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UNBROKEN LINES 
 
Books by the Same Author 
 
 CAMP BRAVE PINE 
 JANET OF THE DUNES 
 JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS 
 LITTLE DUSKY HERO, A 
 MAM SELLE Jo 
 MAN THOU GAYEST, THE 
 PLACE BEYOND THE WINDS, THE 
 PRINCESS RAGS AND TATTERS 
 SON OF THE HILLS, A 
 VINDICATION, THE 
 
"Down the narrow path came Glenn and her father, 
 with Rajah, the St. Bernard" 
 
Unbroken Lines 
 
 BY 
 HARRIET T. COMSTOCK 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 by 
 E. F. Ward 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OP 
 
 TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 
 
 INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
I dedicate this book to 
 JESSIE FRANK COMSTOCK 
 
 She has watched the struggle of the " Unbroken Lines " 
 to merge into one. She has felt the call of Love and 
 Service and I know her good wishes and sympathy will 
 speed this book of mine on its way. 
 
 HARRIET T. COMSTOCK. 
 New York City, New York. 
 
 912842 
 
SUPPOSE 
 
 SUPPOSE a young soul, just awake to the mean 
 ing of Life but never having experienced Life, 
 were suddenly, and without warning, taken 
 away by what we call death. 
 
 And suppose that after a space of time, in some 
 [still and peaceful Place of Choice, the soul were 
 asked whether it would pass on to other, and new, 
 opportunity or return to earth and learn its unfin 
 ished lessons. 
 
 And suppose that the soul should say: "I will 
 return and learn. I will pay, for the experience, all 
 that God demands." 
 
 Now what relation do our laws and codes bear to 
 such a soul-quest? Do they hamper or assist? Do 
 they recognize their own limitations and, while seek 
 ing the good of the many to the exclusion of the 
 few, refrain from bitterness and prejudice? or do 
 they assume a responsibility and power that defeat 
 the higher good of all? Do they, when all is said, 
 exact of the soul what the Creator demands or what 
 blindness and human weakness extort? 
 
 Do they tend to educate the soul or do they 
 send it back to its Maker crippled? 
 
 Suppose we think about it. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 (t Down the narrow path came Glenn and her father, 
 with Rajah, the St. Bernard "... Frontispiece 
 (see page 8) 
 
 FACING PAGB 
 
 " The soft little bundle was gathered close to Mor 
 ton s breast " 172 
 
 <<f How did you get here? 5 " 252 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT WAS full noon of a golden October day. The 
 stillness was broken only by the rhythmic 
 strokes of an axe in the near distance, as it 
 rose and fell, wielded by a strong and well-trained 
 arm. 
 
 Towering around and about a little open space 
 in the wilderness were mighty peaks, snow-crowned 
 and glistening against the clear blue of the autumn 
 sky. There were : the Monk he was king of them 
 all; the Lily slim, tall, and aloof; the Twins hud 
 dling close and connected, near the top, by a rocky 
 bridge, narrow and rugged, below which lay depths 
 of silent gloom; and the Giant s Tooth jagged, 
 cruel, and bristling near the base with scrubby 
 pine that curled back like a beard, exposing the 
 grim fang. 
 
 The clearing was approached by a broad trail 
 or road. It led up from a long, low, log-cabin dwell 
 ing which crept lovingly close to the curves of the 
 foot hill of the mighty Monk which rose majestically 
 over it like a protecting overlord. 
 
 The house, apparently, had begun its existence as 
 a humble one-room shelter, but had expanded, as its 
 owner s needs and ambitions grew, until now it num- 
 
4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 bered many rooms and boasted of wide piazzas, 
 generous window? and doors, and two massive chim 
 neys built of native rock. 
 
 Winding- - past the Lodge, the road continued, 
 sidling off here and there to escape a bit of the woods 
 or an innocent-looking brook. It kept to the open 
 and the sunlight until suddenly it dipped into the 
 canyon where it shrank against the rocky wall on the 
 right as if afraid to look into the black cavern on the 
 other side, and in the bottom of which roared a mad 
 river a frenzied river, caught in the darkness and 
 fighting its way to the sea, far, far away, but whose 
 call was in its soul. 
 
 In the sunlit space on the edge of the forest a 
 fire burned brightly; over it swung a pot, boiling 
 and bubbling and exhaling delicious odours that be 
 spoke a feast. Beside the crackling logs stood a 
 tall, slim girl in corduroy trousers, leather leggings, 
 a much-worn Norfolk jacket, and a blue flannel 
 waist, open at the throat. She might easily have 
 been mistaken for a boy had not her cap been thrown 
 hastily on the ground, thus releasing the wealth 
 of hair which, in colouring, suggested the tints of 
 oak leaves in the autumn when the sunlight slants 
 through them. The face, framed by the rich hair, 
 was thin and dusky; the eyes, wide and peering, 
 took their shade and expression from their owner s 
 moods and the hour s demands. Out of them looked 
 all that the girl was, but they were waiting, hungry 
 eyes full of friendliness, faith, and joyousness. 
 
 This was Glenn Arnold, and she had come to the 
 forest s edge to celebrate. She was eighteen. Since 
 morning she had been quivering with a sense of 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 5 
 
 being alive; she felt full of power and a strange pre 
 sentiment that something unusual was about to 
 happen. She had always been alert and vital, 
 but now she was aware of it; and there was a great 
 difference. Everything looked changed. The won 
 derful scene that lay around her had been her only 
 outlook since babyhood. She loved it; and she won 
 dered, now, why it should seem like a new thing 
 to her. 
 
 "It is because I am new," she finally concluded; 
 and raised her eyes to the Monk. 
 
 For that special peak the girl had an almost wor 
 shipful regard. The snow on its summit was like a 
 spotless cowl, and from it looked out a rugged, rocky 
 outline startlingly like a human face. When the 
 snow fell over the deep eyes the mountain seemed 
 to brood; when it lifted, it looked gravely benign. 
 There were times when a high, mad wind took liber 
 ties with the cowl and sent the soft snow flying like a 
 huge plume; at such moments, for all its massiveness, 
 the Monk appeared ethereal, playful, and most al 
 luring. 
 
 Once, when very young, Glenn Arnold, seeing 
 the mountain in such a gleeful state, had raised her 
 arms and cried: "He wants me!" And someone 
 her father probably had replied: "When your 
 body is as strong as an Indian s and your eyes as 
 true as an eagle s, you shall climb the Monk and give 
 him his wish." 
 
 So the Monk was an ambition; an inspiration as 
 well as a worshipped deity. 
 
 Year after year Glenn Arnold held to her deter 
 mination to climb the highest peak on the range. 
 
6 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 When she was twelve she had mastered the Lily. 
 It had been a joy to follow her father up the unseen 
 trails; to hear his praise and heed his command to 
 go slow and sure, as a true mountaineer should. 
 At fifteen, the Twins were conquered. Arnold had 
 taken keen delight in this achievement of his girl, 
 for she had discovered, on that climb, a new trail; 
 had disappeared from his sight, finally to emerge 
 on the rocky bridge near the summit. He had stood 
 and gazed upon her, outlined against the blue of 
 the sky, a slim, fearless figure. His pride and ad 
 miration struggled with his natural fear for her safety, 
 but she had not seemed affected by the yawning 
 depths below; her eyes had been fixed upward and 
 across the abyss, and her laugh rang unafraid and 
 mirthful. 
 
 "And now!" she had declared after that victory 
 "now for the Monk!" 
 
 The Giant s Tooth was discarded. Arnold never 
 encouraged any one to climb that peak. 
 
 "There s no view," he explained, "and it s an 
 ugly, unfeeling mountain. I haven t any use for a 
 struggle that repays you with nothing but barked 
 shins and lost temper." 
 
 "Perhaps, now that I am quite old," thought the 
 girl by the fire, "Dad will take me up the Monk!" 
 She waved a kiss to the rocky face far above her. 
 Like all lonely mountain folk she felt for animals 
 and objects a close human comradeship. 
 
 "What are you looking at ?" she asked of the peak, 
 with that feeling of something about to happen 
 again possessing her. " What do you see coming ? " 
 
 Then she recalled, with a flood of tenderness, all 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 7 
 
 that this day of hers meant. Through the years, 
 since she had first been told that her coming into 
 life had meant her mother s going out of it, she had 
 striven to make her father gladder because of her 
 not sadder since she had cost so much. He and 
 she had always devoted the day to a tender celebra 
 tion. They approached it with reverent prepara 
 tion, and devoted hours to question and answer of a 
 time that was unclouded for the man, and hid in 
 mystery for the girl. 
 
 "Some day, when you are old enough to take it 
 all in," Arnold had promised, "I m going to tell 
 you everything about her." 
 
 As she had struggled to make her body strong 
 enough to climb to the Monk s summit, so Glenn 
 had sought to impress upon her father, year by year, 
 that she was almost old enough to hear the beautiful, 
 whole story of her mother. 
 
 "And to-morrow," Arnold had said the night 
 before; "to-morrow, if the day is fine, girl, let s eat 
 in the open. I ll keep the afternoon free and I ll 
 tell you the story!" 
 
 It had been thrilling to look forward to. All the 
 morning the work had flown from Glenn s hands 
 flown, finished and well done. All the morning she 
 had chanted it was an odd habit of hers in a clear, 
 musical voice, of everything that caught and held 
 her attention. She chanted to the dogs that followed 
 her about; to the shy creatures of the woods that she 
 and Arnold had tamed, and which now that winter 
 was near were edging closer to the care of them 
 whom they could trust. She had invented an en 
 tirely new song of praise to the mountains, excluding 
 
8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 the Giant s Tooth from her devotional state of mind, 
 because it was, to her affections, an outcast, a mere 
 spectre among the friendly peaks. 
 
 And the time had come! High noon! The fire 
 leaping and curling about the pot; the fragrance of 
 the crushed autumn leaves and the even sound of 
 those strokes of her father s axe. 
 
 Glenn put her hands to her lips and called loudly: 
 
 "Daddy oh ooh ooh!" It was like one long 
 and coaxing word. 
 
 Instantly the axe ceased its work. Presently 
 down the narrow path came Rajah, the St. Bernard, 
 followed by Tom Arnold, a massive figure, head 
 thrown back and singing as he strode toward the 
 clearing. 
 
 Arnold was forty-seven; a friend by instinct, a 
 foe only from necessity. His friendliness knew no 
 limit; his anger was to be avoided. Just now his 
 face beamed with happiness and content. His girl 
 was his idol; he had, from her birth, left her free to 
 choose and decide her small affairs. He had often 
 feared often had his moments of doubt, when com 
 mon sense and tradition lashed him at critical times 
 but in the end he always thanked God that he had 
 kept his hands off and heeded the superstitious im 
 pulse that had been born in him at the time of the 
 child s birth. 
 
 "It has come out all right!" he now believed. He 
 felt it keenly to-day. "You can t unmake a creature 
 like that!" he often argued as he watched his girl; 
 "she s found her own trail, thank God, just as she 
 found the hidden one on the Twins." 
 
 He called to Glenn as he drew near; she waved 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 9 
 
 back to him as one good comrade salutes another. 
 Reaching the fire, Arnold stretched himself on the 
 ground and leaned against a sturdy tree. Rajah, 
 after nosing about Glenn, came close to him and 
 awaited his share in the feast. 
 
 "Great day, this!" said Arnold, looking about. 
 He was by nature both artist and poet, though he 
 would never paint a picture nor write a line of verse. 
 Something within him saw and heard, and through 
 all his manhood years he had studied and read and 
 worshipped at a shrine that his instincts had kept 
 clean and holy. 
 
 "Isn t it, Dad?" answered Glenn. "And look at 
 the Monk; doesn t he look knowing?" 
 
 "Looks almighty vivid. Girl, this coming year 
 you and I will make a try at the old fellow." 
 
 "Dad!" 
 
 "I haven t forgotten; but it s going to be a sort of 
 pilgrimage just you and me. We ll take days for 
 it camping by fires and sleeping in sheltered caves. 
 There s a lake up near the top as blue as the sky 
 is now; flowers growing close, looking as if angels 
 had planted them. Why, girl, I ve guided many a 
 man up the Monk some of them good fellows and 
 right minded but I haven t ever taken one by a trail 
 that I know and which leads, sudden-like, to the lake.. 
 I ve saved that for you. It s a ticklish bit of way 
 just before you come to the opening you have to 
 put all your thought in it and when you first glimpse 
 the lake it just about takes your breath away." 
 
 Glenn was standing open-eyed and radiant as her 
 father spoke. Then she came close to him and bent 
 over him. 
 
io UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "My Dad!" was all she said; but she kissed him in 
 that odd, maternal way of hers which always made her 
 seem so absurdly old and yet so pathetically young. 
 
 They ate quietly for a time after that. They 
 were healthfully weary, normally hungry, and they 
 were both coming close to an hour that needed 
 strength and peace of mind. Glenn fed Rajah who, 
 with dignified patience, had bided his time with one 
 eye upon the remnants, while with the other, to all 
 appearances, he slept. 
 
 At last, having packed away the dishes and re 
 plenished the fire, Glenn came close to her father 
 his face was hidden now by clouds of smoke from his 
 pipe. He was puffing furiously she sat crouched 
 beside him, Rajah at her feet. 
 
 "Now, Daddy," she whispered, "the story." 
 
 They were both a bit shy. It was like coming, at 
 last, to a door which to one of them had never been 
 opened. Arnold had stood guard hitherto. Within 
 lay memories too sacred for even his child to know 
 until she could estimate their worth. With the open 
 ing of the shielding portals the girl would see her 
 mother with her own eyes and youth could be so 
 critical, so cruel! In the past, when Glenn had been 
 told about her mother, she had been given only such 
 things as a child should know of one whose going had 
 deprived her of so much. But now she was to judge! 
 
 "Was my mother pretty?" she had often asked; 
 and Arnold, from the depths of his own feeling, had 
 replied: "She was beautiful." Perhaps Glenn might 
 not think so! "And she was very good, Dad?" 
 (There had never been any doubt in the tone of the 
 query; it was, rather, an affirmation.) 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 11 
 
 "The best woman on earth, girl." But would 
 Glenn accept that after she knew? 
 
 "The story, Daddy!" 
 
 The words seemed to find Arnold in the cloudy 
 space that enveloped him; a far region, where he 
 stood alone. 
 
 "I ll begin with the night you came, girl; the night 
 that you came, and she went. We can travel 
 backward and forward after that, but that night 
 stands out clear and wonderful set, as it were, be 
 tween her and you." 
 
