other side before i go." "then i suppose we had better not keep you," said mrs. farquhar. she waved her hand to thorne and drove away, and when they had left the oats behind she turned to alison. "lucy," she observed, "is now and then a little outspoken, but i'm curious as to what she meant when she said that thorne was not likely to make love to her. of course, the thing's improbable, anyway, but she spoke as if he had been offered an opportunity." alison's face flushed with anger. "leaving the fact that she's to marry winthrop out of the question, the girl must have some self-respect. she would surely never go so far as you suggest." "well," smiled her companion, "she might go far enough to place thorne in an embarrassing position, purely for the sake of the amusement she might derive from it. in fact, when i remember how she laughed, i'm far from sure that she didn't do something of the kind." alison sat silent for a minute or two. there was no doubt that she was very angry with lucy, but she was also troubled by other sensations, among which was a certain envy of the girl's capacity for work that was held of high account in that country. thorne's attitude and his weary face as he toiled among the sheaves had been very suggestive. he was, she knew, hard-pressed, engaged in a desperate grapple with a task that was generally admitted to be beyond his strength, and she could only stand aside and watch his efforts with wholly ineffective sympathy. then she became conscious that mrs. farquhar was glancing at her curiously. "i feel humiliated to-night!" she broke out. "there's so little that seems of the least use to anybody here that i can do; and my abilities scarcely got me food and shelter in england. isn't it almost a crime that they teach so many of us only fripperies? were we only made to be taken care of and petted?" her companion smiled. "if it's any consolation, i may point out that we haven't found you useless at the farquhar homestead, and i can't see why you shouldn't be just as useful presiding over a place of your own. after all, since you raise the question what you were made for, that seems to be the usual destiny, and i haven't found it an unpleasant or ignoble one." she broke off, and for a minute or two the jolting of the wagon rendered further conversation out of the question. "there's another point," she added presently; "it's my opinion that an encouraging word from you would do more to brace mavy for the work in front of him than the offer of half a dozen binders and teams." alison made no answer, and they drove on in silence across the waste, which was beginning to grow dim and shadowy. chapter xxv the only means alison sat one afternoon in the shadow of a pile of sheaves in farquhar's harvest field. she had a little leisure, and it was unpleasantly hot in the wooden house. there was some sewing in her hand, but even in the shade the light was trying and she leaned back languidly among the warm straw with half-closed eyes. two men were talking some distance behind her as they pitched up the rustling sheaves, and the tramp of horses' feet among the stubble and the rattle of a binder which she knew farquhar was driving drew steadily nearer. presently another beat of hoofs broke in, and a minute or two later hall rode past, looking very hot, apparently without seeing her. then the rattle of the binder ceased and she heard the newcomer greet farquhar. "if you've got one of those bent-end-spanners you could let me have i'd be glad," he said. "i've mislaid mine somehow, and there's a loose nut i can't get at making trouble on my binder." farquhar sent his hired man for one and hall referred to the grain. "so you have made a start. looks quite a heavy crop. good and ripe, too, isn't it?" "we put the binder in yesterday," answered farquhar. "i'd have done it earlier only that i sent pete over to thorne's place for a few days after you left him." "i was kind of sorry i had to leave. he's surely going to be beaten. i looked in on him yesterday." alison became suddenly intent. she drew her light skirt closer about her, for she did not wish it to catch the men's eyes and betray her, as she thought it probable that they would speak to each other unreservedly and she would hear the actual truth about thorne. when she had questioned farquhar he had answered her in general terms, avoiding any very definite particulars, and she now strained her ears to catch his reply to hall. "i was afraid of it after what pete told me," he said. "i would have helped him more if i could have managed it, but i can't let a big crop like this stand over when i've bills to meet." "that," declared hall, "is just how i'm fixed, though i stayed with him as long as i could. the trouble is that he hasn't been able to hire a man since i left him. there seem to be mighty few of the ontario boys coming in this season, and so far they've been snapped up farther back along the line." "has he tried any of the men who had their crops hailed out west of the creek?" "they cleared as soon as they saw they had no harvest left. most of them are out track-grading on the branch line, and i heard the rest went east. mavy's surely up against it; he was figuring last evening that even if the weather held he'd be most a month behind." "then i'm afraid he'll have to give the place up. nevis will come down on him the day that payment's due." "couldn't he raise the money somehow, for a month?" hall inquired. "it's scarcely likely. i can't lend him any, with wheat at present figure, and hunter, who has already guaranteed him a thousand dollars, is very tightly fixed. besides mavy couldn't expect anything more from him. it wouldn't be much use going to a bank, either. with the bottom dropping out of the market they're getting scared of wheat, and he has nothing to offer them but a crop that isn't reaped, with grantly's note calling for most of it." "then i guess he has just got to quit. hunter would no doubt have lent him a binder and a couple of hired men, but he has them busy trying to straighten up his hailed crop and cut patches of it." "it's a pity," farquhar assented in a regretful voice. "it will hurt mavy to give the place up." the man arrived with the spanner and alison heard hall ride away. when the clash and rattle of the binder began again she lay still for a long time beneath the sheaves. the men's conversation had made it clear that thorne would shortly be involved in disaster, and that alone was painful news, though by comparison with another aspect of the matter it was of minor importance. the man loved her, and it was for that reason he had undertaken this most unfortunate farming venture. everybody seemed to know it, though he had never told her what was in his mind, and she had been content to wait. now, however, she had no doubt that she loved him, and he would, it seemed, shortly go away and vanish altogether beyond her reach--at least, unless something should very promptly be done. she knew he would not claim her while he was an outcast and a ruined man. she closed one hand tight and a flush crept into her face as she made up her mind on one point, and she was thankful while she did so that she was on the canadian prairie, where the thing seemed easier than it would have done in england. in that new land time-honored prejudices and hampering traditions did not seem to count. men and women outgrew them there and obeyed the impulses of human nature, which were, after all, elemental and existent long before the invention of what were, perhaps, in the more complex society of other lands, necessary fetters. thorne, the pedler, farmer, railroad hand, or whatever he might become, should at least know that she loved him and decide with that knowledge before him whether he would go away. then, growing a little more collected, she considered the second point. though hall and farquhar had cast considerable doubt upon his ability to help, there was just a possibility that hunter might hold out a hand, and she would stoop to beg for any favor that might be shown her lover. this latter decision, however, she prudently determined to keep from thorne in the meanwhile. by and by she walked quietly back to the house and busied herself as usual, though late in the afternoon she asked mrs. farquhar for a horse and the buggy. her employer did not trouble her with any questions as to why she wanted them, though she favored her with a glance of unobtrusive but very keen scrutiny, and soon after supper the hired man brought the buggy to the door. then alison came out from her room, where she had spent some time carefully comparing the two or three dresses she had clung to when she had parted with the rest in winnipeg, one after another. she had attired herself in the one that became her best, for she felt that there must be nothing wanting in the gift she meant to offer her lover. she recognized that this was what her intention amounted to. what other women did with more reserve, veiling their advances in disguises which were after all so flimsy that nobody except those who wished could be deceived, she would do with imperious openness. the days were now rapidly growing shorter, and when she reached thorne's homestead the sun hung low above the verge of the great white plain. the man was not in sight, which struck her as strange, as there would be light enough to work for some time yet, but she was not astonished that he had evidently not heard her approach, because she had driven slowly for the last mile, almost repenting of her rashness and wondering whether she should not turn and go back again. once she had set about it, the thing she had undertaken appeared increasingly difficult. indeed, she knew that had the man been less severely pressed nothing would have driven her into the action she contemplated. it was only the fact that he was face to face with disaster, beaten down, desperate, that warranted the sacrifice of her reserve and pride. getting down at length, she left the horse, which was a quiet one, and walked toward the house. the door stood open when she reached it, and looking in she saw the man sitting at a table, on which there lay a strip of paper covered with figures. his face was worn and set, and every line of his slack pose was expressive of dejection. he did not immediately see her, and a deep pity overwhelmed her and helped to sweep away her doubts and hesitation as she glanced round the room. it was growing shadowy, but it looked horribly comfortless, and the few dishes that were still scattered about the table bore the remnants of a singularly uninviting meal. there was a portion of a loaf, blackened outside, sad and damp within; butter that had liquefied and partly congealed again in discolored streaks; a morsel of half-cooked pork reposing in solid fat; and a can of flavored syrup, black with flies. she wondered how any one coming back oppressed with anxiety from a day of exhausting toil could eat such fare. then she noticed a small heap of tattered garments, which he evidently had no leisure to mend, lying on the floor, and while it brought her no sense of repulsion, the sight of them further troubled her. these were things which jarred on the beneficent, home-making instincts which suddenly awoke within her nature, and they moved her to a compassionate longing to care for and shelter the lonely man. then he looked up and saw her, and she flushed at the swift elation in his face, which, however, almost immediately grew hard again. it was