 Glenn pressed her cheek to Arnold s arm. The 
 arm was rigid as if set for action. 
 
 "It was the strangest night I ever saw; it sort of 
 fixed itself in your mind. It was so still that you 
 could almost hear the sap running down, leaving 
 the twigs crackling and dry. The mountains looked 
 near, and waiting as I was! I was standing near 
 the bedroom window, under the youngish pine 
 clump; I could hear, but I kept looking up at the 
 clouds. They were thin and white and loose, they 
 floated and broke and then gathered together like a 
 drift of snow. They were filled with light. I 
 looked afterward in the almanac and found that 
 there wasn t a moon that night, but it seemed as if 
 there was one. 
 
 "Suddenly, as I watched those clouds, they opened 
 and a star showed through. It seemed to be de 
 tached just ready to drop it was the most won 
 derful thing I ever saw. And then I heard words 
 words. Someone was telling me that that you 
 had come and that she was gone!" 
 
 " Dad ; does it hurt too much to go on ? " 
 
12 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "No; I don t want to forget even the least part 
 of it, girl. All through the years I have thought it 
 over. It is good to talk it out." 
 
 "Dear Dad! Oh! what a wonderful beginning I 
 had! And so, ever after, you got to fancying that 
 the clouds parted to take our mother" [Glenn 
 rarely said my mother] "in, and let the light of the 
 star down, to help me since I was to have no 
 mother. You called it my Light, dear, and you 
 made yourself believe that it would guide me better 
 than you could. Daddy, Daddy; why you have 
 always led me; always I have seen you just a little 
 way ahead, never far near enough, always, to 
 touch and to call to." 
 
 Arnold raised his hand and smoothed the head 
 resting against his arm. 
 
 "We ve been great pals," he murmured "great 
 pals. You were a queer little creature from the 
 start big-eyed and knowing. I reckon she left a 
 lot of herself to help you; the mother sense of 
 her. Why, girl, you mothered things from the first; 
 you d even pat and comfort yourself just as if 
 something within you were taking care of something 
 else within you something that was helpless and 
 lonely. There were always two of you always: 
 the old you, and the little, young you. They were 
 always up against each other working the way 
 
 out." 
 
 "Yes, Dad; I feel that. I know what you mean 
 and you just stood off, looking on and loving the 
 two of us. Dear old Dad ! " 
 
 Then there was silence. Arnold s hand was on 
 the long-shut door; Glenn was waiting. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 13 
 
 "But before that night, Dad? You have never 
 told me about before!" 
 
 Every fibre of Arnold s body stiffened to the task. 
 He had kept his girl safe for the knowing of what 
 was to be known. He had vowed that she should 
 learn the truth from him after he believed her 
 strong enough to endure it. 
 
 "Where did you find our mother? " 
 
 "Down at Connor s!" 
 
 It was characteristic of Glenn that at first she 
 spoke no word. She was picturing it all. She knew 
 Connor s, fifteen miles down the trail. All that 
 was unfit for the heights cluttered there. It was an 
 evil place in the only settlement within fifty miles. 
 Around it were grouped the general store, post 
 office, and jail; the Court sat there on occasions of 
 necessity. No church, no school, hampered the 
 habits at Connor s. And there was only one kind 
 of woman there! all others made homes as far 
 from it as possible. 
 
 "Yes, Dad?" said Glenn, at last. She had the 
 first shock adjusted, but it had left her white and 
 dizzy. 
 
 "She was a pretty, frail little thing," resumed 
 Arnold, determinedly. "I used to go down just to 
 look at her. I couldn t keep away. Over and again 
 I d go down and stand and watch. I got to think 
 ing that I kept the worst from her. By and 
 by she would come out to me. She said she had 
 to; it was like something calling her. And then at 
 last I made her come with me away from Connor s. 
 She wanted to, but she held back for my sake. I 
 took her to the minister s. I wouldn t listen to 
 
i 4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 anything she wanted to say; she wanted to tell me 
 things; I wouldn t hear I didn t want to know. I 
 had to have her had to keep her safe and I didn t 
 want anything else to enter in. 
 
 "Girl, I don t know how to explain. I can t tell it 
 in words but your mother was a beautiful wo 
 man a good woman! Yes, by Heaven, a good wo 
 man!" Arnold seemed defending the past from the 
 strange, searching eyes of the girl at his side. "She 
 left all all the past that never rightly was hers 
 down at Connor s. When she got where she be 
 longed got to what was rightfully hers she was 
 good good ! " 
 
 "Yes, good!" Glenn echoed the words like one in 
 her sleep who dreamily follows a voice half heard. 
 "I m sure she was good!" 
 
 "And and before you came, girl," Arnold went 
 on, "she wrote all her little story. I can see her, 
 now, sitting with her shining face by the fireside 
 writing, writing. She used to say that if I wouldn t 
 listen I must read; but I didn t, ever! She put the 
 papers, all tied together, in a drawer of a table. I 
 never touched them but once, and that was the night 
 she sher went away. I took them and burned 
 them. They made such white ashes just white 
 ashes." 
 
 "Dad! that was right! Thank you, Dad. Oh! 
 how she must have loved you." 
 
 "Yes she did!" This came quickly; trium 
 phantly. 
 
 "Once it was the only time she ever talked much 
 about herself she said that if she had it all to do over 
 again she would never be afraid. It was being 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 15 
 
 afraid to take life bit for bit that cowed women. She 
 said they always began with an awful load of what 
 was handed to them by others, and they hadn t 
 strength to go their own way the way God meant 
 them to go step by step each step, no matter 
 what it was, leading to the next. She said every 
 woman ought to to find her own " 
 
 "Trail?" queried Glenn. 
 
 "Yes, girl; that was the word/ 
 
 "Dear, wise little mother!" 
 
 Glenn was not judging, she was quivering with 
 sympathy. By the dying fire the man and the girl 
 sat in silence at last. The sun sent slanting rays into 
 the clearing. A chill crept in it came up from the 
 canyon. 
 
 "We must go home now, Daddy!" 
 
 Glenn rose and stretched her strong, young arms; 
 then she turned and clasped them around her father s 
 neck. Looking full at him, a great tenderness trans 
 forming her face, she said: 
 
 "Daddy; I feel as if you had given my mother to 
 me to-day. Always before she has seemed like some 
 thing I had only heard of; now I have her!" 
 
 "Heaven bless you, girl! Heaven bless you." 
 
 And then, for the first time, Arnold s voice broke. 
 
 And that was all of the story for which Glenn had 
 waited; striven to be wise enough to understand. A 
 brief, misty, little story that had ended in a heap of 
 white ashes! 
 
 But had it? Already curiosity, a passionate ac 
 ceptance of a strange responsibility near and com 
 manding possessed Glenn. When she went down 
 the trail she almost felt her mother s presence. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 SAM MORTON, astride his tired-looking 
 horse, loomed in sight the evening of Glenn s 
 birthday just as the sun was dropping behind 
 the Monk. Sam collected the mail at Connor s and 
 distributed it to the scattered people along the trail. 
 Sam was good-natured and popular and, as no one 
 else would assume the mail responsibility, he had 
 accepted it but with a clear understanding that he 
 was a free agent. This was a local matter. If peo 
 ple were particular, they might go to Connor s them 
 selves for their letters. No one, Sam least of all, 
 objected to that; but if they availed themselves of 
 Sam s services they must include his temperament- 
 ality. He was as independent as the wildest of the 
 creatures of the hills; he worked when he felt like it. 
 He made money easily, for he was clever; spent it 
 frugally, because he was canny; and enjoyed life as 
 it came along. He had no concern for his yester 
 days, and only such interest in his to-morrows as they 
 affected his to-days. He was long and lean, brown 
 and good-looking. He laughed a great deal, throw 
 ing his head back and showing his strong, white teeth. 
 His eyes flashed and gleamed. He took for granted 
 that he would gain his way and, consequently, had 
 little trouble in achieving it. 
 
 His mail bag hung limply at his side. The Lodge 
 was almost his last stop. His own home, a mere 
 
 16 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 17 
 
 ^ -: 
 
 shack in a wild bit of woodland, was ten miles be 
 yond. He saw Glenn from afar. She was standing 
 in the doorway of the Lodge looking down the trail. 
 
 Since her return to the house she had been think 
 ing of the trail, and Connor s and of her little, pale 
 mother coming up to what was her own! It had 
 all become so vital and real; a sense of protection for 
 her mother had suddenly developed, and Connor s 
 had taken on a new significance. 
 
 Once, when she was fifteen, her father had taken 
 her to the settlement; he was obliged to go on business 
 and he thought the change might amuse her, since she 
 was too young to understand. At the end of the day 
 she had opened the bosom of her blouse as if she were 
 smothering and said : 
 
 "Dad, if it s all the same to you, I would rather 
 celebrate up, than down!" 
 
 Connor s had left a bad memory where only 
 pure ones had previously gathered. Something had 
 warned her; shocked her. She had tried to forget 
 Connor s. After a while she did think of it merely as 
 a place from which necessaries had to be obtained, 
 and from which one should then depart with the least 
 possible delay. 
 
 And now? Well, she must draw her mother s 
 memory away from that lurid place where innocent 
 play became an ugly orgy. It was one thing to dance 
 and make merry at the Lodge; but how hideous it had 
 seemed down below! 
 
 Presently Glenn saw Morton and waved her hand 
 in welcome. She was always a little afraid that Con 
 nor s would get Sam; it never had done so, but there 
 was something about Morton that made her fear for 
 
i8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 him. She recalled now that for more than a month 
 the mail had not arrived. 
 
 "Well?" cried Morton from a distance, "looking 
 forme?" 
 
 "Do you suppose," Glenn called back, "that I ve 
 been looking for you every day for weeks ? " 
 
 "Don t be sassy!" Morton was at the door, now, 
 and dismounted. "There s a box, here, for you; 
 sixteen newspapers your Dad certainly does go in 
 heavy for knowin everything in the world and a 
 letter!" 
 
 "The things have been long enough getting here." 
 Glenn s eyes took on the "mothering" look that al 
 ways brooded in them when they rested on helpless or 
 hurt things, and for all his bigness and independence 
 Morton made an appeal, from a hidden weakness, to 
 her strength. 
 
 "Mails don t matter except at seed time and 
 Christmas," he flung back. 
 
 "How about birthdays, Sam?" 
 
 But Morton was ready for her. "That s why I m 
 here. I got something in my pocket for you, Glenn, 
 and if you play your little tricks get me something 
 to eat, let me tinkle your mandolin a bit, and rest 
 why I ll give it to you!" 
 
 "Not for sale!" announced Glenn, tossing her 
 head. "You may eat and rest and make a noise 
 for nothing." Then: "Are you going to stay all 
 night?" 
 
 "No. There s a moon, and I want to be on the 
 trail and in the open. Gosh! I said this mornin 
 down in the canyon, that I d certainly go dippy if I 
 stayed on another week. And he said to get out. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 19 
 
 and so I did! Then I remembered the mail and 
 went back to Connor s and came along. I m bust- 
 in tired." 
 
 Sam flung himself down on a porch chair. He 
 usually approached a critical situation by assuming 
 that his listeners knew as much as he did. It was 
 flattering but confusing. 
 
 "Sam; who said to get out ?" 
 
 Glenn paused in the doorway. She was going in 
 to prepare food but the words caught and held her. 
 Just then Arnold joined them from around the house. 
 He did not approve entirely of Morton had never 
 felt sure about him. Consequently, until he did, 
 he was a little kinder and more genial than otherwise 
 he might have been. 
 
 "Better come in, Sam," he said, "once the sun s 
 gone, the cold gets you. There s a big wind on the 
 way, too." 
 
 "Why, Dad!" Glenn looked around, for she had 
 never yet got accustomed to her father s abnormal 
 sense of hearing. 
 
 "Surel I heard it back among the pines. The 
 tops had caught it. Come in, children." 
 
 They followed him in and drew close to the hearth 
 upon which the fire never died. 
 
 "People and weather are curious," Arnold often 
 said; "they come when least expected. It s easier 
 to be ready for them than to hustle." 
 
 Glenn brought food, watched Sam eat hungrily, 
 and then repeated her question as if she hadn t asked 
 it before, while he tinkled the mandolin his eyes 
 dreamy and full of content. 
 
 " Sam; who said to get out ? " 
 
20 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "The chap in the haunted cabin." The words 
 trailed along on a badly constructed tune. "It was 
 long about three weeks ago that I saw smoke coming 
 out of the chimney as I was riding up the trail, headed 
 for here. It just naturally made me creep but I had 
 to look in; and there, by thunder! was a man lying on 
 a pine-needle bed thrashing around in as pretty a 
 fever as you ever saw. Yelling, he was, and talkin 
 blitherin rot; and when his eyes lit on me he named 
 me some woman s name and took to cussing me good 
 and proper for following him where I had no right to 
 follow. The place was stocked up pretty well; there 
 was plenty of wood, though the fire was long dead 
 on the hearth. Jumpin Jehoshaphat! but it all gave 
 me a thrill night just fallin and that crazy chap 
 heapin all sorts of language on me, just as he d been 
 doin to emptiness before I got there to catch it." 
 
 Sam paused to tighten up a string. His special 
 interest in the tale now lay in the telling. His listen 
 ers were transfixed. Having got his scenery in order 
 and the nerves of his companions tense he could af 
 ford to take breath. He was modest about himself, 
 but at this point he was obliged to take the centre of 
 the stage, and he became artistic, brief, and pictur 
 esque. 
 
 "Why, Sam!" gasped Glenn, "what did you do?" 
 
 "Lit the fire and brushed up some after givin* 
 the chap water and trying to make him understand 
 that I wasn t any lady on his war path." 
 
 "And after that, Sam?" 
 
 "Took care of him. No chance of goin for a doc 
 tor, for the next day he had a fancy for dropping off 
 the edge of the precipice that was right handy to his 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 21 
 
 front door. You couldn t leave a man with that bug 
 possessin him, even to get a doctor. He kept telling 
 me real earnest and confidential that he had got to 
 the jumping-off place and didn t know what to do. 
 After debatin with him to no purpose, I just took 
 him round the middle and dared him to leap! By 
 gosh! after that he plain nestled down real embar- 
 rassin 5 in my arms and fell off to sleep like a nice-be 
 haved baby. He wasn t much trouble after that, 
 but he clung like a leech. If I left him he d call after 
 me and gave me to understand that when I got out of 
 sight some kind of power pushed him again to the 
 edge but when I was near, things ran along smooth. 
 He was some Christmas party, I tell you! I had to 
 feed my horse and do the cooking stunts while he 
 slept. And by thunder! I had to get my own sleep 
 holdin him like he was six months old." 
 