as though he had yielded for a moment to some pleasurable impulse, and had then, with an effort, repressed it and resumed his self-control. "come in," he invited, rising with outstretched hand, and she suddenly recalled how she had last crossed that threshold in his company. there had been careless laughter in his eyes then, he had moved and spoken with a joyous optimism, and now there was plain upon him the stamp of defeat. even physically the man looked different. she sat down when he drew her out a chair, but he remained standing, leaning with one hand on the table. "is mrs. farquhar outside?" "no; i drove across alone." he looked at her with a hint of astonishment and something that suggested a natural curiosity as to the cause for the visit, which she now found it insuperably difficult to explain. "you haven't been at work this evening?" she asked. "no," replied thorne. "i rode in to the railroad early yesterday and i've just got back after calling at two or three farms west of the creek. it seemed possible that i might be able to hire a couple of men i'd wired for back along the line, but i found that somebody else had got hold of them at another station. as a matter of fact, i had expected it." "then you must have made the journey almost without a rest!" "volador's dead played out," answered thorne. "i had to do something, though it seemed pretty useless in any case." "ah!" alison exclaimed softly; "then you mean to go on?" "until i'm turned out, which will no doubt happen very shortly." "i suppose that will hurt you?" he looked at her for a moment with his face awry and signs of a sternly repressed longing in his eyes. "yes," he answered, "it will hurt me more than anything i could have had to face. in fact, the thought of it has been almost unbearable; but it's now clear that i shall have to go through with it." this was satisfactory to alison in some respects, and she was quick to sympathize. "it must be very hard to give up the farm on which you have spent so much earnest work." "yes," assented thorne, with something in his tone that suggested half-contemptuous indifference to the sacrifice; "it won't be easy to give up even the farm." then for the first time it occurred to him that there was an unusual hint of strain in her manner, and that he had never seen her dressed in the same fashion before. she did not look daintier, for daintiness was not quite the quality he would have ascribed to her, but more highly cultivated, farther beyond the reach of a ruined farmer, though there was a strange softness--it almost seemed tenderness--shining in her eyes. he gripped the table hard and his face grew stern as he gazed at her. he felt that it was almost impossible that he would ever have the strength to let her go. "what will you do then?" she asked with what seemed a merciless persistency. "go away," declared thorne. "strike west and vanish out of sight. i've no doubt somebody will hire me to load up railroad ballast or herd cattle." he smiled at her harshly. "after all, it will be a relief to my few friends. they may be a little sorry--but my absence will save their making excuses for me." alison looked up at him steadily, though there was a flush of color in her cheeks. "you must be just to them," she said. "why should they invent excuses--when you have made such a fight with so much against you? besides, you are wrong when you say they might be--a little sorry. can you believe that it would be easy to let you go away?" thorne frowned as he met her gaze. he did not know what to make of this, but there was a suggestiveness in her voice that was almost too much for him. "is there any one who would have much difficulty in doing that?" he asked with a quietness that cost him a determined effort. "yes," murmured alison, with suddenly lowered eyes; "there is at least one person who would feel it dreadfully." he gazed at her, straining to cling to the resolution that had almost deserted him, though his face was firmly set. "it is quite true," she added, with flaming cheeks. "i must say it. i mean myself." he drew back a pace and stood very still, as though afraid to trust himself. "don't make it all unbearable!" he cried at length. "there's only one course open to me. it's hard enough already." alison faced him with a new steadiness. "oh," she exclaimed, "you can only look at it from your point of view--can't you understand yet that there is another? if you had meant to go away you should have gone--some time ago." thorne closed his hands firmly. "i'm afraid you are right; but i believed that i might make a success of this farming venture." the girl laughed with open scorn. "dare you believe that would have mattered so very much to me? do you think i didn't know why you turned farmer, and why you have since then done things that none of your neighbors would have been capable of?" "it seemed necessary," explained thorne, still with the same expressive quietness. "i did so because i wanted you, and that is exactly what makes defeat so bitter now." "and you imagined that you had hidden your motive? can you believe that a man could change his whole mode of life and take up a burden he had carefully avoided, as you have done, without having the woman on whose account he did it understand why? are we so blind or utterly foolish? don't you know that our perceptions and intuitions are twice as keen as yours?" "then you understood what my object was all along--and it didn't strike you as absurd and impossible?" alison smiled at him. "why should it seem absurd that i should love you, mavy?" he came no nearer, but stood still, looking at her with elation and trouble curiously mingled in his face, and she realized that the fight was but half won. he had of late sloughed off his wayward carelessness and she knew that there had always been a depth of resolute character beneath it. he was a man who would do what he felt was the fitting thing, even though it hurt him. "well," he said, speaking slowly in a tense voice, "ever since i first saw you i longed that this should come about. it was what i worked for, and nothing would have been too hard that brought me nearer you, but it's almost a cruelty that i should have succeeded--now." "why?" asked alison, bracing herself for another effort, for the strain was beginning to tell. "is what you have won of no value to you?" thorne spread out his hands as if in desperation. "it is because it is so precious that i shrink from involving you in the disaster that is hanging over me. i am a ruined, discredited man, and in a few more weeks i will be driven out of my homestead without a dollar. it will be three or four years at least before i can struggle to my feet again." "is that so very dreadful, mavy?" alison smiled. "i almost think that in the things that count the most many of you are, after all, more bound by traditions than we are. your wildest flight was the driving about the prairie with a load of patent medicines, and now your imagination is bounded by a homestead and household comforts. you could teach a woman to love you, and then go away, driven by some fantastic point of honor, because you could not realize that her views might be wider than yours." "i could hardly suppose that you would care to live in a wagon." "i did it once--and it was not so very dreadful. i really think, if it were needful, i could do it again." she leaned forward toward him. "it would be very much worse, mavy, if you went away and left me behind." at length he came toward her and seized both her hands. "dear," he cried, "i have tried to do what i felt i ought--and now i'm not sorry that i find i'm not strong enough. i can't tell you how i want you--but i'm afraid you could not face what you would have to bear with me." "try!" said alison simply. he drew her to him with an exultant laugh. "i've done what i could, and it seems i've failed. now let nevis turn me out and i'll almost thank him. after all, there are many worse places than a camp beside the wagon in the birch bluff." alison was not at all convinced that it would end in that, and indeed she did not mean it to if she could help it; but in another moment she felt his arms about her and his lips hot upon her face, and it was half an hour later when they left the homestead together. the sun had dipped, and the vast dim plain stretched away before them under a vault of fading blue, but she drove very slowly while thorne walked beside the buggy for almost a league. as a result of this, it was very late when she reached the homestead, and she was relieved when mrs. farquhar came out alone as she got down. the light fell upon the girl's face as she approached the doorway, and her companion flashed a smiling glance at her. "i suppose you have been to thorne's place?" "yes," answered alison quietly. "i am going to marry him." mrs. farquhar kissed her. "it's very good news. still, from what i know of mavy and how he's situated, i'm a little astonished that you were able to arrange it." "why do you put it that way?" alison asked with a start. her companion laughed. "my dear, i'm only glad that you had sense enough not to let him go. that man would be afraid of even a cold air blowing on you. anyway, you have got the one husband i would most gladly have given you to." then she drew alison into the house and called to farquhar. "harry, take the horse in, and it isn't necessary for you to hurry back." she drew alison out a chair and sat down close beside her. "the first thing you have to do is to drive over and see florence hunter. her husband's the only person who can pull mavy out of this trouble." "i had thought of that." "i believe it's necessary. we can't let mavy be turned out now, and if he won't ask a favor of a man who would grant it willingly if he could, somebody must do it for him." then she laid her hand caressingly on the girl's shoulder. "i haven't been so pleased for a very long while. keep a good courage. we'll find some means of outwitting nevis." chapter xxvi open confession it was about the middle of the afternoon when alison reached the hunter homestead, and she was slightly astonished when, on inquiring for florence, a maid informed her that the latter was busy and could not be with her for some minutes. alison had imagined from what she had seen on previous visits that in the warm weather florence invariably spent her afternoons reclining in a canvas chair on the veranda. a couple of chairs stood on it when she arrived, and after the maid had gone she drew one back into the shadow, and sitting down looked out across the great stretch of grain in front of the house. all round the edge of it there were scattered men and teams, but they were moving very slowly, and almost every minute the clatter of one or another of the binders ceased and she saw stooping figures busy in front of the machine. though she could not make out exactly what they were doing, the state of the harvest-field seemed to explain why the delays were unavoidable. great patches of the wheat lay prone; the part that stood upright looked tangled and torn, and there were wide stretches from which it had partially disappeared, leaving only ragged stubble mixed with crumpled straw. alison had, however, seen other crops that had been wholly wiped out by the scourging hail. she waited about a quarter of an hour before florence appeared, looking rather hot and dressed with unusual plainness. "you'll have to excuse me for keeping you, but i'm glad you came," she said. "i've been busy since