 Arnold had not spoken, but now he suddenly broke 
 in. 
 
 "To think of such suffering going on near by and 
 us eating and going to bed as if nothing had been the 
 matter! Two fellow creatures beating off death in 
 the canyon and us not knowing. Morton, did he 
 die?" 
 
 Sam was getting tired of the excitement. To him 
 it was an episode of the past; the sight of Glenn 
 the warmth and the food had dulled him to the 
 dramatic. The commonplace now lured him. 
 
 "No. He was booked to get well, I only had to 
 hold him tight while he was off his trail. He s safe 
 enough now. When he got reasonable he was an 
 all-right customer. Said he had only stopped at the 
 cabin for business. He was headed for herej some- 
 
22 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 one had told him about the Lodge. Said he d written 
 to you." 
 
 Arnold went to the table where lay the mail and 
 took up the one letter from the mass of other litera 
 ture. He read it, quietly, Glenn and Sam waiting. 
 Then: 
 
 "Yes; this is from him. MacDonald Grey he 
 signs himself. Wants to spend a winter up where 
 they make winter. Now what in thunder does he 
 mean by that where they make winter ? Sam; 
 I bet the fellow s run away from a mad-house ! " 
 
 "No; whatever he s running from it ain t that." 
 Morton was positive, and on the defensive. "He s 
 steadier than most, now that he s got his feet planted. 
 He s a writer. Makes them yarns you like" (here 
 Morton turned to Glenn); "he leans to ghost tales 
 and mystery thrillers. Gosh! him and me used to set 
 by the fire, when he was able to set anywhere, and 
 he d tell things to me that made me afraid to go to 
 bed. It was great stuff. He said once he never 
 saw or heard of a haunted thing but he went for it. 
 He heard of the canyon cabin at Connor s and he 
 went for it on his way up here. Gosh ! he was curious 
 about haunts. He said most places streets, houses, 
 folks, even are haunted, and by Gosh he proved 
 it! I tell you, once he was himself he was good com 
 pany." 
 
 Morton laughed. 
 
 "How does he look, Sam?" Glenn s eyes were 
 shining. 
 
 "Pretty measley. I say! talk about bony; he is 
 bone." 
 
 " Is he young ? " Arnold put in. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 23 
 
 "Middlin ; and then again he ain t. I don t 
 know how he might look if he had some coverin on 
 his carcass; all carcasses look sort of old. This 
 mornin he happened to think about me and when I 
 told him what I was, and did, he simply ordered me 
 out and said he was going to toddle up to the Lodge 
 in a day or two. I told him I d warn you, and send 
 a horse down the trail." 
 
 Arnold walked about restlessly. "I think I d 
 better start down the canyon to-night," he said. "I 
 cannot sleep with that fellow staying on alone in the 
 cabin. Some day that teetering old shack is just 
 naturally going to slip over the edge. I wouldn t 
 like to have it on my conscience if it slipped to-night." 
 
 But Morton and Glenn argued him out of this. 
 
 "I reckon," said Sam, "that he wants to come up 
 the regular way. He s pullin himself together and 
 he s rather edgy about bein thought an ass. You 
 see I told him what folks would name him, sneaking 
 into that cabin and making trouble for us. I didn t 
 mean to hurt his feelings, I did it to spunk him up, 
 but he s touchy." 
 
 "Well come to-morrow," Arnold concluded, "I ll 
 ride down and see how things are getting on. I ll 
 take his letter along as an introduction." 
 
 At nine o clock, with a full moon lighting the trail, 
 Sam prepared to go on. Glenn stood with him be 
 side his horse. 
 
 "Sam; it was splendid what you did for the 
 stranger," she said, softly, raising her eyes. Morton 
 mistook the mothering look for something else. He 
 flushed. 
 
 "Shucks!" was all he replied. 
 
24 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Weren t you ever afraid, Sam?" 
 
 "No. I wasn t afraid, but it was kind of solemn. 
 I got to thinkin of things in a queer way. It seemed 
 as if I was fightin something off death, for one 
 thing and the man on the bed took to meaning a lot 
 to me. He seemed mine! And then I passed the 
 time by tryin to fix things that meant the most 
 and setting aside things that didn t. It was solemn 
 but I wouldn t have missed it." 
 
 "What things, Sam?" 
 
 "Well, Connor s for one thing. Connor s don t 
 matter, really; Connor s is a joke, but you don t set 
 much stock in jokes when you re up against the kind 
 of thoughts that came in the cabin. And then 
 other things that a fellow does when he lets go 
 but " here Sam mastered his confusion "the thing 
 that did almighty matter, Glenn, was you!" 
 
 "Me, Sam?" 
 
 "Yes, you. You came real plain to me and you 
 fitted in. You fitted in and I saw you doin things, 
 the right things; and then I knew you was the fitting- 
 in sort. You just filled up all the emptiness, and I 
 knew that you meant most of all! I don t think I 
 had ever really thought before, Glenn." 
 
 Had Sam not been transformed by his recent ex 
 perience in the canyon, Glenn would have scoffed at 
 him now; but he had touched her sympathy, her 
 tenderness, her sense of right. She looked mutely 
 at him and did not laugh. 
 
 "Gosh!" Morton plunged on, "I know I sound 
 madder than that chap in the cabin ever sounded, 
 but I just had to blurt it out. There are times and 
 things that are so big you can t tackle them, and you 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 25 
 
 might as well let em go. You do mean the most of 
 anything, Glenn. I d do anything on God s earth 
 for you, knowing Fd be the better for it, even if I 
 never got within gun-shot of you. I ve seen you at 
 last and felt that I knew the meaning of you; and 
 that s something. You came out plain in the haunted 
 cabin; I reckon you haunt me." 
 
 Never in all her life had Glenn been so touched. 
 Her afternoon had set every nerve to quivering; 
 her tenderness brooded over everyone, and now it 
 glorified Morton. 
 
 "Old, Sam!" she said, "it s just as if you had shed 
 something that had always hidden the real you. 
 Before this you have seemed well, like things 
 that have always been in my life things that were, 
 and now you seem you; and I will have to get ac 
 quainted! But the new thing that you are matters 
 much much. I am going to hold that right up be 
 fore me all the time. Does that help, Sam?" 
 
 "It does by God!" 
 
 Then Sam drew something from his pocket; it was 
 a ring. A plain, narrow band of gold with a small 
 blue stone set in tiny brilliants. Glenn looked upon 
 the pretty thing as a child might; she reached out for 
 it took and laughed at its beauty, from pure delight. 
 
 "Will you give me a kiss, Glenn; it being your 
 birthday and and all that?" whispered Sam. 
 
 Suddenly the joyousness fled from the girl s face. 
 She sensed a bargain; a compact for which she had no 
 desire. She looked up, all kindness, but with the 
 old, wise look in her eyes. 
 
 "I I cannot wear it, Sam; not now. I d like to 
 keep it, to look at if you will let me." 
 
26 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "But if you change your mind?" Morton looked 
 hurt disappointed. 
 
 "Fillet you know, Sam." 
 
 "And and the kiss, Glenn?" 
 
 "I ll I ll keep that, too; until I change my mind!" 
 
 Glenn drew back as Morton threw himself on his 
 horse and dashed off. She waited to wave to him in 
 the friendly, old way, but he did not look back. 
 Glenn put the ring in her pocket, gave a tired little 
 sigh, and went indoors. 
 
 Her father stood under the hanging lamp, which 
 he had lighted, and in the hollow of his hands lay 
 something that glittered like captured sunlight. 
 
 "It s got here in time!" he exclaimed, exultingly, as 
 Glenn entered. "I was lying awake last night fear 
 ing that it might not. And, by the Lord Harry, it 
 is handsomer than it looked in the catalogue; and 
 often things do not. Remember that fancy vest, 
 Glenn?" 
 
 "What is it, Dad ?" The girl bent over the glow 
 ing handful. 
 
 "It s an amber necklace! The book said molten 
 sunbeams not half bad, either. Let me see how it 
 looks on you." 
 
 The big, gentle hands clasped the beads around 
 the slim, brown throat. 
 
 "You look yes, you do, girl! you look like an 
 Indian princess come back to what is eternally her 
 
 own." 
 
 Arnold held Glenn at arm s length and surveyed 
 her, deliberately. She seemed different to him 
 changed. 
 
 "I m afraid" Glenn s eyes dimmed "I m afraid 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 27 
 
 I m going to cry, Dad. I do sometimes when I m 
 too happy." 
 
 "You are happy, girl?" 
 
 "Oh! yes, Dad." 
 
 "And I haven t ever driven you, have I? I ve 
 left you free, haven t I ? " 
 
 "Why, yes! you funny Dad. You ve even left me 
 free to be a a little, wild, bad beastie, at times." 
 
 "Your mother wanted that I should if you were a 
 girl. The way I ve come to look at it, Glenn, is like 
 this: We often learn the biggest sort of lessons when 
 we fall the hardest. Everyone has a right even to 
 fall, if the fall is due him." 
 
 "You funny, funny old Dad. And now I know 
 I m going to laugh." 
 
 Arnold was deadly serious. He did not relinquish 
 his hold upon his girl. 
 
 "Glenn," he went on, "something maybe it is 
 these beads makes you look as if you were a 
 woman. Being a man, I don t know how to put it, 
 but, child, I want you to know that being a woman 
 doesn t keep you from being a a human being; and 
 there isn t a thing on earth, I don t care what any 
 one says, that ought to clutch and hold you if it 
 kills the human in you! I don t know why I m say 
 ing this to you, but it was in me and I had to say it." 
 Then he drew Glenn close; he saw the longing for him 
 in her eyes. She rested upon his breast as she had 
 done in her piteous, lonely childhood. 
 
 "I know why you say it, Dad," she whispered. 
 "You want to keep me free even if I am a woman 
 for my mother s sake. Why, Dad dear, leaving me 
 free has made me free. I m like the little chipmunk 
 
28 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 on whose neck you put the rubber band so that you 
 would know him. He went away, stayed away a 
 long time, but he came back, always. You need 
 never be afraid, dear. Something maybe it is the 
 light that came with my star will make me find the 
 right way back, no matter what happens. You 
 think I ve missed something because my mother 
 went. Perhaps I have; but I don t know what it is! 
 You ve filled all the the chinks, my dear, old Dad." 
 
 Arnold looked thoughtful. "This day has sort 
 of pulled loose ends together, girl, " he said, standing 
 by his chamber door. "The Pitkinses didn t with 
 hold a friendly hand after your mother went. You 
 and Polly learned to walk together while the mother 
 did for you both. If you have a call to share with 
 Polly now, I m not going to say nay I wish " 
 
 "What, Dad?" 
 
 "I wish, by thunder, that Sam would take a liking 
 to Polly. The girl s slipshod but there s the making 
 of something in her." 
 
 They were quiet for a few minutes. Life had al 
 ways meant these strange upheavals to them. There 
 would be long periods when they travelled on a 
 bright plane; then would come a change lifting 
 them together to a higher altitude. Then would 
 come a time of readjustment; and so on again into 
 the sunlight with the blessed comradeship. 
 
 "It isn t ever going to be little girl Glenn again!" 
 Arnold gave a laugh. 
 
 "No sir! But a nice, big lady with a necklace on 
 her throat." 
 
 They were emerging from their doubts. 
 
 "You ll have to be more polite to me, Dad." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 29 
 
 "Now that I know I cannot hurt you, girl, I may 
 take to to bullying you!" 
 
 "Try it, Dad; just try it!" 
 
 They were side by side at last. 
 
 "Go to bed, girl!" 
 
 "I was about to order you there, Dad." 
 
 "Good-night, girl!" 
 
 Glenn took his face in her hands. "I see you as 
 my mother saw you," she whispered, fondly. 
 
 "How, girl?" 
 
 "As the safest and best thing in life." 
 
 Then, suddenly, as things often happen, she said: 
 
 "Dad, I m going to get Polly Pitkins down here for 
 the winter!" 
 
 "What for?" Arnold recognized the old obliga 
 tion toward the Pitkinses but he always recoiled from 
 contact with them. 
 
 "I don t know. But I always when I am happy 
 think of poor Polly she has so little." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE next morning Arnold left the Lodge before 
 daylight. When he started out he looked like 
 part of a procession. He rode his own horse 
 followed by another; and a shaggy little pack horse 
 brought up the rear. 
 
 "I ll get the bedroom ready, Dad. Which one 
 shall the stranger have?" 
 
 "The best one the east chamber is the warmest 
 for it has that south window we patched on." 
 
 "Do you want Rajah, Dad?" 
 
 "No; call him back. I look like a Noah s-ark out 
 fit as it is." 
 
 "Come back, sir!" Glenn commanded, and if ever 
 a dog showed disgust Rajah did as he turned tail. 
 
 "You ought to be back by middle afternoon, Dad." 
 
 Arnold was growing dim in the strange light of the 
 morning. 
 
 "Depends on the stranger," came the words up the 
 trail. "Like as not he don t know how to ride horse 
 back. I may have to hold him on." 
 
 Glenn laughed at this and went indoors. The strain 
 of the hardest day of the year was past. She was her 
 self again cheery, carefree, happy. And yet not 
 quite the same. A girl cannot reach eighteen, even 
 among such surroundings as Glenn s, without Na 
 ture having its way with her. Her consciousness 
 of herself the previous day had been a new sensa- 
 
 30 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 31 
 
 tion; it was a coming to the surface of something that 
 had, from the beginning, been in the making. Nor 
 mally, safely, Glenn had come to womanhood with 
 out shock. Then her mother s story had had a 
 deeper effect upon her than she had at first realized. 
 Only after hours of thought did she really compre 
 hend its true significance. She had spoken sincerely 
 to her father when she said, tenderly, that he had 
 given her mother to her; she had been honest, too, 
 in her sudden desire to accept her mother as she saw 
 and felt that her father was doing; but she was glad 
 she knew it now that her mother was dead! After 
 a night s sleep she had awakened with that conscious 
 ness of relief. She felt older than her mother had 
 ever been; keener as to consequences. She knew 
 that she never would have been what she was had 
 her mother lived! At first the thought frightened 
 her, she shuddered at her disloyalty then she was 
 ashamed. But she had thrashed it out to a finish 
 she and her father stood guard over that poor, little, 
 dead and gone mother she must stay dead! Only 
 so could she be safe; only so could Glenn do her duty 
 by her. To think of her as alive was to shrink from 
 her. 
 