seven o'clock this morning, and now that i've a little leisure it's a relief to sit down." a gleam of amusement crept into alison's eyes, and her companion evidently noticed it. "it is rather a novelty in my case," she laughed. "on the other hand, there's no doubt that the exertion is necessary. the waste that has been going on in this homestead is positively alarming." it cost alison an effort to preserve a becoming gravity. florence, who had presided over the place for several years, spoke as if the fact she mentioned, which had been patent to those who visited her for a considerable time, had only dawned upon her very recently. "you are trying to set things straight?" she suggested. "it threatens to prove a difficult task, but i'm making the attempt while i feel equal to it; and there's a certain interest even in looking into household accounts. for instance, i had an idea this morning that promised to save me three or four dollars a month, but when i mentioned it to elcot he only grinned. there are one or two respects in which i'm afraid he's a little extravagant." alison laughed outright. the idea that florence, who had hitherto squandered money with both hands, should trouble herself about the saving of three dollars and complain of her self-denying husband's extravagance was irresistibly amusing. "when did the desire to investigate affairs first get hold of you?" she asked. "i believe that it was when i came back from toronto," answered florence thoughtfully. "afterward we had the hail, and it became clear at once that there would have to be some cutting down of our expenses." her face grew suddenly anxious as she glanced toward the grain. "that," she added, "ought to explain why the subject's an interesting one to me." alison was somewhat puzzled. there were signs of a change in her companion, who hitherto had, so far at least as she had noticed, taken only a very casual interest in her husband's affairs. "yes," she replied, "it does. i was very sorry when i heard about it." florence made a little abrupt gesture, as though in dismissal of the topic. "what brought you over? you haven't been very often." it was difficult to answer offhand, and alison proceeded circuitously. "you and i were pretty good friends in england, weren't we?" "of course," assented florence. "you stood by me when your mother turned against me, and i've always had an idea that you suffered for it. we'll admit the fact. what comes next?" her manner was abrupt, but that was not infrequently the case, and alison, who was fighting for her lover, was not readily daunted. "well," she said, "i have never troubled you for any favors in return." florence regarded her in a rather curious fashion. "no," she admitted, "you haven't. you made no claim on me, as, perhaps, you were entitled to do, when you first came out here. in fact, i have once or twice felt slightly vexed with you because you went to mrs. farquhar." alison smiled as she remembered that her companion had not shown the least desire to prevent her doing the thing she now resented. "then there's a favor that i must ask at last; but first of all i'd better tell you that i'm going to marry leslie thorne." "mavy thorne!" florence gazed at her in open wonder. "i heard a whisper or two that seemed to point to the possibility of your doing something of the kind, but i resolutely refused to believe it." "why?" florence laughed. "oh, in half a dozen ways it's ludicrous. if you really mean it, you are as absurd as he is." alison rose with an air of quiet dignity. "if you are quite convinced of that, there is nothing more to be said. you couldn't expect me to appreciate your attitude." her companion laid a restraining hand on her arm as she was about to move away. "sit down! if i vexed you, i'm sorry; but you really shouldn't be so quick in temper. besides, you shouldn't have flung the news at me in that startling fashion. after all, i've no doubt he has something to recommend him. most of them have a few good qualities which now and then become evident when you don't expect them." she paused and looked up at alison with a smile in which there was a hint of tenderness. "for instance, it has been dawning on me of late that there's a good deal that's rather nice in elcot. now try to be reasonable, and tell me what the trouble is." alison's indignation dissipated. it was, after all, difficult to be angry with florence, and she supplied her with a brief account of how thorne was situated. her companion listened with more interest than she had fancied her capable of displaying, and when alison stopped she made a sign of comprehension. "you want me to ask elcot to send him over some of our men? i wish i could--i almost feel i owe you that--but it's difficult. elcot's trying desperately to save the remnant of his crop. he has been very badly hit." alison sat silent in tense anxiety. she could not urge florence to do anything that would clearly be to her husband's detriment, and she did not see how hunter could help thorne without neglecting his own harvest. then her companion turned to her again. "i quite realize that thorne will be turned out unless he clears off the loan, but you haven't mentioned the name of the creditor who wishes to ruin him." "it's nevis." an ominous sparkle crept into florence's eyes, and her face grew hard. "then i'll try to explain it all to elcot to-night, and if he can drive off nevis by any means that won't cost him too great a sacrifice i think you can count on its being done." alison felt inclined to wonder why the mention of nevis's part in the affair had had such an effect on her companion, but that, after all, did not seem a very important point, and when she drove away half an hour later she was in an exultant mood. when she had gone, florence supervised the preparations for the men's supper, and after the meal was over she stopped hunter as he was going out again through the veranda. "if you can wait for a few minutes i have something to tell you," she said. "to begin with, alison leigh is going to marry thorne." hunter did not look much astonished. "i think mavy has made a wise choice, but i'm very much afraid there's trouble in front of them," he said. "that," returned florence, "is exactly what i meant to speak about. alison was here this afternoon, and she mentioned it to me. i want to save them as much as i can." hunter's face remained expressionless. it was the first time, so far as he could remember, that florence had concerned herself about any other person's difficulties. "well," he asked gravely, "how do you propose to set about it?" "in the first place, i thought i'd mention it to you." a dry smile crept into hunter's eyes. "then you'd better give me all the particulars in your possession. i have some idea as to the cause of the trouble, but i haven't been over to mavy's place for some time, and he has sent no word to me." florence told him what she knew, and when she had finished he gazed at her reflectively. "you want me to send him all the men and binders i can spare? that's the only useful course." florence hesitated, and when she spoke her manner was unusually diffident. "i feel it's rather shabby to promise a favor and then hand on the work to you, but in this case i'm helpless. i should like you to get thorne out of his trouble, if it's only on alison's account; but on the other hand i don't want you to increase your own difficulties by sending men away. you stand first with me." hunter made no allusion to the last assurance. "it seems very likely that what the boys are now doing will in the end come to much the same thing as changing a dollar and getting about ninety cents back for it, which naturally prevents me from feeling that i would be making very much of a sacrifice in discontinuing the operation." "i don't quite understand how that could be. even if the hail has almost spoiled the crop, you have the men, and it won't cost you any more if you keep them busy saving as much of it as is possible." "that," explained hunter, "is partly why i'm doing so, and the other reason is that i must have something that will keep me occupied just now. on the other hand, before i can get anything for the wheat it must be thrashed and hauled in to the elevators. now, thrashing is usually done by contract--at so much the bushel--in this country, and i've reason to believe that the thrasher boys will charge me considerably more than the average rate. considering the state of the crop, they'll have to do a great deal of work for a very little wheat. besides, that little's damaged and would bring less than the market price, which is a particularly low one this year. then there's the cost of haulage, which is an item, because it would entail keeping the hired men on, and i've the option of paying them off as soon as harvest's over." "in short," said florence in a troubled voice, "it would probably be more profitable to let the whole crop rot as it stands." "i'm afraid that's the case," hunter agreed. florence sat silent for almost a minute watching him covertly. it once more struck her that he looked very jaded, and she was touched by the weariness in his face. then, though the occasion seemed most inopportune, she was carried away by a sudden impulse which compelled her to mention nevis's loan. "elcot," she blurted out, "i have made things worse for you all along--and now there's another trouble i have brought upon you." for a minute or two she poured out disjointed sentences, and though the man listened gravely, almost unmoved in face, she found the making of that confession about the most difficult thing she had ever done. "how much did you borrow?" he inquired. she told him; and raising himself a little from his leaning posture he looked down upon her with an embarrassing quietness. "i was half afraid there might be something of that kind in the background," he said at length. "there's one point i must raise. presumably, you wouldn't allow a man who was to all intents and purposes a stranger to lend you money?" he spoke as if the matter were open to doubt, and florence found the situation rapidly becoming intolerable, but it was to her credit that she recognized that half-measures would be useless then. "no," she acknowledged. "then i must ask exactly what kind of interest you took in the man, and how far your acquaintance with him went?" florence's face burned, but she roused herself to answer him. "he was amusing," she said slowly, picking her words. "he came here once or twice when you were out, and on a few occasions i met him by accident on the prairie and at the settlement. i suppose i was--pleasant--to him, but nobody could have called it more than that. then there was a change in his attitude." "it was to be expected," hunter interposed dryly. "do you wish me to understand that you were astonished?" florence rose and turned on him with hot anger in her eyes. "yes!" she exclaimed, "i was astonished and--you must believe it--horribly mortified! he tried to make me feel that i was in his power!" she paused and clenched one hand tight before she cried: "what can i do to convince you? i hate the man! i want you to crush and humble him!" hunter greeted this outbreak with a smile, but he made no answer; and growing calmer in a few moments she looked at him again. "what are you going to do about it, elcot?" she asked. "in the first place, those two notes of yours must be paid when they fall due. after that i shall act--as appears advisable." florence sat down with