 Arnold was to be spared the knowledge of the 
 cruelty of his girl s youth; but it tore the girl, herself, 
 brutally now that the strength of her father s faith 
 was for the moment withdrawn. 
 
 After .Arnold passed from sight the girl set the 
 house in order, leaving to the last the eastern cham 
 ber. When she attacked that and no other word 
 expressed her shaking of pillows into spotless cases, 
 and piling of warm, red blankets upon the bed she 
 
32 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 sang at her work in that chanting, intimate fashion 
 that gave to inanimate things such a whimsical 
 reality. She laid the fire upon the broad hearth as 
 if performing a religious rite. She implored the little 
 sticks to burn; she laughingly encouraged them to 
 devour the larger ones. Only when the first log 
 glowed ruddily did she leave the fire to evolve, ac 
 cording to the scientific laws that governed it. Then 
 she tiptoed from the room, closing the door quietly 
 behind her. Already she had accepted the new pres 
 ence in the house as an accomplished fact. 
 
 She went to her room at the far end of the passage 
 and stood before her mirror. She gazed at herself 
 as if she were a new creature; unconsciously she was 
 estimating her appearance from the expected stran 
 ger s viewpoint. Her soul-tremble of the morning 
 held now no place in her thought. 
 
 "These beads," she murmured, "look queer with 
 the trousers/ She unfastened them and put them 
 lovingly in a drawer. 
 
 "I ll wear dresses and beads together," she con 
 cluded. 
 
 Then, of a sudden, she was not seeing her reflec 
 tion although she was looking full at it. A thought, 
 an impulse, was taking possession of her; she must 
 not advance, nor retreat it would claim her soon ! 
 
 Presently she smiled and nodded. It was all as 
 clear as if she had long planned it. She would pack 
 a basket with food, take the dogs, and go down the 
 road toward the cabin in the canyon ! 
 
 "Toward," was what Glenn thought, but her quick 
 imagination leaped ahead. By cutting through a 
 deep clump of pine where the trees grew straight 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 33 
 
 and close and of even height, like a picked regiment 
 she could reach a short-cut trail that would lessen 
 the distance through the canyon by many miles. 
 What a huge joke it would be to reach the cabin be 
 fore her father. What an adventure to meet the 
 stranger first! 
 
 On second thought Glenn decided that she would 
 not appear in the cabin until her father arrived, but 
 she would be under cover and keep her eyes and ears 
 open to whatever might occur about the haunted spot. 
 
 As soon as the plan materialized Glenn rushed to 
 the doing of it. She packed a luncheon and care 
 fully filled two bottles with hot coffee. Indeed as 
 she worked she smiled to see how intuitively she pre 
 pared for two "and the dogs" she thoughtfully 
 added by way of compromise. 
 
 When all was ready she strapped the basket on her 
 back and went outside. It was a bright and golden 
 morning now, and the girl stood near the house and 
 lifted her head, turning it this way and that. 
 
 "Where s that wind," she thought, "that Dad was 
 hearing last night?" But she did not really scoff. 
 Well she knew how the mountain wind came upon 
 them, often like a veritable thief. Stealing around 
 the peaks; creeping through lonely valleys and hid 
 ing in forests, it would suddenly descend upon a 
 peaceful day or night, shattering it to fragments as 
 one stood and wondered. 
 
 But this morning was as still as the previous day 
 had been, and there was a golden quality to it that 
 suggested warmth and joyousness. The dogs cap 
 ered about Glenn. Even Rajah, seeing a chance for 
 travel, forgot his dignity and capered. Bending for- 
 
34 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ward, he would quickly draw his body backward, 
 while his huge front paws held to the ground. His 
 eyes were comically beseeching. Having been for 
 saken by his master, he wanted to prove his faith in 
 his mistress. 
 
 "Come on, Rajah," cried Glenn; "You may be 
 necessary. This is a man-hunt." 
 
 Rajah at once took his place; now stately and calm. 
 Not for him were wild gambols through the under 
 brush. His duty was to be ready for commands; he 
 must be keen to answer any urge of that sense of his 
 which penetrated the unseen; guided him to succour 
 and defend. 
 
 Rags and Don, the ridiculous Newfoundland pups, 
 scrambled about upsetting each other and endanger 
 ing Rajah s poise. 
 
 ^ "You foolish babies, come, too," Glenn called. 
 "You are dusty, awkward nuisances, but you are so 
 funny." The pups whined with pleasure and tore 
 off. " 
 
 This was no mere errand to the clearing; this was 
 far-faring and promised adventure. The party 
 started on down the sunny road that lay like a broad 
 path from the heights to the canyon. The puppies 
 began their usual idiotic pranks. They hustled 
 off into bushes and behind rocks, skirmishing back 
 with all the appearance of having seen and heard that 
 which had caused their hair to stand upright. Glenn 
 laughed. They were so absurd that pair of incon 
 sequent pups. Rajah hung his head; the pups bored 
 him. 
 
 Keeping to the middle of the highway, swinging 
 along in the slow, even stride of a true mountaineer, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 35 
 
 Glenn began to chant as another might have sung. 
 She crooned, as the Indians do, her impressions as 
 she went along. 
 
 "Oh! road that winds and curves do you hate to 
 slip away into the cold dark of the canyon? Shame 
 on you! Cling to the tall rocks, keep the sound of 
 the river in your ears; at the other end there is light. 
 Be brave! Cling to the tall wall of rocks; keep the 
 river roo roo roo in your ears ! " 
 
 Singing breaking now and then into a whistle to 
 recall the dogs the girl came to the point where the 
 road dipped suddenly into shadow. A massive wall 
 of gray rock flanked the right side; a cavernous depth 
 yawned on the other, from whose unseen depths 
 arose the noise of the maddened river hurling itself 
 along against every obstacle in its frenzy to reach the 
 wide, open, sun-lighted spaces and the sea. 
 
 Glenn no longer sang. She walked with her hand 
 on Rajah s head; the puppies forsook their senseless 
 circling, and trotted sedately close to their mis 
 tress. It was one thing to play at bravery in the 
 sunshine, quite another to be stalwart in this dark 
 and lonely place with that awful noise deafening one. 
 And where was the day with its hint of summer? The 
 cold sent a chill to the heart. Then, farther on, the 
 wall of rock gave way to a wood whose blackness was 
 specked with sunlight from the day that still existed 
 far, far above the dim place. 
 
 Glenn turned into this forest. Beyond it the trail 
 led to the canyon cabin. Rags and Don darted 
 ahead again. This was less awesome than the road. 
 They were gone for five minutes or so; then they 
 came scrambling back with every appearance of 
 
36 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 having been frightened to the torture-point. Even 
 Rajah was impressed this time. 
 
 "You fool dogs!" Glenn exclaimed, shivering a 
 bit in spite of herself, "if you hadn t been acting like 
 curs all the way, I d pay some attention to you now. 
 Stop! Don t you dare whine and slink. Up there, 
 Don; you too, Rags!" 
 
 The dogs obeyed to the extent of standing on all 
 four feet, but they refused to go ahead. Their eyes 
 glanced down the dim trail and then turned piteously 
 to the girl. 
 
 Rajah waited for the word of command. He 
 knew his duty, but he respected authority. 
 
 "Good, old chap!" Glenn said; "Go on, I ll 
 follow." 
 
 Rajah was soon out of sight, but the crackling of 
 underbrush as he plunged ahead was guide enough 
 for the girl, with her two dogs now keeping as close 
 to her heels as possible. 
 
 The minutes dragged along. Rajah did not re 
 turn; nor did he give his call for which Glenn was 
 waiting while her breath came quick and hard. She 
 knew that, if there were cause, Rajah would call. 
 
 Suddenly the awaited sound broke the deathly 
 stillness! With outstretched arms the girl dashed 
 ahead ; she took not one false step. She made straight 
 for that quick, alarmed summons; and in a few 
 minutes she saw in a little open spot under an over 
 hanging rock the great dog lying at full length be 
 side the body of a man ! 
 
 Glenn ran forward and bent over the prostrate 
 form. She was not conscious of any sensation at all, 
 but she worked like a machine that was guided by 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 37 
 
 unerring wisdom. She saw, in a moment, that the 
 stranger was not dead, but had either fainted or been 
 stunned, perhaps by a fall. His head was near the 
 rock; his hat had fallen off; and a gunny sack, which 
 had been strapped across his shoulders, was twisted 
 to one side. 
 
 Glenn worked quickly. She ran to a near-by 
 spring for water; she bathed the white, thin, up 
 turned face until she saw the eyelids quiver. She 
 chafed the limp hands; she implored the helpless man 
 to make an effort; and when he responded by slight 
 twitches of the mouth she opened her luncheon 
 basket and took out a bottle of coffee which, happily, 
 was still warm. With firm and patient hand she held 
 the bottle to the man s lips and saw with relief that 
 about one drop out of ten went gurgling down his 
 throat; the others did not matter, although, even in 
 that tense moment, the sight of the dark fluid on the 
 white chin suggested unpleasant things. 
 
 Rajah looked on sedately and intelligently; the 
 other dogs had drawn near and sat on their haunches 
 contemplating the unusual scene with bland puppy 
 eyes. 
 
 Then, after what seemed hours, the man gazed full 
 into the face over his own! His head was now on 
 Glenn s lap. There was a struggle, evidently, to grip 
 and hold the moment of consciousness. Something 
 must have been wrenched from the effort, however, 
 for the lips smiled grimly before a blank nothingness 
 claimed them again. This time the faintness, or 
 whatever it was, passed quickly. Again the eyes 
 opened, the lips and chin stiffened. Then the most 
 inane words came from the man s mouth. 
 
38 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Thanks, my boy," he said, "but will you give me 
 my hat? A man and his hat, you know! Queer, 
 isn t it, how they go together out of doors?" 
 
 Glenn was so surprised at the foolish demand that 
 without replying she simply reached for the hat and 
 laid it on the man s chest, since to place it where it 
 rightfully belonged was, for the moment, an impossi 
 bility. 
 
 She knew who he was; she had the advantage and 
 it gave her assurance as she regarded him. There 
 was another brief lapsing, during which more coffee 
 was offered, and, this time, swallowed. Presently 
 the prostrate patient protested. 
 
 " For mercy s sake don t drown me with coffee. I m 
 all right now. Help me up, will you ? " The irritable 
 tone: the confusion as to her sex made Glenn smile. 
 
 She assisted him to an upright position; even put 
 his hat, mechanically, on his head; then she laughed 
 outright. The strain was lessening and the whole 
 situation had a humorous appeal. The white, coffee- 
 stained face; the cap awry; the weak body braced 
 against the rock, the semi-circle of solemn dogs in 
 the dim, shadowy space; and the deep silence, all 
 combined to unsteady the nerves. The laugh irri 
 tated the recovering senses of the stranger: he looked 
 angry. 
 
 "I must seem an ass! For Heaven s sake call off 
 the dogs, my good fellow; they make me feel as if 
 I were a ghost and that they were watching for a 
 chance to prove it." 
 
 Glenn gave an order to the puppies. Rajah 
 needed none. His immediate duty was done; he 
 greatly preferred a noon-day nap. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 39 
 
 The situation was becoming uncomfortable, and 
 the man with a sudden sense of gratitude took it in 
 hand. He began to talk it didn t matter what he 
 said words would ease things up until he could get 
 on his feet. The boy near him must be a factor in 
 his immediate future, so it were wise to propitiate 
 him. The sudden silences were to be avoided: they 
 emphasized the situation. 
 
 "What are you doing?" he asked, and indeed 
 there was genuine interest in the question. 
 
 "Making a fire. We re going to have lunch." 
 
 The sparks were already lighting the gloom; the 
 smell of wood and food gave heart and courage to 
 them both. 
 
 "It it seems quite unreal, you know," the man 
 murmured, and gave a nervous laugh. "Being ill, 
 and alone so much, has played the mischief with my 
 nerves. I swear I wouldn t risk my oath now on the 
 thing I think I see. You and the dogs and the fire 
 are real, aren t you? You are what you seem?" 
 
 "I don t know what I seem" Glenn had her back 
 to him; she was balancing a tin pail filled, apparently, 
 with tormenting odours, over the blaze "I m real, 
 so are the dogs, and the things to eat. Now, if 
 you will try to stop talking and will take food and 
 and some more coffee, inside of you, you ll be able 
 to go on, or back, or wherever you want to go. You 
 can t stay here and the days are short." 
 
 " Days ? I thought it was night." 
 
 "No it s a little past noon-time. The canyon is 
 always full of darkness. But you mustn t talk until 
 you ve taken this food. " 
 
 For a few minutes the man obeyed, and ate, at 
 
40 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 first tremblingly, then more naturally. With innate 
 courtesy Glenn also helped herself and the dogs to a 
 share of the meal, and thus kept matters normal. 
 
 Suddenly the voice much stronger now broke 
 forth : 
 
 "I wonder whether you can guess all that this 
 means to a fellow who had given up ?" 
 
 Glenn was nibbling at a chicken bone. 
 
 "Why had you given up?" she asked. Her eyes 
 were lowered; the stranger for the first time noticed 
 what a handsome boy it was who had saved his life. 
 
 "Well I d done a mad kind of thing and I lost 
 courage. I don t rightfully belong here, and I fancy 
 I have been about as sick as a man can be and pull 
 out. A young chap found me in a rickety cabin 
 a kind of toy house tacked on to the edge of a cavern 
 about a mile deep. He saved my life; just stuck to 
 me until I was able to to kick him out. I couldn t 
 hang on to him any longer. I found, after he went, 
 that I wasn t quite so strong as I had imagined, and 
 then last night" (the man s face twitched) "I had 
 a dream! After that I couldn t stand the place. 
 I m MacDonald Grey," the weak voice concluded 
 faintly. 
 
 Glenn raised her eyes to the thin, quizzical face. 
 The coffee stains caught her attention; she wanted to 
 laugh, but held the impulse in check. 
 
 "Yes: I knew you. You see Sam Morton came 
 and told us. 
 
 "I m Mary Glenn Arnold," she said, evenly. She 
 added the rarely used "Mary" to impress her sex upon 
 the amazed stranger. 
 