relief in her face. "raising the money will be another difficulty," she said. "i will give up my allowance until it is paid off." "that," replied hunter, with undiminished dryness, "will no doubt have to be done." he turned away from her and leaned heavily on the balustrade for a minute or two, apparently watching the hired men toiling among his ruined wheat. then he slowly looked around again. "well," he observed, "i'm glad you have told me about the thing; but i'm somewhat surprised that you didn't realize that you could have disarmed nevis--and freed yourself--by mentioning it earlier." "i was ashamed--though there was in one sense no reason why i should be. it would have looked--so suggestive." hunter interrupted her with a little bitter laugh. "no; when i asked you what interest you took in nevis it wasn't quite what i meant. i merely thought your answer might throw some light on his views, which i wanted to be sure of. you are too dispassionate, and too much alive to your own benefit, to make much of a sacrifice for the sake of any man." florence winced at this, but she rose and laid her hand on his arm. "try me, elcot," she begged. "i know i'm fond of ease and luxury--perhaps it's because i had so little of them before i married you, but now you must give me nothing for the next twelve months. cut the household expenses down by half and send everybody but one maid away." "i'm afraid you'll have to be prepared for something of the kind," replied hunter quietly. "in the meanwhile, i'll take the boys and the binders over to thorne's place in the morning." he moved away toward his ruined crop without another word, but florence did not resent the attitude he had adopted. indeed, his uncompromising directness had appealed to her in his favor. when, soon after their marriage, she had by various means made it plain that he was expected to keep his distance and leave her largely to her own devices it had been a relief that he had fallen in with her views without protest, though it had been evident that it had grievously hurt him. then his forbearance and apparent content with the situation had by degrees grown galling, and now, when at last he seemed inclined to assert himself, she was not displeased. it had, as she had admitted to alison, begun to dawn on her that she had somehow never recognized her husband's good qualities, and that there were unexpected possibilities in the simple farmer. besides this, she was seized with a fit of wholly genuine penitence. in the meanwhile hunter climbed into the seat of a binder which he drove slowly through the tangled grain, and florence, still lingering on the veranda, noticed the carefulness with which he and his men stooked the sheaves of wheat which might never be sold. the rows of black shadows behind them lengthened rapidly, until at last they coalesced and the stubble lay dim, while the western face of the grain along which the binders crept alone glowed with a coppery radiance as the red sun dipped. then a wonderful exhilarating coolness crept into the air, and there was a stillness not apparent earlier through which the clash and clatter of the machines rang harshly distinct. they moved on with the bent figures which grew dimmer toiling behind them for another half-hour, and then while the others trooped off to the stables hunter walked slowly toward the house. florence noticed the suggestive slackness of his bearing and her heart smote her, for she knew it was not mere physical weariness which had crushed the vigor out of the man. when he came up the steps she turned to him. "is the wheat looking no better?" "no," answered hunter simply; "it's looking worse. i'm going in to write a letter--to the bank." he strode on and disappeared into the house, but florence, who presently saw a light stream out from one of the windows, sat still, though the dew was getting heavy and it was chilly now. chapter xxvii a helping hand lucy calvert came over as often as she was able; but at length she was compelled to discontinue her visits to thorne. soon after she had done so, there was a welcome change in the almost torrid weather, and grass and grain lay still under a faintly clouded sky when he toiled among the sheaves one clear, cool afternoon. the binder which flung them out moved along the edge of the oats in front of him, and another man was busy among the crackling stubble a pace or two behind, for a neighbor had driven across to help him on the previous evening, and the station-agent had at last sent him out a man from the railroad settlement. they had been at work since early morning, but each time thorne glanced at the oblong of standing grain he realized more clearly the futility of what he was doing. the belt of knee-high stubble, which shone, a sweep of warm ochre tinting, against the white and gray of the parched grass beyond it, was widening steadily as the crop went down before the binder, but he had a good deal yet to cut, and there was another oblong of untouched grain running back from a deserted wooden shack some distance away. thorne had followed the custom of the country, sowing oats on the newly broken land and wheat on that which had been worked before, though in the latter case he had agreed to pay a share of the proceeds to the owner of the soil. he had secured an option of purchasing this second holding, but it was quite out of the question that he should exercise it now, and a very simple calculation convinced him that at his present rate of progress less than half the crop would be ready when grantly's note fell due. there was no doubt that his activity was illogical, as it was obvious that the result of every hour's strenuous labor would only be to put so much more money into nevis's pocket, but he could not force himself to give up the fight until the last moment. he still clung to a faint expectation that something might transpire to lessen the odds against him. he admitted that there was nothing to warrant this view, but in spite of it he toiled on savagely, and the stooked sheaves rose before him in lengthening golden ranks as he floundered with bowed shoulders and busy arms through the crackling stubble. the soil beneath the straw was dry and parched, and the dust which rose from it crept into his eyes and nostrils. now and then he gasped, but he worked on with no slackening of effort, for that part of the crop was heavy and the sheaves were falling thick and fast in the wake of the machine. at length, however, it stopped at a corner, and thorne straightened his aching back when the man who drove it got down. "she wants a drop of oil," he explained, and looking round him pointed out across the prairie. "seems as if shafter was through with his harvest, and i guess he has to sell. some of the storekeepers have been putting the screw on him." thorne gazed toward the spot he indicated and saw two or three teams and wagons etched upon the horizon where a low rise ran up to meet the sky. they were so far off that they appeared stationary, and it was only when one of the binder's arms hid the first of them a moment or two later that he could see they moved. then as he watched the others a hot fit of resentment and envy came upon him. it was clear that shafter, who had plowed unusually early, had cut and thrashed his grain, for stacking is seldom attempted in that country, where very few farmers have any money in hand and storekeepers generally look for payment once the crop is in. in the latter case it is put on the market as soon as possible, though now and then the last of it is hauled in on the bob-sleds across the snow. shafter, at least, could clear off his liabilities, and though thorne did not grudge the man this satisfaction, the sight of his loaded wagons crawling slowly to the elevators was bitter to him. he could have done what shafter was doing, and so escaped from nevis's clutches, had he only been allowed a little longer time. "when you're through with that oiling, we'll get on," he said harshly. his companion made no answer, but climbed into the saddle and the binder moved steadily along the edge of the grain until they came to the second corner. turning it, the driver looked out across a stretch of prairie which a birch bluff on one hand of them had previously hidden. then he pulled up his team excitedly. "mavy!" he cried, "there's quite a lot of teams back yonder to the eastward, beyond the creek!" thorne sprang up on the binder, for where he had been standing a cluster of sheaves obscured his view. he saw that there undoubtedly were horses on the sweep of grass in the distance. what was more, they were moving in his direction. "there's one wagon," declared his second companion. "i can't quite make out the other things. if there was hay in the sloos still i'd say they were mowers." thorne's heart seemed suddenly to leap, and the man in the saddle of the machine burst into a hoarse laugh. "well," he said, "nobody would figure you'd been farming, unless you use the scythe down in ontario. they're sure binders!" he turned and smote thorne encouragingly upon the shoulder. "mavy, it's the hunter crowd! guess you're going to have no trouble getting your crop in now!" thorne got down and leaned against the wheel of the binder. his face had grown paler than usual, and he felt almost limp with the relief which was too great for him to express. it was several moments before he broke the silence. "they can't be here for a while. i think i'll have a smoke." his companion nodded sympathetically. "that's what you want, mavy. then you'll be fresh for a hustle; and we'll have to move quite lively to keep ahead of the hunter boys. hunter's no use for slouches and he knows how to speed up the crowd he hires." he called to his horses, and the other man fell to work behind him when the machine clattered on, but thorne sat down among the sheaves. he could now allow himself a brief relaxation, and for once his grip was nerveless, for his heart was overfull. his cares had suddenly vanished, and there was, he almost thought, victory in front of him. he had some trouble in shredding the tobacco to fill his pipe, and when the operation was accomplished he lay resting on one elbow watching the teams draw nearer with a satisfaction which came near to overwhelming him. by the time he had smoked the pipe out, however, he had grown a little calmer, and rousing himself he stood up and walked out upon the prairie to meet the newcomers. hunter was driving a wagon in front of them and he stopped his team when he was a few yards away. "we'll soon clean that crop up," he declared cheerily when thorne had clambered to the seat beside him. "i've brought the smartest of the boys and the newest machines along." "thanks," thorne replied simply. "just now i can't say anything more, except that in one way i'm sorry you were able to come." hunter's face grew suddenly grave. "i can believe it, mavy. had things been different it's quite likely i'd have had to keep the boys at home; i was only sure that i was throwing my time away yesterday. anyway, i'm thankful that one hailed crop won't clean me out." he dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "as a matter of fact," he added, "though i'd probably come in any case, it was really mrs. hunter who sent me along." "mrs. hunter!" ejaculated thorne in what afterward occurred to him was very tactless astonishment. "sure!" laughed his companion. "she had a visitor shortly before she spoke to me about it, which may have had something to do with the thing, but the possibility of the notion's having struck miss leigh first wasn't any reason why i shouldn't come across. mavy, it's my opinion that you're a very lucky man." "it's mine, too," thorne answered with a light in his eyes. "still, i almost felt ashamed to admit it half an hour ago. the outlook seemed very black to me just then." hunter made a sign of comprehension. "well," he said, "from what i've seen of her, i don't think miss leigh would have fallen in with your point of view, though it was a very natural one. it strikes me there's a good deal of courage and a capacity for making the most of things in that girl. anyway, there ought to be considerably fewer difficulties in front of both of you when we get this crop in; and that brings up another matter. the thrashers are leaving shafter's for tom jordan's place to-morrow. hadn't you better write to them right away and arrange for them to come along as soon as we're ready?" thorne recognized that this would be judicious, particularly as he expected that a neighbor who had spoken to him that morning would pass close by in the next hour or two. the man, who lived near jordan, would, he felt confident, undertake to hand on the letter. a few minutes later he got down and entered his dwelling while hunter drove on toward the grain. he found, however, that his ink had almost dried up, and when he sat down to write it was difficult to fix his thoughts on what he had to say. the relief he had experienced a little while ago had been great enough partly to bewilder him, and some time had passed before he produced a fairly intelligible letter. putting it into his pocket, he went out again, and stopped a moment or two just outside the threshold with a sense of exultation that sent an almost painful thrill through him as he saw that hunter had already got to work. plodding teams and machines, marshaled in careful order, were advancing in echelon through the grain, which melted away before them. behind each, bowed, bare-armed figures set up the flung-out sheaves, which rose in ranks that now lengthened reassuringly fast. the still air was filled with the sounds of a strenuous activity; the crackle of the stubble, the rasp and tinkle of the knives, and the rustle of falling grain. already there was a wide gap, which extended while he gazed at it, bitten out of one corner of the golden oblong. along its indented edges the arms of the binders whirled and gleamed, half-buried in yellow straw, through which, as most of them were new, he caught odd glimpses of streaks of flaring vermilion and harshest green, while the dull blue garments and bronzed skin of the men who moved on stooping showed against the sweep of ochre and coppery hues. it was a medley of vivid color and a blending of stirring sound, and the jaded man forgot his aches and weariness as he gazed. the crop he had despaired of reaping was falling fast before his eyes. then he saw that his own team was leading, and there was only one figure struggling with the sheaves behind it. in another moment it became apparent that the man in the saddle was waving to him, and he set off at a run. when he reached the grain one of his companions glanced at him reproachfully. "see where that binder's got?" he grumbled. "we went in first, but though i've most pulled my arms off they're crowding right on top of us with the next hunter team. do you want the boys to put it on us that we can't keep ahead of them?" thorne saw that the team of the following binder was very close behind, and that a wide strip of stubble strewed with fallen sheaves, which had accumulated in his absence, divided him and his companion from the machine that belonged to him. "well," he said with a cheerful laugh, "there's a good deal to pull up, but it has to be done." they set about it vigorously, and drew away foot by foot from the men behind. thorne had toiled hard before, but now he felt that he could do half as much again. after all, the grim courage of the forlorn hope provides a feebler animus than the thrill of victory. at length, however, his companion turned to him with a gasping expostulation. "i guess you have me beat," he exclaimed. "we'll hook jim off the binder and put you on instead. i'll own up i'd rather have him along with me just now." they made the change, and thorne contrived to drive a little faster than the other man had done. hunter's men could not let him draw too far ahead, and everywhere the effort grew tenser still. nobody objected when, as the supper hour drew near, hunter said that since the days were shortening fast they would go on until dark fell before they made the meal, instead of working afterward. still, as the time slipped by, a man here and there drew his belt tighter or stopped a moment to straighten his aching back, and by degrees the horses moved more and more slowly amid the falling grain. the clatter of the binders grew less insistent, there were halts to oil or tighten something now and then; and at last, when all the great plain was growing dim, it was with relief that the men desisted when hunter called to them. he and thorne loosed their teams, and the latter looked uneasy when they walked toward the house together. "there's a thing that only struck me a few minutes ago, and i'm rather troubled about it," he confessed. "the boys have worked hard enough already without being set to making flapjacks and cooking their supper, while i really don't know how i'm to tide over breakfast to-morrow." hunter laughed. "that's not going to prove much of a difficulty, particularly as it's one mrs. hunter has provided for. as it happens, hall looked in on us last night, and i gathered that he hadn't a very high opinion of your cookery and catering." a minute or two later they came out from behind the barn into view of the house and thorne saw that a bountiful meal was already spread out on the grass in front of it. a man, whose absence he had not noticed, was carrying a kettle and a frying-pan out of the doorway. it was the climax of a day of unexpected happenings and vanishing troubles, and when he looked at hunter he found it difficult to speak. the latter, however, laughed. "mavy," he said, "you sit right down yonder. supper's ready, and the boys are waiting." thorne took his place among the others, who ate in such determined fashion that in a very few minutes there was nothing left of the meal. then two or three of them gathered up the plates, and the others, lying down on the grass, took out their pipes. in the meanwhile it had grown almost dark, though a few pale streaks of saffron and green lingered low upon the prairie's western verge. the long rows of sheaves stood out dimly upon the stubble, but the standing crop had faded into a blurred and shadowy mass, one edge of which alone showed with a certain distinctness above the sweep of the darkening plain. near the house, however, a little fire which somebody had lighted--probably because there was not room for all the cooking utensils on thorne's stove--burned redly between the two birch logs, and its flickering glow wavered across the recumbent figures of the men. some of them lay propped up on one elbow, some had stretched themselves out full-length among the grass, and now and then a brown face or uncovered bronzed arm stood out in the uncertain radiance and vanished again. the men spoke in low voices, lazily, wearied with the day's toil, though at irregular intervals a hoarse laugh broke out, and once or twice the howl of a coyote came up faint and hollow out of the waste of prairie. a little apart from the others, thorne and hunter sat with their shoulders against the front of the house, talking quietly. "i'll see you through with the hauling in," hunter promised. "we'll start right away as soon as the thrashers can give us a load, and in my opinion you should have a reasonable surplus after clearing off nevis's claim." "yes," assented thorne with deep but languid content; "it looks almost as if another moderately good harvest would wipe out my last obligation and set me solidly on my feet. once i'm free of nevis, i don't anticipate any trouble with the other men. so long as they get their interest they'll hold me up for their own sakes." "that's how it strikes me," hunter agreed. "they don't run their business on nevis's lines; which reminds me that i picked up a little information that suggested that he might have to make a change, when i was over at brandon a week or two ago. i may say that as i had reasons for believing that the man hadn't a great deal of money of his own i've been rather astonished at the way he has gone on from one thing to another during the last few years, until farquhar told me something which seemed to supply the explanation. he got it from grantly, who declares that brand, of winnipeg, has been backing nevis all along. well, i spent an evening with one of the big milling people in brandon, and he told me it was generally believed that brand has been severely hit by the fall in wheat. it turns out that he and a few others were at the bottom of the late rally, which, however, only made things worse for them. the point is that if brand is getting shaky he'll probably call in any money he has supplied to nevis." "nobody would be sorry if he pulled him down altogether." "it's almost too much to expect," replied hunter, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand. "by the way, i had a look round your house after supper, and it's my opinion that you only want a wagon-load of dressed lumber and a couple of carpenters for two or three days to make the place quite comfortable. a few simple furnishings won't cost you much, and you can, of course, add to them as you go on." thorne realized that this statement covered a question, and he smiled in a manner that indicated unalloyed satisfaction. "i intend to consult with alison about ordering them as soon as the thrashing's over." his companion rose and stretched himself. "well," he yawned, "if we're to start at sunup we had better get off to rest." he turned to the others. "you'll find your blankets in the wagon, boys, and you can camp in the house. if you're particular about a soft bed there's hay in the barn." chapter xxviii the reckoning thorne's last load of wheat had been hauled in, and he had duly met his obligations, when he drove into graham's bluff early one evening. the days were rapidly getting shorter, and though it was not yet dark there was a chill in the air, and here and there a light blinked in the window of a store. odd groups of loiterers stood about the sidewalk or strolled along the rutted street, for it was saturday evening, and now that harvest was generally over the outlying farmers had driven in to purchase provisions or to gather any news that might be had, in accordance with their usual custom. it was about their only relaxation, and of late a supplementary mail arrived on saturdays, which was another excuse for the visit. thorne was in an unusually optimistic mood. he had left his troubles behind him, there was an alluring prospect opening out ahead, and he expected to meet alison and mrs. farquhar at the hotel. besides, he had driven fast, and the swift motion had stirred his blood. he answered with a cheerful laugh when some of the loungers called to him. as he drove by one corner corporal slaney raised a greeting hand, and thorne, wondering what he was doing there, waved his whip. it was, as a rule, only when he had some particular business on hand that