 "The devil you are!" he gasped. Her words had 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 41 
 
 stimulated him more than the food or drink had. 
 "I I beg your pardon," he added and then, he noted 
 the form, eyes, colouring of his companion and stran 
 gled the second explosive as it rose to his lips. What 
 a fool he had been! "I I was making for your 
 place," he said instead; and with a deference that 
 amused Glenn. 
 
 "And the entire Arnold outfit is on the trail for 
 you," she lightly added. She felt herself mistress of 
 the situation and it was exhilarating. "But you 
 mustn t talk any more," she went on. "You will 
 need all your strength and mine to reach the road in 
 time to meet my father. He has horses; he went 
 down to get you. When he finds that you have left 
 the cabin, he ll hurry back. 
 
 " Come, get up ! So. Now, then, lean on me and 
 and don t open your mouth." 
 
 Grey staggered to his feet without question. He 
 realized the importance of absolute obedience. He 
 was dizzy and faint, but he clutched the firm shoul 
 der offered for his support, and found, to his relief, 
 that he could walk more steadily than he had ex 
 pected to. There were moments, however, when 
 endurance seemed no longer possible. There were 
 obstacles in the way that proved almost insurmount 
 able. Before a tree trunk, across the trail, Grey 
 paused, the beads of sweat standing on his face. 
 
 "I m afraid I cannot!" he moaned. His legs 
 felt like lead; to lift them seemed beyond his powers. 
 
 "The road is just ahead," urged Glenn. "See. 
 I ll get over you scramble." 
 
 And Grey scrambled. It did not seem absurd. 
 That primitive use of hands and arms, as well as 
 
42 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 legs, appeared most sensible and dignified. He was 
 on the other side at last and dropped down, panting. 
 
 "Now rest," commanded Glenn, standing close 
 and watching the white, set face. 
 
 " I m about all in ! " The words came quiver- 
 ingly up to her. 
 
 "No, you re not!" There was an appeal in the 
 cheery response "you only think you are!" 
 
 Just then the stillness was broken by the steady 
 tramp and the quick breathing of mounting horses 
 on the trail! Glenn darted away. She ran, calling 
 as she went: "Dad, Dad!" In her relief she evi 
 denced the strain she had been enduring. 
 
 When Arnold saw her, he raised himself in his sad 
 dle; his face was grave and troubled. As he neared 
 her he cried grimly: 
 
 "Girl! I should have gone last night. While we 
 slept the cabin rolled over the precipice! I ve been 
 searching for hours; the man " 
 
 "Dad" (and now Glenn laughed hysterically) 
 "Why, Dad, the man s all right, he s up there by the 
 road waiting. He was coming to us I found him. 
 It s going to be something of a job to get him home 
 but he s safe." 
 
 Arnold made no rejoinder. What he had suffered 
 during the last few hours had made his strong body 
 weak. It called forth all his self-control to rally it 
 for the immediate demand. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THERE were times, during the week following 
 Grey s rescue, that he closed his eyes and luxu 
 riated in the fanciful belief exaggerated, of 
 course, by his weakness that he had left his old, 
 worn-out self behind him when he came up the 
 trail from the canyon. By way of diversion he 
 pictured how he might feel if he were suddenly con 
 fronted by the discarded husk. What would be his 
 attitude toward it? Would he ignore it, temporize 
 with it, or denounce it roundly, as a strong and re 
 juvenated man should? 
 
 A dream he had had in the cabin still lingered in 
 his memory. In it his two selves played a part. 
 The weaker, lying sick on the bed, was urged to 
 rise and depart by the stronger self, standing 
 guard. He liked to feel that his better nature had 
 rescued him and having got him free from the doomed 
 shack, had given him a new start on the upward 
 way. 
 
 All this was whimsical and, perhaps, weak minded, 
 but it helped to while away the time in the east cham 
 ber when he was not eating, sleeping, or watching 
 Arnold and his amazing daughter pouring out the 
 measure of their unselfish hospitality. 
 
 This unquestioned service, of which he was the 
 recipient, often caused Grey to ponder. 
 
 "Why I might be a beggarly scoundrel for all they 
 
 43 
 
44 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 know to the contrary," he thought. "Once I gained 
 strength I might turn and rend them." 
 
 But right there another line of reasoning entered 
 in. 
 
 "Would I, though? Would any one, but a de 
 mented devil, fail to respond to this method of treat 
 ment? And if the wretch were deficient, another 
 course of treatment, different from one generally 
 accorded him, would be resorted to." 
 
 And so the idle hours dragged along while Grey 
 made mental muscle and gained physical strength. 
 
 He heard his host and the girl as they worked be 
 low stairs. He was aware, during one night in the 
 east chamber, of a sudden and devastating wind 
 striking the house. It had seemed to come out of a 
 deep silence like the blow from the hammer of a 
 mighty Thor. It had startled and awed him and he 
 trembled under his blankets, recalling the cabin in 
 the canyon. When Arnold entered the bedroom the 
 morning after the storm he had a breezy and whole 
 some appearance a big wind always had an ex 
 hilarating effect upon him. 
 
 "How did you like our little zephyr last night?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "It seems to have cooled the air," Grey returned; 
 " it was rather noisy while it lasted." 
 
 "Yes; it s taken the last vestige of summer." 
 
 Arnold walked to the window and looked out. 
 He had come on a difficult mission. Never before 
 had he been so confused regarding a stranger in his 
 home. His summer guests were business proposi 
 tions and regulated accordingly. To have a per 
 fectly unknown man upon his hands for months, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 45 
 
 during a season of the year when, of necessity, he 
 must be one of the family, involved an entirely new 
 handling of the matter. 
 
 Instinctively Arnold liked Grey; he seemed, in a 
 way, a kind of salvage from what might have been 
 an unforgivable neglect of duty. Then, too, Arnold 
 was gregarious and the thought of having a good 
 comrade and he felt that Grey must be that in 
 his home while snow and ice held them all more or 
 less captive, had a distinct charm. On the other 
 hand it was not showing common sense to permit 
 this, knowing as little as he did about Grey and being 
 responsible for Glenn s peace of mind and extra 
 duties. There must be some kind of understanding 
 and yet to confront a sick man with his doubts and 
 what might seem to be curiosity, went against the 
 hospitable soul of Tom Arnold. For himself alone, 
 he would have taken all chances rather than appear 
 suspicious; but there was Glenn. To be sure the 
 girl had expressed herself fully on the subject that 
 very morning. She had been explicit and concise. 
 
 "I reckon he" she pointed above "is in for it up 
 here, Dad, whether he wants to stay or not. I think 
 it s great fun. But if, after he gets well, we don t 
 like him, we can teach him snow-shoeing and point 
 him down to Connor s." With this the girl slid 
 gracefully and suggestively across the floor. But 
 Arnold was not so irresponsible. It would be some 
 time before a snow-shoe exit could be relied upon, 
 and after the drifts began to form any other method 
 was all but impossible. 
 
 ,. So Arnold, by the window, grew uneasy. Grey, 
 upon the bed, with the mental clairvoyance that was 
 
46 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 his principal stock in trade, began to take in the sit 
 uation. 
 
 "I was thinking/ Arnold shifted from one foot 
 to the other like an awkward boy, "that unless you 
 meant what you said in your letter about staying up 
 here for the winter, we ought, in a way, to consider. 
 Once snow falls, it means business. Travel isn t 
 easy; in fact no one, as you might say, moves about 
 much." 
 
 Tones convey shades to a keen mind. Grey knew, 
 as surely as if the words had said it, that he was 
 no unwelcome guest. With doubt concerning him 
 removed, he felt sure he would be a most welcome 
 addition at a time which, under the best of conditions, 
 must be dreary. He smiled and began to like and 
 admire his host in an entirely new way. Then, too, 
 above anything else, he wanted to remain and ex 
 perience something that appealed deeply to him. 
 Rest, peace, the companionship of rare natures. And 
 so he said: 
 
 "I meant all that I wrote; I mean it more than 
 ever now, since I have tasted life up here. But see 
 here, Arnold, Fm gaining by the hour and I would 
 not inconvenience you for the world. I do not know 
 the etiquette of the heights but I do know that I 
 have no right to claim anything from you without, 
 to a certain extent, explaining myself." 
 
 This manner of approach pleased Arnold. He drew 
 a chair close to the bed and fairly beamed on his guest. 
 
 "I hope you understand. You will, later," he 
 said, genially. "It s one thing to drift about in the 
 open and quite another to be jammed, like logs, as 
 we are up here in winter." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 47 
 
 "Quite!" agreed Grey, and lifted himself on his 
 elbow to test his strength. "And a young girl in the 
 bargain, too," he added. 
 
 "Exactly!" Arnold nodded and felt morally sure 
 of his man now, and Grey went quietly on. 
 
 "I m a writer chap one who has been fortunate 
 enough to make his bread and butter by his trade 
 after the usual fight and learning to adjust myself. 
 I ve got a bit more, too, salted down, from a grand 
 mother who managed to keep her faith in me." 
 
 This effort to prove himself caused Grey to flush 
 nervously for he saw that it irritated Arnold. 
 
 "Fm not lying awake, nights, fretting about dol 
 lars and cents," Tom broke in. "Along that line 
 it s my religion to share with my fellow creature." 
 
 "I m sure of that, Arnold, but I wanted you to 
 understand that I started up here on a purely busi 
 ness venture. I see now that if I stay it will all be 
 quite different. Unless you permit me to be one 
 of the family, so to speak, share your duties and all 
 the rest, I d be an infernal nuisance. On the other 
 hand, if you can accept me in a way, adopt me 
 I believe, honestly I do, Arnold, I believe you would 
 n t be sorry. I ve done a bit of hob-nobbing in odd 
 corners of the earth, with a good many sorts, in my 
 time, and I ve never been kicked out yet." 
 
 They smiled genially at each other and Arnold 
 hitched his chair nearer. He was going to offer his 
 hand soon and he estimated the dividing space. 
 
 "I m not running away from anything but myself, 
 Arnold. I m about the average kind of fellow, but 
 if I were sitting in your chair and you were lying 
 here, I could take your hand, old man!" 
 
48 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 That was enough. Out went Arnold s big fist and 
 grasped the thin one extended. 
 
 "You re welcome, Mac." 
 
 Now when Arnold dropped the surname and took 
 up the Christian name it was like knighting one. 
 "Rise up a friend!" it meant. If ever the old title 
 were to be resumed it would mark a drear day for 
 somebody. 
 
 Grey settled back among his pillows. He was 
 weary, but happily content. 
 
 "I m from Boston," he added as an afterthought. 
 Then, thinking that it might add to his respecta 
 bility and entrenched position: "I m twenty-seven 
 years old." 
 
 Somehow this struck Arnold as deliciously amus 
 ing and, at the same time, conclusive and definite. 
 Glenn at once seemed to shrivel into mere baby 
 hood and became no factor at all in the new arrange 
 ments. 
 
 By the middle of the following week Grey grew 
 ambitious and, taking advantage of an hour when 
 the house was as silent as a tomb, he struggled into 
 his clothes and made his way pausing to take breath 
 and gripping hold of everything that offered support 
 downstairs. When he reached the living room 
 below he stood still and estimated the chances of 
 getting across the space that lay between him and 
 a deep, cushioned chair by the hearth. There was 
 nothing to clutch at on the way and, should dizzi 
 ness overpower him, he might make a spectacle of 
 himself. It was pathetic but humorous, too. The 
 humorous aspect braced Grey. He straightened his 
 shoulders and strode forth! 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 49 
 
 At that instant a most unexpected sound nearly 
 caused him to fall; he did, indeed, stagger. 
 
 It was the tinkle of a mandolin impudently keeping 
 time to his uneven steps ! He was angry. No man 
 likes to appear ridiculous. 
 
 "I didn t know you were around," he said, sharply. 
 
 "I m not around, Fm here. Go on, Mr. Grey; the 
 way you walk makes a new tune." 
 
 Glenn was sitting hunched up on a window seat 
 under the stairs. 
 
 "Don t you think you re a bit unkind?" Grey 
 stood still, closing his eyes, and struggling to regain 
 confidence. 
 
 Then he felt the girl beside him. 
 
 "Here s the same shoulder you used before," she 
 said, in tones so tender that all resentment died. "The 
 chair has been waiting by the fire for days, Mr. Grey 
 just waiting for you. " 
 
 Gray, without hesitation, accepted the offer of the 
 firm little shoulder, and so he reached safety. 
 
 After a few minutes he was surprised to find that 
 his efforts, instead of exhausting him, seemed to have 
 given him strength. 
 
 "I ve made some progress since the day your 
 father and you half led, half dragged me across this 
 room two weeks ago," he said, with courage. "I 
 didn t care then whether I lived or died." 
 
 "And now?" Glenn was standing near the chim 
 ney, her arms were folded and her eyes were fixed 
 upon Grey with intense interest. 
 
 "Oh! I m keen about living. As a matter of 
 fact, I ve got to thinking I never have lived before." 
 
 "What have you been doing?" 
 
50 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Nothing very important, I m afraid, unless it 
 was making my way up here." 
 
 Glenn had a curious way of crinkling her left eyelid 
 when she was amused but not sufficiently moved to 
 laughter. It was very captivating and made her ap 
 pear absurdly young. 
 
 While Grey was noting the charm of the girl in her 
 rough clothing he was aware of several other things 
 at the same time. He was picturing Glenn in differ 
 ent garments; woman s frills and ruffles. It was 
 something of a sensation to dissociate her from trous 
 ers and flannel waist. Then the remarkable aspect 
 of the room fixed itself in his brain. 
 
 All around the walls, where there were no windows, 
 doors, or chimney, there were shelves with books. 
 Good books, too, he knew that at a glance. 
 
 There were bright Indian rugs on the floor and 
 artistic furniture home-made but conceived and 
 wrought by a master. 
 
 "I cannot account for it all, by Jove!" he suddenly 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "What?" Glenn was making her estimates, too. 
 Here, before her, was a man. Hitherto he had been 
 a well, a fellow creature one that had been res 
 cued and brought back to life. Seen now, clothed 
 and sitting upright, he was something to be con 
 sidered, weighed accepted or rejected. 
 
 "What can you not account for?" 
 
 "Well, this room; your father; you the whole out 
 fit." 
 
 "Oh ! Once you settle about Dad the rest is easy." 
 
 Again Glenn crinkled her eyelid and Grey had that 
 sudden uplift of spirits. This was somewhat cor- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 51 
 
 rected, however, by the girl, at that instant, raising 
 her foot, in a quick, boyish way, and kicking a log 
 back to its duty. 
 
 - "Dad s the only wonder. He began life by not 
 belonging to any one in particular but everyone gave 
 him a lift. He worked in a mine. He taught him 
 self to read and write and then city folks began to 
 notice him and sent him books. When he had money 
 he bought more books and after awhile he bought a 
 mine that everyone else thought was worthless, but 
 which wasn t. Then he bought more books and 
 built a log cabin; the cabin was the beginning of this." 
 Glenn looked about her lovingly, proudly. "He 
 guided men, quite wonderful men, every summer; you 
 learn a lot that way if you are the good-friend sort." 
 
 "You bet!" interjected Grey. He was being 
 carried along in spite of himself. 
 
 "And then my father met my mother." Glenn 
 paused and was about to hurry on, but, feeling that 
 she was disloyal, she added: "My mother came from 
 a long distance; she was a beautiful woman and 
 and so good and wise. She helped my father a great 
 deal." 
 
 "Of course!" Grey was watching the expressive 
 face and his quick imagination put its touch right 
 there upon a high note. He asked no question, 
 however, and the story ran on. 
 
 "My mother died the night I was born. After 
 that a family came to live here to help father 
 raise me. I suppose I was rather messy at first, but 
 the Pitkinses were messier, and when I was six Dad 
 sent them off to their cabin up the trail and after 
 that he and I made it out, somehow, together." 
 
52 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 A suspicious mistiness rose in Glenn s eyes. 
 
 "We must have been funny, Dad and I," she 
 said, tenderly. "He made me little trousers by 
 cutting out a paper pattern of his own and then slic 
 ing it down to my size. He taught me everything 
 cooking and climbing and taking care of myself and 
 and all the rest; and then when I was twelve years 
 old a young professor came up here with a badly 
 damaged constitution and Dad kept him for three 
 years. He was quite well by that time and he had 
 filled me with so much education that I couldn t 
 think!" 
 
 Grey threw his head back and laughed. 
 
 "So many trees," he quoted, "that you couldn t 
 see the wood, eh ? " 
 
 Glenn thought over the remark and then said: 
 
 "That s awfully clever. I know woods like that. 
 Yes, that is the way I felt, exactly. You see, when 
 ever he thought of anything he just put it in my brain, 
 and there it was ! When he went away I felt sort of 
 choked and I told Dad I guessed it would take me the 
 rest of my life to get the litter cleared up." 
 
 "I begin to see it all perfectly," Grey broke in. 
 ,"You are quite right. Granting that your father is 
 a wonder and he s that certainly the rest is easy." 
 
 "Am I tiring you?" asked Glenn. 
 
 "Good Lord! no. I am getting stronger by the 
 minute." 
 
 "There s something I would like to ask you about; 
 something the professor said." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "It was about a procession. I have always known 
 he didn t mean exactly what he said and it made 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 53 
 
 Dad angry. He told Dad that I ought to be sent 
 down with my kind where I would have to march 
 with the procession. That was the word he used: 
 procession/ What procession did he mean?" 
 
 Grey s eyes were filled with merriment. 
 
 "I somehow cannot imagine you keeping step," 
 he murmured, presently, more to himself than to her. 
 
 "Then there is such a thing. What kind marches 
 in it ? Just what is meant ? " 
 
 "A good many kinds; all trying to keep step; be 
 ing cursed if they do not." 
 
 "Why, it must be very unpleasant. Why do they 
 do it? Where are they all marching to?" Glenn 
 was trying to sift the truth from the chaff. 
 
 "The Lord knows why they do it and what they 
 are aiming to reach. It s a beastly parade." 
 
 "I should think so!" Glenn was visualizing it. 
 "What would happen if you ran or jumped or just 
 stood still?" 
 
 "Something too awful to contemplate." 
 
 "You are making fun of me, Mr. Grey? You 
 mustn t do that, you know." The girl looked her 
 warning. 
 
 "Hardly that, Glenn. What your teacher-chap 
 meant was that you were so different from the rank 
 and file that life might be a little harder for you un 
 less you learned to well, keep step." 
 
 "I see." Then, after a moment s pause: "I m 
 afraid I never could. Never! If there were a big 
 reason, I might try, but if there were not some rea 
 son, bigger than I, why, I d just come back here 
 where one does not have to to keep step; where 
 there is room to fling around a bit. I say, Mr. 
 
54 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Grey, what do you think about coming outside and 
 seeing the sun set? It s going to be great; it s been 
 getting ready for hours piling up clouds." 
 
 "You mean for me to go out of doors?" Grey 
 liad accepted the invalid role more fully than he him 
 self realized. 
 
 "Yes, I ll get a fur coat of Dad s. The air 
 will make you over. Snow is coming and the 
 air is always softer and kinder before the snow chokes 
 it." 
 
 Afraid of seeming cowardly, Grey got upon his feet 
 and plunged his arms into the great coat Glenn of 
 fered. The whole scheme reeked of madness, but he 
 hadn t moral courage to refuse. Once out of doors 
 he drew a long breath and held up his head. 
 
 "Want the shoulder?" asked Glenn, imperson 
 ally. 
 
 "Thanks, but I believe I ll trust to myself for a 
 moment. It s splendid to think that I can." 
 
 "Oh, you re quite well now," Glenn paced the 
 piazza with him; "you are only rinding it out." 
 
 "I must be a dub to have doubted. Come, let 
 us try a turn on the ground. This is immense ! " 
 
 So down the shallow step they went and with only 
 the sky above them, Grey had a wild impulse to 
 shout. 
 
 "Why, look at that peak!" he exclaimed, gazing 
 at the Monk. "It looks as if it had got loose and 
 was running." 
 
 "Yes, doesn t he?" Glenn glowed, happily. Grey s 
 response to her mountains filled her with delight; 
 she was growing to like him more and more. 
 
 "How do you think the Monk would look in the 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 55 
 
 procession?" she asked and set her eyelid to its be 
 witching trick. 
 
 "Very much as you would!" And Grey was not 
 laughing now as he fixed his eyes upon her. Then 
 Glenn turned suddenly her full, frank gaze upon him. 
 
 "I like you so much!" she said, kindly, generously. 
 "I was afraid I might not when you were up and 
 dressed. People are so different. But you seem to 
 belong here; Dad said you did but I had to know. 
 I was afraid you would turn out to be quite awful 
 when we were all shut away together. But you will 
 not be." 
 
 They had accepted him, then! 
 
 "And now?" Grey awaited the answer with a 
 keen curiosity. 
 
 "I m sure it is all right. We ll have great times. 
 Winter puts you a long way ahead or back! We 
 read and talk and think. Dad says I always live two 
 years every winter and slip back one every summer." 
 
 "I understand." Then, with inspiration: "Glenn, 
 what do you say to this ? If I write up here and I 
 mean to! may I read what I write to you and your 
 father, evenings?" 
 
 The girl drew her breath in sharply. 
 
 " If you only will ! " she whispered. " I ve dreamed 
 of it. I ve seen us all sitting by the fire; Dad and I 
 listening, and you reading; and- and the stillness out 
 of doors; and then being afraid to go to bed as Sam 
 Morton says he was when you told him things in the 
 canyon cabin." 
 
 Grey was mightily amused. He was positively 
 strutting. His new strength, the joy in being alive, 
 set every sense tingling. 
 
56 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "By the way, what has become of Morton? I 
 thought he might drop in, you know, to see how a 
 fellow was getting on." 
 
 Glenn s face clouded and her eyes fell. Grey fol 
 lowed her glance and saw that she was looking at a 
 ring upon her left hand. Why this should startle 
 him it would have been hard to say, but several of his 
 emotions registered an entirely new set of impres 
 sions. 
 
 "Perhaps he has been here?" 
 
 "Yes he dropped in." 
 
 "Didn t he want to see me?" 
 
 "Well not enough to waken you; you were 
 asleep." 
 
 "I see!" Grey kept his eyes on the ring. Glenn 
 caught his glance and flushed deeply. 
 
 "Morton is a great chap," Grey made an absurd 
 effort to be vague and impersonal "a great chap. 
 I owe him a good deal. I must get in touch with him. 
 He said he lived near here. Perhaps in a day or so, 
 I may be able to tackle the climb to his place." 
 
 "Sam has gone to Connor s for mail and supplies," 
 Glenn replied and she turned the little stones of the 
 ring away from view. "He ll be back before long 
 but if you want to visit Sam you will have to learn to 
 use snow-shoes." 
 
 "Why, in heaven s name?" 
 
 Glenn looked up, sniffed, and as if scenting some 
 thing from afar said : 
 
 "The snow is coming and soon." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 GREY had never conceived of such a sight as 
 greeted him several days later when, upon 
 rising, he looked out of the window. He felt 
 as if he, along with the universe, had been blotted 
 out. Peering from his window he gazed into a white 
 silence. It did not seem to move; there was no wind 
 stirring; there was nothing. He felt oppressed, and, 
 with the ignorance of the stranger, he wondered if 
 he, or any of them, would emerge alive for it was 
 snowing in the mountains! Then, from below, he 
 heard the blessed sounds of life and safety. Arnold 
 was in high spirits carrying in wood, apparently, and 
 stamping about noisily. Glenn was chanting glee 
 fully an incantation to the very thing that was de 
 pressing Grey. She called it a "dear, soft blanket" 
 a "white wing" a "kind breast to snuggle 
 under/ 
 
 Then, suddenly, the spirit of the storm took pos 
 session of Grey as if by magic. He was in for weeks 
 of this marvellous, white stillness; weeks when the 
 world and all that went into the making of the world 
 would be shut away. There would be hours by 
 glowing fires moments of intense excitement while 
 meals were planned for Glenn managed to invest 
 housekeeping with a lively interest that extended to 
 every member of the family. Already Grey had 
 learned the difference between housekeeping and 
 
 57 
 
58 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 home-making; had shared the joy of cooperation. 
 Often, in the daily tasks with Arnold or Glenn, he 
 would pause and chuckle as he pictured his old self 
 contemplating this new being who prided himself on 
 his wood-chopping ability and the ease with which 
 he mastered details of importance in the kitchen. 
 Besides the home tasks, Grey s hours at his table in 
 the eastern chamber were beginning to be fruitful and 
 gratifying. He discovered that his renewed body 
 rose to the demands of his refreshed brain. 
 
 Since that first day with Glenn in the open, he 
 realized that he was well! He never slipped back, 
 although he put his powers to great tests. He 
 worked, often, far into the night; he slept the dream 
 less sleep of health; and, like a man cured of the drug 
 habit, he looked back at his old slavedom and felt a 
 wholesome disgust for the trivial things that had kept 
 him from his work and all but defeated his best 
 qualities of mind and body. 
 
 He had, already, two completed manuscripts 
 short. stones born of recent inspiration. He meant 
 to read them aloud to Arnold and Glenn and 
 then send them to the one friend with whom he 
 meant to keep in touch during his absence Beverly 
 Train. 
 
 It was this friend who had originally driven him 
 forth. She had demanded justice from himself, to 
 himself. She stood guard now; she would not in 
 trude until he signalled her. 
 
 "I must write to Beverly Train," thought Grey, 
 looking into the depths of the white stillness. "I 
 will write to-day after I have read my things to 
 Arnold and Glenn." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 59 
 
 Then into the quiet peacefulness rang a call from 
 below: 
 
 "Mac; oh Mac! Breakfast, sir; and who was 
 right about the snow? It has hung back a bit to be 
 sure, but it s here!" 
 
 Grey smiled. The use of his abbreviated name, 
 by the girl, had been decided upon the night before. 
 
 "Two names for one man when we are all shut in 
 together?" Glenn had said: "Just pure waste!" 
 
 How comical she had looked as she spoke, striding 
 about like a jolly boy, meanwhile daintily serving the 
 evening meal. 
 
 "Mac, my father would say. Mr. Grey would I 
 say it is all nonsense ! What s a name anyhow ? " 
 
 "Not much," Grey had returned, "unless it is one 
 that sounds like a bit of landscape, as yours does. 
 But by all means let us economize in titles. Mac 
 is short and to the point. A good handle to utilize 
 when I m wanted." 
 
 Glenn had, without a moment s hesitation, adopted 
 it. 
 
 All that first day of the storm Arnold worked with 
 a cheerful desperation that was electrical in its effect. 
 It was as if he felt a sense of danger and must comply 
 with all laws. 
 
 Wood, water, and oil were brought into closer 
 range. Every suggestion of loose latch or window 
 frame was looked after and the animals were fed 
 early the dogs given the freedom of the house. 
 
 "Looks like we were in for it," Arnold announced 
 at supper; "it will get a good foundation by morning 
 and then settle down into a regular, proper spell of 
 cold." 
 
60 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 The tone of authority impressed Grey. He no 
 longer questioned his host or Glenn on certain mat 
 ters. There might be delays, but their weather- 
 sense was far-reaching and true. 
 
 And that evening they drew close around the 
 hearth; the hanging lamp was lighted so that its rays 
 fell upon the manuscript that Grey was to read. 
 Arnold was smoking contentedly. Glenn, her eyes 
 wide and shining, was settled among the dogs, as 
 close to the fire as safety permitted. No one spoke 
 for a time and outside the house something seemed 
 pressing. Arnold said that it was the wind trying 
 to push through the dense storm. 
 
 Then, quietly, Grey began to read. He described 
 the cabin in the canyon. So vividly did he do this 
 that Arnold raised his keen eyes. The words gripped 
 him from the start. The artist in him was alert and 
 responsive. He saw the bare loneliness of the grim 
 place. He became the half-sick man from the prac 
 tical east, who meant to disprove the tales of the old 
 cabin but who, presently, became convinced that 
 where men and women have lived and suffered, loved 
 and died, something like the fragrance of a flower 
 removed clings and materializes. 
 
 Arnold knew the history of the cabin. It was 
 before his time that a man, greedy and beset by the 
 idea that he had discovered a rich vein of gold, had 
 brought his young wife to the canyon and, early and 
 late, worked to discover what was not there. Re 
 fusing assistance, because he meant to possess all in 
 case success came, he laboured on. The wife had 
 died of loneliness and fear; the man, at last filled 
 with disappointment and remorse, fled the scene; 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 61 
 
 and soon after, the mountaineers began to repeat 
 the ugly tales that ended in branding the cabin and 
 making of it a hated and feared place. 
 
 But Grey s story ran on. The sceptic who, single- 
 handed, had taken upon himself the task of laying 
 the ghost forever, stayed in the desolate spot; stayed 
 until something happened! He took a photograph 
 one day and, upon developing it, discovered that, 
 off to one side, crouching near the hearth, was the 
 outline of a woman s figure! Startled and horrified, 
 he took more pictures. Again and again that un 
 mistakable shade sat, as if dumb with fear, by the 
 ash-strewn hearth. 
 