the corporal was seen at graham's bluff. supper had been over some time when thorne stopped his team at the back of the hotel, and getting down handed it over to a man who came out from the stable. "has the mail-carrier got in yet, bill?" he asked. "no; he's most an hour behind his usual time. guess you're late, too. they've cleared the tables quite a while ago." "i got supper with forrester as i came along. i suppose you haven't any idea as to what has brought slaney over?" bill grinned. "it is my opinion that's about the one thing slaney's not going to explain, though he was in the stable talking, and i saw him looking kind of curious at lucy calvert. she's in town, and so is mrs. hunter. she came in alone, but somebody told me that hunter had ridden round by hall's place and would be along by and by." "are there any of my other friends about?" "i don't know if you'd call nevis one, but he's in the hotel; when i last saw him he looked powerful mad. mrs. hunter had pulled up before the dry-goods store when he walked up and started to talk to her. i don't know what she said to him, but it kind of struck me she'd have liked to lay into him with the whip, and nevis came back across the road mighty quick. after that mrs. farquhar drove in with miss leigh and left word that you were to wait at the hotel." bill paused a moment and grinned at thorne mischievously. "guess they didn't want you trailing round after them in the dry-goods store. looks as if they'd been buying quite a lot, for it's most half an hour since they went in. the lawyer man who came to see miss leigh has gone off up the street." "the lawyer man!" exclaimed thorne in some astonishment, for, though he could guess what alison was buying, the last piece of news roused his interest. "parsons--from somewhere down the line. he has been in the settlement once or twice lately. wanted to know where miss leigh was, and when she'd be back again." thorne, without asking any more questions, walked round to the front of the hotel, where he found nevis talking to several farmers on the veranda. he was inclined to think the man had not noticed his arrival, and sitting down he took out his pipe without greeting him. he had treated nevis to a somewhat forcible expression of opinion when he had met grantly's note a few days earlier, and they had by no means parted on friendly terms. soon after he sat down symonds, the hotel-keeper, came out on the veranda. "are you going to stay here to-night, mr. nevis?" he inquired. "yes," said nevis. "i didn't intend to when i drove in, but i think i'll stop over until monday morning. i'll drive on to hunter's place after breakfast then." thorne, remembering what bill had told him, wondered how far nevis's meeting with mrs. hunter might explain his change of mind. he could think of no very definite reason that would warrant the conjecture, but a stream of light from the room behind the veranda fell on the man's face and its expression suggested vindictive malice. just then two or three newcomers strolled on to the veranda, and a teamster, who had been sitting at the farther side of it, moved toward nevis. "what do you want to go to hunter's for?" he asked bluntly. "you and he haven't had any dealings since he beat you out of the creamery." thorne watched nevis closely, and imagined that the ominous look in his face grew plainer still. "well," he said, with a jarring laugh, "mrs. hunter is a customer of mine." there was a murmur of astonishment and the men gathered round the speaker, evidently in the expectation of hearing something more. "is that a cold fact?" one of them inquired. "certainly," answered nevis; and thorne joined the group. "even if it is, this isn't the place to discuss it!" he broke in. "perhaps i'd better mention that if hunter isn't in town already he will be very soon." nevis looked around at him, and thorne fancied that the man, who was evidently filled with savage resentment, intended, with some vindictive purpose, to take the gathering group of bystanders into his confidence. several more men were ascending the steps. "have you any reason to doubt what i'm saying?" he asked. "well," drawled thorne, "there's your general character, for one thing." some of the others laughed, but it occurred to thorne that his interference had not been particularly tactful when one of them asked a question. "are you telling us that hunter, who has plenty of money, lets his wife go borrowing from people like you?" "i can't say that he lets her," nevis retorted meaningly. "i've the best of reasons, however, for being certain that she does so." there was an awkward silence, which indicated that all who had heard it grasped the full significance of the last statement. nevis smiled as he glanced round at them. "you mean he doesn't know anything about it?" somebody exclaimed. "if you insist, that's about the size of it," nevis answered. "since her husband cuts down her allowance to the last dollar, it's not an altogether unnatural thing that mrs. hunter should borrow from her friends without mentioning it to him." the speech was offensive on the face of it, but there was in addition something in the man's manner which endued it with a gross suggestiveness. it implied that he could furnish a reason why the woman should have no hesitation in borrowing from him. thorne stood still fuming. he recognized that an altercation with nevis would in all probability only provide the latter with an opportunity for making further undesirable insinuations. just then, however, the group suddenly fell apart and another man strode across the veranda. he carried a riding-quirt, and his face showed white and set in the stream of light. "it's a malicious lie!" he raised the plaited quirt, and the hotel-keeper flung himself in front of nevis. "stop there!" he cried. "hold on, hunter!" thorne, springing forward, grasped his friend's arm. he felt it his duty to restrain him, though it was one that he undertook most reluctantly. "thrashing him wouldn't be an answer," he insisted. "after what he has just said, it would be very much better if you gave us your account of the thing." there was a murmur of approval from the assembly. the men had heard the accusation cunningly conveyed, and although the prospect of a sensational climax in which the riding-quirt should figure appealed to them, they felt it only fitting that they should also hear it proved or withdrawn. "i'll do that--first," consented hunter, very grimly. "i have just this to say. i'm perfectly aware that mrs. hunter borrowed from this man on two occasions, and to bear it out i'll state the fact that the loans fall due on tuesday." nevis made no attempt to deny it, and one of the bystanders spoke. "we can let it go at that, boys; nevis said he was going over to hunter's place on monday." "in that case," continued hunter, "he will have the notes my wife gave him in his pocket. i'll mention what the amounts are, and afterward ask nevis to produce the papers, and symonds will tell you if i'm correct." "then if he doesn't want us to strip him he had better trot them out!" cried another man. nevis, who saw no help for it, produced two papers, which the hotel-keeper seized. the latter made a sign of agreement when hunter spoke again. "yes," he confirmed; "you have given the figures right." hunter once more turned to the waiting men. "i think i've made out my case. are you convinced that he's a dangerous liar, boys?" there were cries of assent. "lay into the hog with the quirt!" somebody added. thorne chuckled at the sight of nevis's face. it was suffused with blood and dark with baffled malevolence. the man evidently recognized that he was discredited and would get no further hearing now. it occurred to thorne, however, that his friend had succeeded better than he could reasonably have expected, for, after all, he had not disproved the fact that his wife had, in the first place at least, borrowed the money without his knowledge. the others, he thought, had not noticed that point. then hunter raised his hand for silence. "i'll ask symonds and thorne to come into the room with nevis and me," he said. "i want a table to write at, for one thing." it did not look as if nevis were particularly anxious to accompany them, but symonds, who was a powerful man, hustled him forward, and thorne took his place with his back to the door to keep out the others, who seemed desirous of following them. hunter, sitting down at a table, wrote out a check and pocketed the papers nevis gave him in exchange for it. then he rose and took up the strongly plaited quirt. "now," he said, addressing nevis, "i'll ask you to walk out on to the veranda and inform our friends outside that you wish to express your regret for the malicious statements you have lately made, and that you declare they were completely unjustified." "i'll see you damned first!" muttered nevis with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. the events of the next few moments were sudden and confusing, and thorne was never able to arrange them clearly in his mind. it speedily became evident, however, that the equity of his cause does not necessarily render a man either invincible or invulnerable. nevis, although a person of somewhat lethargic physical habits, appeared when forced to action sufficiently vigorous, and hunter was hampered by the quirt to which he persistently clung. though he managed to use it once or twice it was a serious handicap when they came to grips. in the meanwhile, the dust flew up from the uncovered floor and obscured the view of the men on the veranda, who crowded about the window and clamored furiously to get in. then in the midst of the turmoil the lamp went out and thorne felt a hand on his shoulder. "let them out!" the hotel-keeper cried. as thorne was forcibly driven away from the door, it swung open and a man sprang out on to the veranda with another close behind, while confused cries went up. "head him off from the stairway!" "leave them to it!" "get a light!" in a few moments, bill pushed through the crowd with a lantern in his hand, but before he crossed the veranda another light sprang up again in the room and streamed out through the door and window. it fell upon the waiting men and the two dominant figures in the narrow clear space in front of them--nevis, standing still, looking about him savagely with a darkly suffused face, and hunter, gripping his quirt, very quiet and very grim. he was, however, breathing heavily, and signs of the conflict were plain on both of them. there was an impressive silence, and everybody stood tensely expectant, until it was suddenly broken by a murmur and a movement of those nearest the steps. they drew back, and mrs. farquhar and mrs. hunter, with alison and lucy calvert, came up on the veranda. moving forward a few paces they stopped in very natural surprise, and the stillness grew deeper when hunter suddenly flung down his quirt. this was a change in the situation which nobody had anticipated. then a cry rose sharply from somewhere below. "miss leigh! get back there! let me up!" it was followed by a shout from the crowd. "winthrop!" the next moment a man came scrambling up the steps. he was hot and dusty and apparently in desperate haste, but to thorne's astonishment he ran toward alison. as he did so, nevis sprang toward the veranda rails. "slaney!" he shouted. he was still almost breathless from the struggle, and it scarcely seemed possible that his hoarse voice would carry far, but