 By the time Grey had reached the end of his story, 
 Arnold had tossed his pipe aside and Glenn was like 
 a stone statue of flattering absorption. 
 
 And then they talked it over talked of haunted 
 lives, of haunted houses, streets, and sunny nooks; 
 of people and places around whom memory happy, 
 sad, or tragic held a vivid part. 
 
 "I expect," Arnold suggested, "that that poor 
 soul kind of felt she hadn t done her duty and came 
 back to straighten things out with her man. Now if 
 he had done his full part toward her, he would have 
 been waiting. That s the way I look at it." 
 
 He was thinking of the little ghost that haunted 
 his life of his joy in working and living among the 
 scenes where she had been made so happy. Glenn s 
 life was unhaunted, as yet, and so she could give her 
 full attention to the story. With a deep sigh she 
 said: 
 
 "I reckon that when the cabin tumbled into the 
 canyon the ghost was set free. I can just see her 
 
62 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 shaking off the dust and and either following the 
 river or the birds." 
 
 "That s quite an idea, child!" said Grey, taking 
 out his blue pencil, "quite a scheme." 
 
 "Birds or river," he jotted down in the margin. 
 Then he said aloud: 
 
 "I couldn t bear to leave the sad ghost sitting 
 among the debris of the cabin, not even a shelter for 
 herself while she waited, but I didn t see any way of 
 disposing of her. After all she had nothing to wait 
 for. She was free to follow her own vision, at last, 
 when everything that had caged her was a wreck." 
 Then he smiled and added: "You two are some in- 
 spirers!" 
 
 And so the first reading came to a triumphant con 
 clusion and they parted for the night; Arnold, to 
 seek his haunted chamber where love, faith, and hope 
 awaited him; Glenn, to the pretty nest under the 
 broad eaves, where the toys of her strange childhood 
 still held dignified court on a shelf near her bed; and 
 Grey, to his eastern room where, by the fireside, he 
 sat to think it all out and make a new ending of the 
 story before he sent it to Beverly Train. This he 
 tried earnestly to do, but he could not focus his mind 
 on it. His ghost arose and began its restless pacing. 
 It was a small wan, inconsequential shade but, per 
 haps for that very reason, it had managed to cast 
 over Grey s life a dun shadow had contrived to 
 clutch in its groping fingers the very fibres of his be 
 ing and, because it had no legitimate hold, hung 
 more tenaciously. Why the sudden confronting of 
 his spectre should now so greatly disturb him he 
 could not have told. He had grown used to its 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 63 
 
 existence had, on Beverly Train s insistence, given 
 himself a year in which to decide what he owed the 
 Past and the Future. . There was the year still to the 
 good: he had only just entered the space of time. 
 Why this strange consciousness of a Presence? 
 Why this quickening of his pulses this unaccount 
 able desire to lay now, without further delay, the 
 haunting spectre? 
 
 "It is because Grey almost spoke the words in 
 his effort to reassure himself "this simple, isolated 
 existence takes me back to old times before things 
 began to happen; things that I bungled." 
 
 Then he glanced furtively across his hearth as if 
 expecting to find something sitting there! He made 
 an effort mentally, to get back to that time when, 
 as a boy, he had lived his lonely life among strangers, 
 on a desolate farm. He recalled his years of dreams 
 and work and study. He wondered why it had not 
 killed his liking for what he was now keenly enjoying. 
 
 "I suppose first impressions persist" he reasoned: 
 "one forgets the small miseries; the general good 
 holds. I m not made for cities: I m at my best in 
 the open!" 
 
 Again he glanced across the ash-strewn hearth and, 
 by a trick of fancy, Glenn Arnold seemed to be sitting 
 where, but a moment ago, his ghost had sat the 
 haunting spectre was among the ashes! At this 
 Grey rose and began pacing the room. He gave up 
 all thought of re-writing his story s conclusion. He 
 had more important business on hand. "Right or 
 wrong," he muttered, "I m going to hold to the year. 
 I may be a fool but a fool, then, I ll be!" 
 
 Having accepted this humiliating, but comforting 
 
64 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 prospect, Grey, to his relief, was able, after a few 
 more restless strides, to settle in his chair by the 
 table. He looked at his manuscript, temptingly 
 lying at hand, and felt as one must feel who, while 
 suffering from hunger, cannot eat. He longed for 
 the oblivion that his work always brought to him, 
 but he knew that such joy was not for him now. 
 Ghost-raising exacted a penalty. He grimly began 
 to pay! For a full hour he doled out the toll. He 
 tried to be just just to himself and to others as 
 Beverly Train had insisted upon. 
 
 What a friend Beverly was! What a power she 
 held in the lives of the few who came close to her! 
 And now Grey could afford to relax. This he did and 
 a delightful drowsiness overcame him. One mo 
 ment he thought he must get to bed; the next, he 
 was standing in the middle of the room, cold and 
 trembling! The fire had all but died he walked 
 giddily to the hearth and nervously fed the small 
 embers that still held hope. In action, Grey became 
 calmer, but still experienced the uncanny sensation 
 of approaching danger. He saw the fire leap to life 
 and then went to the window and threw up the sash. 
 
 The storm had ceased and the still whiteness was 
 radiant with the light from a hidden but full moon. 
 As Grey gazed into the empty space surrounding the 
 Lodge, something black and quick-moving came into 
 view. At first he thought that it was some wild 
 creature seeking food, but as he looked longer he saw 
 that it was a woman, gliding not walking to 
 ward the house. 
 
 So nerve-racked was he that superstitious terror 
 gave way to positive alarm. His ghost took on 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 65 
 
 human and vital shape it was coming out of its 
 shallow grave it was demanding what it had no 
 right to demand! 
 
 There was a sound on the porch below a stealthy 
 opening of the never-locked door; then, soft footfalls 
 on the stairs. Grey turned his face to his door ex 
 pecting he knew not what. Presently he became 
 aware of the amazing truth that, whatever was 
 abroad in the way of danger, it was not directed to 
 ward him. The steps went down the hall; they 
 paused at Glenn s door! 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 EE many healthy, normal creatures, Glenn 
 Arnold slept lightly. Her conscious thought 
 lay always close to that subconscious self that 
 touched it delicately and truly when need arose. 
 
 The whispered call of "Glenn, Glenn" brought the 
 girl instantly to a sitting posture. She was not 
 alarmed; not even startled. She was wanted, and 
 she merely awaited instructions. 
 
 The room was flooded with the unwavering, white 
 light and the door from the hall was cautiously being 
 opened. Then a little form crept to the bedside. 
 
 "Why, it s Polly Pitkins!" whispered Glenn, who 
 showed no surprise. Had she not been planning for 
 Polly? One look at the girl s face, however, warned 
 Glenn that no mere longing for human society had 
 brought Polly to the Lodge in the dead of night. 
 
 "Wait," she said and arose and put on warm cloth 
 ing. "Now, then, Polly! Let s go down and sit 
 by the fire while you tell me." 
 
 Polly was trembling, piteously. She had been 
 steady enough while shoeing down the dangerous 
 hillsides; she had kept her head calm and her nerves 
 under control; but now she was breaking, and in her 
 effort to regain the mastery of herself, she stifled a 
 hard sob that almost choked her. 
 
 The two girls noiselessly went down the dark pas 
 sage and stairs; they did not speak until they reached 
 
 66 
 
UNBROKEN LINES .67 
 
 the fireside. There Glenn knelt and, with firm hands, 
 laid a log across the irons. At last she said, softly: 
 
 "Take off your wet things, Polly. Everything is 
 all right now." 
 
 Polly glanced toward the far door behind which 
 Arnold slept. Glenn shook her head. 
 
 "When Dad sleeps," she whispered, "he sleeps. 
 But speak low, Polly, for there is some one upstairs 
 who might hear." 
 
 "Who is it? Sam?" Polly s face went ashy 
 white. She was thin and ungainly but there was a 
 spiritual expression in her eyes that illumed her fea 
 tures and gave her, at times, a positive beauty. 
 
 The question brought Glenn to a sudden mental 
 standstill; her mind stood fast and waited. Then, 
 stealthily, she approached the girl crouching at her 
 side on the hearth. She trembled a bit, but she was 
 not wholly unprepared. Something had made her 
 ready for this hour. . . 
 
 "Why did you ask that? "she said, slowly. Then, 
 for the first time noticing the stains on the pale 
 cheeks, she added: "You ve been crying!" 
 
 "Yes. I ve cried and cried until I thought I could 
 cry no more but I did." 
 
 "What s the matter, Polly?" 
 
 "I I m going down to Connor s. I didn t mean 
 to stop not at first but I was dead tired and then 
 I got to thinking that it wasn t fair for Sam to have 
 it all his own way; folks ought to know!" A fierce 
 hardness grew in the stifled voice, a flash in the dim 
 eyes. "God! Sam s got to take some of the misery." 
 
 Suddenly Sam and Polly stood revealed to Glenn 
 as desperate and connected facts that must be ac- 
 
68 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 cepted and dealt with wisely, lest they might threaten 
 the safety of others. Glenn drew her breath in 
 sharply. Her mother seemed to draw near; she had 
 something to say something to do for her daughter 
 something that no one else could do so well. She 
 understood and Glenn, as her child must act for her! 
 This was subconscious reasoning, but in the stillness 
 Glenn was thinking fast and hard, and her mind clung 
 to three words: "Polly"; "Sam"; "Connor s"! 
 Then the words merged together: 
 
 "Polly" and "Sam" with "Connor s" in the 
 background. Then the words shifted and "Sam" 
 was in the background and "Polly" and "Connor s" 
 mingled. When Glenn got as far as that, her horizon 
 widened. Because she was her mother s daughter, 
 she grasped the hurting truth ! 
 
 "You are not going to Connor s!" was all she could 
 think to say; but she was clinging desperately to 
 something that she believed was still left in her sud 
 denly shattered ideal of Sam Morton. Somehow 
 she must lay hold of that and draw him back, back 
 between Polly and Connor s. 
 
 "Yes .1 am/ Polly whimpered; "there ain t 
 nothing else for me to do. You can always get work 
 at Connor s. I ll work till. they find out; and then" 
 she looked blankly at Glenn "then I don t 
 care what happens ! " 
 
 There was no use in shirking. Glenn again drew 
 in her breath. She did not want to delve into the 
 secrets of life she had believed she could escape with 
 just knowing them by rote; but she had been wrong. 
 
 "Find out, what Polly?" she demanded, then 
 waited. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 69 
 
 Polly was too full of suffering to heed the question, 
 but she raised her eyes, mutely to Glenn while that 
 subtle soul-look filled them. Some day something 
 might kill that look but as yet it was pure. 
 
 Glenn understood! She dared not mention Sam 
 Morton s name; she was trying not to think of it. 
 This was Polly s secret Polly s and hers. But sud 
 denly the ring she wore seemed to burn her finger; 
 she pulled it off and hid it in her pocket. 
 
 "I have to steal my fun," sobbed Polly at last. 
 "Such as you, can wait till it comes to you. What 
 have I got up at my home? Dirt and noise and 
 nothin else. I I went to Sam s cabin to play. 
 That s all I did at first just play. I told them at 
 home that I came here, but I went to Sam s, when he 
 was away, and made believe! I fixed things up and 
 kept things clean and nice and thought how like a 
 real home-place it was. Sam never found me out 
 for a long time. Then he came back, sudden; and 
 when he knew he looked queer. He said he kind 
 of thought youd been doing it." 
 
 Glenn shivered and laid another log noiselessly on 
 the others. She did not speak. 
 
 "I got to hoping he d care, when he saw how I 
 thought about fixing things and having a home-place 
 and all that; and and by-and-bye well, he 
 didn t say anything much. I reckon I made believe, 
 until I got myself believing it was all right. And 
 now " Polly s face was ghastly; her throat con 
 tracted and her voice trailed "and now he says I 
 flung myself at him; that he never meant anything 
 like what what / meant. And he says I am trying 
 to scare him into into marrying me, but that 
 
70 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 (Polly waited until she recalled the exact words) 
 "but that I couldn t! That is what he said." 
 
 Glenn still kept silent. She dared not speak nor 
 move. 
 
 "But I I didn t Glenn; I didn t try to scare him. 
 I was only frightened myself. When I stopped 
 making believe it all came clear! When they find 
 out at home that I lied and that I ve been staying, 
 
 off and on, at Sam s You know Father, Glenn! 
 
 There s nothing else for me to do but get away be 
 fore they find out." 
 
 "They mustn t find out!" Glenn leaned over 
 Polly and touched her. Something in her tried to 
 hold her back, but she disdained it; she drew Polly 
 close defiantly, gently. "Nobody must find it 
 out ever ! 
 
 "Oh! Polly, I meant to get you here; I wish I had 
 got you in time." 
 
 At this Polly laughed a dry, hard laugh. "I m 
 doggone tired," she murmured, "if you ll let "me lie 
 here for awhile, Glenn, I ll start on again before day 
 light." 
 
 Glenn drew a rug toward her. 
 
 "Put your head on my lap, Polly," she com 
 manded. "So, now! See, I ll cover you up and you 
 must try to sleep. I d take you upstairs, but I m 
 afraid of waking the man who is here. He s been 
 sick; and besides I ve got to think." 
 
 Polly nestled down and drew the rug over her thin 
 body. "Oh!" she faltered "oh, it feels good." 
 
 Glenn kept her eyes on the relaxed face saw how 
 childish and weak it was. The lowered lids hid the 
 beauty of the redeeming eyes; all else was common- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 71 
 
 place. TJie lips were prettily curved; the chin lacked 
 character; the hair was light, with the dark and sunny 
 shades that the sun had tanned and faded. 
 ."Poor Polly!" murmured Glenn. 
 
 Then the eyes lifted and transformed the face once 
 more. 
 
 v"I I don t know how it was, Glenn, but it never 
 seemed bad. It don t seem so now, but I suppose 
 it will, by-and-bye. Maybe it would seem bad now 
 if I was good ! " 
 
 The tears came slowly; they overflowed and ran 
 down the soiled cheeks. 
 
 "Listen Polly" and Glenn found herself speaking 
 with an assurance that did not falter "you re to 
 stay right here and act as if as if nothing had hap 
 pened. You can say you got lonely that s true 
 enough and that you came to me for the winter. 
 And Polly when Sam thinks it over" (here Glenn 
 was gripping at an elusive ray of light that fixed it 
 self on Sam) "when Sam thinks it over things are 
 going to to be different." 
 