winthrop turning suddenly, grabbed up a shotgun that lay on a chair. one of the outlying farmers had brought it with him, for there were duck about just then. "call out again and i'll plug you sure!" he threatened, and the look in his face suggested that he fully meant it. "you've hounded me from place to place up and down the prairie; you've got my money, more than you lent, and that wouldn't satisfy you. two weeks ago i was working quietly when you put the blamed police on my trail again. now i guess i've got you, and we're going to straighten things." he broke off as lucy stepped forward and laid her hand on the gun, and thorne noticed that she placed it with deliberate purpose over the muzzle. "let me have it, jake! the boys will see that he doesn't call out." there was a murmur of assent from the crowd, and thorne seized winthrop's arm. "what do you want miss leigh for, anyway?" lucy asked winthrop. the instinct which had prompted the question seemed so natural to thorne that, strung up and intent as he was, he smiled; but just then winthrop lowered the gun and turned to alison. "have you got that mortgage deed and shown it to the lawyer man?" he asked. "it's here," said alison. "mr. parsons is in the settlement; i expect to see him in the next few minutes." it struck thorne that nevis started, but before any of those most concerned could speak there was a rapid thud of horse-hoofs approaching down the street. then a man on the steps cried out: "here's slaney and a trooper! you've got to quit, jake!" winthrop plunged into the lighted room and the door closed behind him with a crash; a moment or two later another door banged somewhere below and the men poured tumultuously down the steps. lucy followed them, and almost immediately the veranda was deserted except for thorne and alison and hunter, who remained there with his wife, though he did not speak to her. mrs. farquhar had apparently been hustled down the steps by the others in their haste, and nevis had also vanished. nobody had noticed what became of him in the confusion that succeeded winthrop's flight. the thud of hoofs, which had ceased for a moment, almost immediately began again. once the corporal's voice rose sharply, and then there were disconnected cries, a sound of running feet, and a clamor that rapidly receded down the street. when it grew very faint thorne turned to alison. "haven't you got something to explain?" he asked. "it's very simple," said alison. "winthrop gave me his mortgage deed some time ago; he said it would be wiser not to hand it to lucy. nevis had got it from him by an excuse, but he crept into his office for it late one night. i understand it proves that nevis hadn't an indisputable claim to the cattle he sold. about a fortnight ago, winthrop wrote to me that the police were on his trail again and i was to show the deed to a lawyer and see if it would clear him. i don't know why he came here, unless it was because the troopers had cut off any other means of escape and he fancied some of his friends would hide him; and it's also possible that he took the risk of being arrested because of his anxiety to find out what the lawyer thought." thorne nodded. "that probably accounts for it; though there are still one or two points which are far from clear." a few minutes later, a distant clamor broke out again, and by degrees confused voices and a sound of footsteps drew nearer. then while thorne and alison leaned over the balustrade a crowd poured past in front of the hotel with a mounted figure showing above the shoulders of those about it. thorne looked round at the girl. "they've got him at last," he said. hunter crossed the veranda and drew him into the adjoining room, and alison was left alone with mrs. hunter. the latter said nothing to her and she sat silent for some time until the lawyer walked up the steps. "i was told that i should find miss leigh here." alison said that was her name, and the man, drawing a chair forward, sat down opposite her. "i understand that you have winthrop's mortgage deed in your possession. he now desires you to hand it to me." "i shall be very glad to get rid of it," declared alison, taking the document out of a pocket in her light jacket. "will you be able to get him off with it?" "that's a matter on which i can't very well express an opinion until i have read the deed and had a talk with winthrop. i've no doubt you have heard that he has just been arrested while endeavoring to escape, but i contrived to get a word or two with him and corporal slaney. the latter considers it advisable to get his prisoner out of the settlement as soon as possible, and i understand he means to spend the night at a homestead a few miles away. he has promised me an opportunity for speaking to winthrop when he gets there." "i should very much like to hear what you decide," alison informed him. the lawyer rose. "it's probable that i may find it necessary to make a few inquiries in connection with the affair, and i have another piece of business which will keep me a day or two in the neighborhood. if winthrop has no objections, i could no doubt call on you at the farquhar homestead on monday." alison thanked him, and soon after he withdrew hunter came out of the hotel with thorne. alison accompanied thorne down to the street in search of mrs. farquhar. then hunter turned toward his wife. "if you have nothing more to do here, we may as well be getting home," he said. chapter xxix the new outlook it was unusually dark when florence hunter drove out of the settlement with her husband riding beside the wagon, and the roughness of the trail made conversation difficult. florence was, on the whole, glad of this, because, although she felt that there was a good deal to be said, she could not express herself befittingly while her attention was concentrated on the team. besides, she wanted to see the man and watch his face when she spoke to him. she was accordingly content that he should ride in silence except for an occasional disconnected observation about the horses or the trail, to which she merely made a casual answer. it was late when they reached the homestead, and though a light or two was burning nobody seemed to be about, which was, however, only what she had expected. hunter led the horses away toward the stables, and entering the house she sat down to wait for him somewhat anxiously, though she realized that the possibility of his being angry would not have troubled her a little while ago. he came in at length and stood looking down at her. now that the light was better than it had been on the veranda of the hotel, she noticed that his lips were cut and that there was a bruise above one cheekbone. his jacket was also torn and there was no doubt that, taking it all round, his appearance was far from reputable. that, however, did not trouble her, for she had seen enough at the hotel to realize that the man had been injured while fighting in her cause. still, she was wise enough not to begin by pitying him. "elcot," she said, "i want you to tell me exactly what happened at the settlement." "i hadn't arrived at the beginning of it," the man replied. "i had a talk with thorne afterward, however, and he confirmed my conclusion that nevis had been informing anybody who cared to hear that you were in the habit of borrowing money from him. this was objectionable in itself, but he added in my hearing that i knew nothing about your action, and the way in which he said it was insufferable." florence's face flushed. "what did you do about it?" "first of all, i denied the most damaging statement--that i knew nothing about the thing. it seemed necessary to prove the contrary, which i did, though i had to admit the borrowing." "and then?" "i paid off the loans." hunter paused, and taking out two strips of paper threw them on the table. "here are your notes. i feel compelled to say that unless you get my consent beforehand you must never incur a liability of the kind again." "i shall never wish to," florence answered penitently. "we'll talk about that afterward; i want you to go on. you haven't told me the whole of it yet." "what do you expect to hear?" florence's eyes flashed. "i should like to hear that you had thrashed the man until he could scarcely stand!" her husband's face relaxed into a grim smile. "well, i'm afraid i didn't go as far as that, though it wasn't because the desire to do so failed me. as it happens, there's a good deal more courage in the fellow than i ever gave him credit for, and it's unfortunate that virtuous indignation doesn't make up for an inequality in muscular weight." he stopped a moment and laughed outright. "still, i believe i got in once or twice with the quirt, which is consoling to remember, and i dare say i should have left another mark or two on him if the lamp hadn't suddenly been put out. on taxing symonds with it afterward, he admitted that he was afraid his wife would make trouble if the room should be wrecked." "would it please you, elcot, if i were to say that i'm very proud of that cut on your lip--though i'm horribly ashamed of being the cause of it? in any case, it's the simple truth." "we'll take it for granted," replied hunter, looking at her searchingly. "the trouble is that this matter has forced on a crisis. it's evident that our relations can't remain as they are just now." "you don't find them satisfactory?" "no." hunter broke into a harsh laugh. "i don't know how i have borne with them as long as i have, though i've resolutely tried to fall in with your point of view. anyway, i can't go on living with, and at the same time utterly apart from, you. it might have been possible if i had never been fond of you." "nobody could have blamed you if you had grown out of that regard for me," florence suggested. "the difficulty is that i haven't done so," hunter declared more quietly, though there was still a trace of harshness in his tone. "as you imply, it's perhaps unreasonable of me, but there the fact is. the question is, what am i going to do?" florence stretched out her hands and her voice was very soft. "elcot," she murmured, "i really must have tried your patience very hard now and then, but just now i'm glad you find this state of things unbearable. would it be very difficult to go back a few years and begin again--differently?" the man moved nearer her and then stopped, hesitating. "i'm afraid," he answered slowly, "there are respects in which i can't change. to begin with, i don't see how i am to provide for you as i should like if i abandon the life you chafe at and give up the farm. i have told you this often; but, even if it stands between us, it's a truth that must still be faced." florence rose and laid her hands in his. "then it's fortunate that a change is not impossible to me--in fact, i think i've changed a good deal already. it rather hurt me, elcot, that you didn't seem to notice it." the man stooped and kissed her. "i noticed it," he said; "but i was almost afraid." "afraid it wouldn't last?" florence reproached him. "well, i suppose that is not so very astonishing--but i think this change will go on, and grow greater steadily. anyway, i want it to." then she drew away from him. "you're rather a reserved person, elcot, and it will no doubt be a relief to you if we become severely practical. besides, i want to show you how determined i am. now that you have paid off my debts, we'll get out the account-books, and you shall decide how i'm to carry on the homestead." hunter laughed. "no accounts to-night. it's beginning to strike me that both of us might have been happier if i hadn't thought about them so much. after all, i dare say it isn't wise to give economic questions the foremost place." "ah!" exclaimed florence, "it's a pity it has taken you so long to learn that truth. i suppose i'm fond of money--at least, i'm fond of the things i used to fancy it could buy, but by degrees i found out that it can't buy those that are really worth the most. now it almost looks as if i could get them at home--without any cost." she paused while she sat down, and then once more she smiled up at him. "well," she continued, "i'll probably embarrass you if i go on in this strain--you seem to get uneasy when you venture ever so little out of your shell. for a change, you can read me the paper you brought from the settlement, and i won't grumble if it's about the markets and the price of wheat." hunter took up the paper. he was, where his deeper feelings were concerned, a singularly reticent man, which was, perhaps, an excuse for florence and one explanation of the coldness that had grown up between them. now he felt that there was to be a change, and because the prospect brought him a fervent satisfaction he refrained from speaking of it. he had, however, scarcely opened the paper when he started. "here's a piece of striking news!" he exclaimed. "brand, of winnipeg, has gone down--a disastrous smash. the fall in wheat has broken him. it appears that his liabilities are enormous, and there's practically nothing to meet them with." he laid down the paper. "i wonder," he added, "if nevis could have heard of it before he left the settlement--though i think he must have done so, for the mail was already in. anyway, when i was getting your team bill told me that the man had driven off a few minutes earlier as fast as he could go." "but how could the failure in winnipeg affect nevis?" "brand has been backing him, finding him the money to carry on his business, and now that he has gone under it may pull him down. the creditors will at once try to call in all outstanding loans, and i expect nevis has his money so scattered that he can't immediately get hold of it. it's possible that the failure may drive him out of this part of the country." they talked over the matter at some length, and the man was slightly astonished at the acumen his wife displayed. when at last he rose, it was with a deep content. he felt that a vista of happier days was opening up before them both. on the following monday he drove over to the farquhar homestead, where thorne was already waiting to hear what the lawyer had to tell. the latter, however, did not arrive until the evening, and farquhar took him into the general-room where the others were sitting. "you can, of course, speak to miss leigh privately, if you prefer," he said. "on the other hand, we are all of us acquaintances of winthrop's, and, what is as much to the purpose, nobody you see here is very fond of nevis." parsons smiled. "as a matter of fact, i have winthrop's permission to tell his friends anything they desire to learn, and he mentioned you and mr. thorne particularly. to begin with, i must excuse myself for the delay, but i found it necessary to go on to the railroad to meet sergeant williamson, and i had to call at mrs. calvert's. to proceed, after considering winthrop's mortgage deed, it's my opinion that if he can substantiate his statements he has no cause for serious anxiety about the result in the event of his being brought to trial." "it would be difficult to get over the fact that he sold the cattle," contested farquhar. "it would be impossible," parsons corrected him. "still, there's very little doubt that nevis went farther than the homestead laws permit, and while our friend would very likely be found guilty of the offense there's so much to mitigate it that i'm inclined to believe it would be regarded very leniently. in fact, it's scarcely reasonable to suppose that nevis would have proceeded to extremities unless he had counted on being able to retain possession of the mortgage deed." "but couldn't he have been compelled to produce it in court?" thorne inquired. "yes; if winthrop had been ably represented. it must, however, be borne in mind that he has no great education, and he would probably not have set out matters clearly to any one who undertook to plead for him. he admits that he never thought of the mortgage deed until somebody suggested that he should try to recover it. besides this, i'm inclined to fancy that nevis was influenced by the fact that what appears to be a simple police case based upon an indisputable act--in this case the selling of the cattle--is apt to be rather casually handled by the court." "then you believe he will get off?" "it's by no means certain yet that he will be tried." they heard the announcement with varying astonishment, and parsons continued. "i endeavored to impress the views i have laid before you on sergeant williamson," he explained. "the matter, of course, does not rest with him, but he has come over to make inquiries, and what he has to say will be listened to. i also pointed out to him that one would expect the police case to break down if the man who had instituted it was either absent or reluctant to press it." he stopped a moment and looked round with a confidential air. "you have heard that brand, of winnipeg, has failed disastrously? there are reasons for believing that nevis is involved in his fall; in any case, his office is closed, and it is known that he left the settlement, presumably for winnipeg, by the last montreal express." there was only satisfaction in the faces of those who heard him. then mrs. farquhar broke the silence. "i wonder whether you could add anything to the last piece of information?" "well," smiled parsons, "prediction is generally dangerous, and in my case it would be unprofessional, but i may confess that from one or two things i gathered i shouldn't be greatly astonished if nevis failed to come back again." thorne laughed outright. "after that," he said, "we'll take the thing for granted, and i haven't the least hesitation in declaring that it's a great relief to hear it." then the group broke up, and alison strolled out with thorne across the prairie. a half-moon hung above its eastern rim, and the great sweep of grass ran back into the dim distance faintly touched with the pale silvery light. it fell upon the girl's face when at length she stopped and stood looking about her with the man's hand on her shoulder. a long rise of ground, so slight as to be almost imperceptible, had cut off the lights of the house, and they stood alone in the empty waste surrounded by a deep stillness. "it seems such a little while since i first saw the prairie, and i shrank from it then," she said. "it looked so bare and grim and utterly forbidding." "and now?" thorne prompted her. alison laughed, a little, happy laugh. "now its harshness has vanished and it has grown beautiful. when it lies under the moonlight it is steeped in glamour and mystery. even the tiny grasses make elfin music when everything is still. i came out at sunrise this morning when a faint breeze got up and listened to them." "ah!" exclaimed thorne softly, "it is only a few who can hear that music at all, and those, i think, must have it in their hearts already. it is a sign that you belong to the wilderness and it has laid its claim on you." alison smiled. "now that i have learned to know it, a fondness for the wilderness has crept into my blood; but, after all, your views are narrow; you don't go quite far enough. i think one could sometimes hear the music i spoke of in the noisy cities. only, as you say, it must be in one's heart already." thorne looked down at her with a glow in his eyes. "ours are in unison." "no," protested alison, smilingly, "i think we should not benefit if that were possible. the most we can look for is a complex harmony. in the strain humanity raises there must be many different notes and many different parts." thorne laughed rather strangely as, with a little instinctive movement, he straightened himself. "but the same insistent throb in all that is worth listening to." "ah!" murmured the girl; "then you recognized the note of unrest and endeavor, though you tried to shut your ears?" "now i know i heard it in crowded places; in the pounding of the forges, and the rumble of the mills. i've heard it a little plainer in the wash beneath the liner's bows and the din the pacific express made crossing the silent prairie with the empress mails. still, as you suggested, i wouldn't grasp its message until one night i sat in the bluff and heard the birch twigs whispering while you rested in the wagon. then i knew i was an idler and a trifler; one who stood aside while the others took their fill of the joys and pains of life." alison glanced up at him. "then you were awake that night?" "yes; i sat beneath a tree, and i don't know how often i smoked my pipe out, but my mouth was parched at sunrise, and there was a new purpose growing into shape at the bottom of my mind. you see, i realized that i must fall into line and toil like the rest if i wanted you." "but you had seen me for only two or three days!" thorne laughed softly. "i think if i had seen you for only an hour it would have had the same result. anyway, i tried farming, and--though i was very nearly beaten--you can see what i have made of it." he stooped a little toward her. "the house is almost ready, dear, and i want you to drive in to the railroad with me to-morrow. a man from winnipeg will be at the hotel then, and i should like you to choose what you think is needed from his lists of furnishings." alison looked down, for she was conscious of a warmth in her cheeks. "if you will come over early, i'll be ready." thorne drew her hand within his arm and they moved on slowly in the faint moonlight that etherealized the plain. "it is a marvelous night!" he exclaimed. "the wilderness gripped me when i came out, but i don't think i ever realized how wonderful it is as i do just now. and there are people who can see in it only an empty, wind-swept land!" he drew her impulsively to him. "still, there are excuses for them. only part of the glamour is in the prairie. the rest of it is due to the supreme good fortune that has fallen to me." "you are very sure of that?" murmured alison. "yes," declared thorne, with resolute decisiveness, "it's a certainty that will only grow deeper as the years roll on!" the end transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in chapter i, "a rather hazardout undertaking" was changed to "a rather hazardous undertaking". in chapter vi, "when the storekeper appeared on the scene" was changed to "when the storekeeper appeared on the scene". in chapter x, a missing quotation mark was added after "he's no doubt ready for an outbreak." in chapter xi, "it might he desirable to let volador" was changed to "it might be desirable to let volador". in chapter xii, "in which case it will, no doubt, he adopted" was changed to "in which case it will, no doubt, be adopted". in chapter xix, "when he strode out on the verenda" was changed to "when he strode out on the veranda", and "dubious glances round him at he resumed his march" was changed to "dubious glances round him as he resumed his march". chapter xxvii, a helping hand, was mislabeled "chapter xxvi" originally. in chapter xxix, "there the fact it" was changed to "there the fact is".