 "How, Glenn?" 
 
 "I don t know. But they are." 
 
 Exhaustion was overcoming all else in Polly; her 
 lids dropped, the last tear rolled down her face, and 
 then she slept. 
 
 Glenn braced herself against the chimney side and 
 did not stir. More than anything else she wanted 
 Polly to sleep. Presently, before the others awak 
 ened, she meant to get the girl upstairs, but for an 
 hour or so she felt she must be free to think; to 
 battle her own way into light. 
 
 She was surprised at herself. She wondered at 
 
72 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 herself, now that Polly was, for the moment obliter 
 ated. She wondered at her lack of feeling. Why 
 was she not shocked, angry, repelled ? Instead, she 
 was only concerned about how it might all end with 
 out any one suffering. Why should any one suf 
 fer? When Glenn thought of Sam, she breathed a 
 bit harder. When she had seen Sam last he had 
 aroused something in her by refusing to see Grey; 
 it had made her laugh and then feel sorry. She had 
 promised him to wear his ring until he came back 
 and then if she had not changed her mind she 
 would kiss him! She had been making believe she! 
 
 Sitting by the fire in the still, dark room, Glenn 
 flushed and trembled. It was she, herself, for whom 
 she felt shame. She had not meant to kiss Sam 
 ever! She had worn the ring to make things go 
 gaily; she was pleasing herself for the fun of seeing 
 Sam look at her as he had then looked 1 Poor little 
 Polly had played fair was willing to pay the price 
 of that look in Sam s eyes. 
 
 At that point Glenn lost consciousness! She did 
 not seem to sleep. She was aware of the weight of 
 the girl on her lap; she felt the warmth of the fire; 
 the rough, hardness of the chimney against her back. 
 When her stiffened body would not longer be ignored 
 she looked up. The morning light was filling the 
 room; the night and its dreams were gone; and 
 Arnold and Grey, in silent amazement, stood gazing 
 down upon the two by the fire! 
 
 For a moment Glenn connected the whole scene 
 with one of Grey s stories. Her mind was too ex 
 hausted to accept bare fact. Then she looked at 
 Polly and remembered! 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 73 
 
 How could she have been so careless as to fall 
 asleep? How could she have slept when there was 
 so much to do? Her only thought at that instant 
 was to account for Polly without arousing suspicion 
 of any kind. All that had driven her and the sleep 
 ing girl to this hour, and all that lay before, were 
 in peril if she bungled. In seeking to make all safe, 
 she spoke automatically as one does who repeats 
 exactly what he does not comprehend. 
 
 " Dad ; Polly s going to marry Sam Morton. What 
 do you think of that? She came down to tell me 
 she had to! I m going to keep her until Sam comes 
 back. Isn t this just like Polly Pitkins, Dad ? She s 
 got ahead of me. I was going for her to-day ! " 
 
 Arnold did not reply; he simply stared. But Grey 
 came to Glenn s relief. On the instant he sensed 
 trouble! trouble that must be strangled, if possible; 
 held off, at any rate. He entered the lists with a keen 
 relish. He did not know what he was fighting but he 
 was ready to fight to the finish and help Glenn win, 
 if winning was possible. He laughed ! 
 
 The possibilities of a laugh are limitless. This one 
 brought Arnold to himself. It cleared the air; sent 
 doubt and suspicion scuttling. After all this was 
 pretty much what Glenn had planned and he had 
 hoped. 
 
 "Well, by the Lord Harry!" he gasped. "One 
 of the Pitkinses, eh? Well sir, this has caught me 
 napping but it isn t such a bad deal, at that!" 
 
 Arnold was conscious of a feeling of relief. He had 
 not formulated any fear regarding his own girl and 
 Sam, but he certainly drew a long breath, now. And 
 just then Polly opened her eyes and sprang up. 
 
74 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "I I must go!" she panted. 
 
 "Go? Go nowhere!" And Arnold laid his big, 
 kind hand on the girl s thin shoulder. "Why child, 
 I haven t half paid you and yours for what you did 
 for me and mine when things looked mighty dark 
 and difficult. See here, Polly, you stay right where 
 you are and when that Sam of yours comes back, 
 we ll fetch your folks down and have a wedding, so 
 bless me! We ll show what we can do, eh? This 
 is Mr. Grey, Polly Mr. Grey from Boston; maybe 
 he thinks we can t have a wedding up here; we ll 
 show him!" 
 
 Polly rubbed her eyes and stared. Then she 
 curtsied to Grey; the act was spasmodic, she had to 
 do something. Presently her chin quivered that 
 poor, little weak chin! She looked at Glenn and the 
 tears began to gather. 
 
 "Maybe you two had better go upstairs and finish 
 the night out" suggested Arnold. But Grey entered 
 the arena again: 
 
 "Nothing of the sort; what these girls need is to 
 work off the excitement. Let s have a spanking 
 breakfast to celebrate. How about it?" 
 
 Glenn raised her eyes to Grey the look in them, 
 for a moment, staggered him. It was the look of 
 one who reached up to him for what he had to give. 
 
 And then began the daily life, with Polly Pitkins 
 tossed in as an unknown quantity. She added zest 
 and flavour, but she innocently enough, took too 
 much attention. 
 
 Arnold felt it incumbent upon him to jolly the poor 
 child to picture her future in glowing terms. From 
 all this Polly shrank shyly, affrightedly. Then 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 75 
 
 Glenn took to bullying her secretly. If she betrayed 
 them, of course, everything would be lost, she warned 
 the girl. 
 
 "You must keep on making believe, Polly. Some 
 times you can get a grip by doing that. You see if 
 you expect the best, and get ready for it, why you 
 won t look or seem like the kind that can be downed. 
 It is looking crushed that gives the whole thing away. 
 "You and I, Polly, have got to make the good in 
 Sam seem so real that it will be ashamed to slink off! 
 And when he sees you cheerful and expecting him 
 to be the best kind of a Sam, why he ll be it just 
 because he won t dare not be!" 
 
 "Glenn, when I see him I ll die," Polly shivered 
 as she stood apart with Glenn. 
 
 "What did you do the last time you saw Sam, 
 Polly. When he he told you ? " 
 
 Polly tried to remember. She had struggled 
 through so much since then. 
 
 "I I cried," she began, slowly; "and then yes, 
 I remember now I said: Sam, it ain t you speaking 
 it ain t ." 
 
 "And then?" Glenn s face brightened. "What 
 then, Polly?" 
 
 "Nothing. I just ran from the thing he looked." 
 
 "Oh! splendid, Polly! You ran from what Sam 
 looked that moment but you re holding to some 
 thing better. Now answer me Polly, sure and cer 
 tain. You want to marry Sam, don t you? It isn t 
 
 just because " Glenn was no longer skirting 
 
 away from life s crude facts. The girls looked full 
 at one another. 
 
 "No it aint!" Polly spoke fiercely; "making 
 
76 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 believe was the happiest thing I ever did; I could go 
 on making believe always!" 
 
 Glenn turned her eyes away; she felt absurdly 
 young and ignorant. It was Polly who knew the 
 big things of life. Little starved and weak Polly 
 Pitkins. 
 
 But Grey, realizing the tension, endeavoured to 
 bring things back to the old regime. He grew quite 
 boyish in his efforts to amuse; he instructed the 
 others in games, more or less riotous. He insisted 
 upon practising snow-shoeing he had done some 
 of that in Canada once and it came back to him as 
 the knowledge of swimming comes back to a swim 
 mer. He studiously divided his attention between 
 Polly and Glenn, he felt very virtuous and wise until 
 one evening Glenn aroused him by a whispered: 
 
 "Oh! thank you, Mac." 
 
 "What for? "he blurted. 
 
 "For everything." 
 
 Something new and vital was entering into the re 
 lations it startled Grey and gave to Glenn a strange 
 dignity. 
 
 The evening reading was perhaps the most success 
 ful pastime, for Polly was like a greedy child, then. 
 The mere sound of Grey s voice caused complete 
 relaxation. She looked and listened, rapt in self- 
 forgetfulness and peace. 
 
 Sometimes Grey wondered if she really took in 
 anything that she heard, but she soon set his doubts 
 at rest. There were certain things she referred to 
 over and over again. One of Grey s own stones 
 particularly moved her. 
 
 "You don t make them all wait till they are dead 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 77 
 
 and done for before you make them happy, do you, 
 Mr. Mac? You make them all have a chance over 
 and over, don t you! And then when they ve 
 learned, deep and proper, they are well, just folks 
 again. It s real fine to make the world that kind of a 
 world." 
 
 And through it all though no one voiced it -all 
 knew that they were waiting for Sam Morton. 
 
 Who would meet him first? when, and where, 
 and how? 
 
 Arnold was indifferent; Polly shrank from the en 
 counter; Glenn was determined to waylay Sam; and 
 Grey was equally determined that he should. In 
 consequence it was quite natural that he and she 
 should meet on the trail one day and guiltily con 
 front each other. The encounter put Grey on his 
 mettle; he saw the fun of it. 
 
 "What are you here for, Mac?" Glenn spoke 
 severely. 
 
 "The same thing that you are here for, child." 
 
 It rather squared Grey with himself these days, to 
 regard Glenn as a child a mere, sexless creature in 
 trousers ! The reiteration of the word was impressing 
 the girl. There were times when she was conscious 
 of her garments this angered her. 
 
 "Don t be funny, Mac." 
 
 "Am I funny?"" 
 
 "Sometimes. But where are you going?" 
 
 "Home, now since you re on the job." Then he 
 turned quickly and looked her calmly in the eyes. 
 
 "Child; you want Sam Morton to marry Polly, 
 don t you ? " 
 
 The suddenness of the attack took Glenn by storm. 
 
78 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 There were times when she felt rather weak as she 
 neared the vital moment. She needed backing. 
 
 "Yes, I do! Of course I do." 
 
 "That s all right, child. I only wanted to make 
 sure. I m rather inclined to think he will marry her. 
 
 Why this should comfort Glenn beyond expres 
 sion she never could know, but she gave Grey a 
 glance and a smile that sent him back to the Lodge 
 with a sense of new interest in life. 
 
 There was no doubt in his mind now, but that 
 Glenn, even more than Polly s affair, interested him 
 deeply. He admired the determination and skill 
 with which she held to some unknown but real situa 
 tion. She had enlisted him: blinded her father and, 
 unaided, was seeking to bring about a result that to 
 her, appealed tremendously. 
 
 Very well! Grey decided that he was willing to 
 work in the dark to procure what Glenn Arnold had 
 set her heart upon. She had, without conscious 
 change, become potent to him. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 GLENN met Morton a mile down the trail. 
 It was a clear, still day. The snow was 
 covered by a lace-like design where light- 
 footed animals had traced their patterans. The 
 trees and mountains stood out, sharp and distinct, 
 and the sound of Sam s up-climbing horse rang musi 
 cally. Glenn stood by the side of the road, like a 
 highwayman, new at her dangerous game. Now that 
 the hour had come, she found herself unprepared. 
 One thing alone she held to: Sam must, if possible, 
 stand and deliver that which was best in him that 
 which she felt was there! He might offer less 
 doubtless he would but she must insist. She must 
 not be frightened; she must not be driven off. 
 
 At such a moment when the big things of life come 
 to very simple people, the primitive use of words is 
 resorted to; a few go a long way. 
 
 Sam, singing, came lazily along. His head was 
 thrown back; he looked very handsome very care 
 free. This hardened Glenn and spurred her forward. 
 
 Sam saw her; he laughed aloud for sheer joy. She 
 had come to meet him! He dismounted, and as he 
 drew near he said the one thing that was needed to 
 give Glenn the strength required for her task. 
 
 "You brought it, eh, Glenn?" 
 
 "Brought what?" 
 
 "The kiss!" 
 
 79 
 
8o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Glenn held him by a long look. "Polly is at the 
 Lodge," she said. 
 
 During the moment s pause, following this, a 
 great expanse of country was travelled over by the 
 man holding the horse, and the girl by the trail. 
 
 "Damn her!" muttered Sam. Then, desperately: 
 "I suppose she told you all?" 
 
 "Yes, she did." And Sam knew that Polly had. 
 His eyes fell for an instant. 
 
 "You you don t know men, Glenn. It was it 
 wasn t all my fault!" 
 
 "I suppose not. You see, Polly was making 
 believe with all her might girls are made that way; 
 you weren t. That was the difference. Polly was 
 Sam, Polly was going down to Connor s; she said 
 there was nowhere else to go!" 
 
 Then Sam made another mistake; he offered less 
 than his best. 
 
 "Girls like Polly get to Connor s sooner or later," 
 he said. He had grace enough to flush crimson. 
 
 Glenn came nearer to him now she was at close 
 grip. She took his hands and said quietly: 
 
 "Honestly Sam, do you think that of Polly ? Hon 
 est and true. Just as she is now is she Connor s kind ? 
 That would make all the difference in the world." 
 
 Sam hedged. 
 
 "You are thinking only of Polly not of me. What 
 kind of a hell would it be for her if if you made me 
 marry her?" 
 
 "I m not going to make you, Sam. But tell me 
 is she that kind?" 
 
 Then Morton harked back, though he struggled 
 against the stark memories that arose harked back 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 81 
 
 to the nights, when tired and lonely, he had reached 
 his cabin and found the fire burning, the meal ready, 
 and Polly making believe! How he had blinded 
 himself drugged himself let himself go! But 
 
 through it all rang the one great truth: Polly was not 
 Connor s kind. It was only when Glenn became the 
 greatest thing to him that he had aroused. 
 
 "It isn t up to a man to keep a girl straight when 
 she s hell-bound, anyway/ muttered Sam. 
 
 "Maybe not. But it s up to a woman. It s up 
 to me!" Glenn s eyes blazed. She was her father s 
 daughter her mother s protector at last. She was 
 her truest self! 
 
 "What do you mean, Glenn? You ain t going to 
 play the fool are you?" 
 
 "I don t know. I m going to keep Polly from 
 Connor s." 
 
 They stood facing each other at close range. Sam 
 realized that if Polly stayed at the Lodge and he 
 felt that she might he must drift where? That 
 would be the code of the heights. The mountains 
 had not open space enough around the Lodge, for 
 him and Polly apart. A cowardly impulse of self- 
 preservation shook Sam. He was as wedded to his 
 environment as the rock against which Glenn leaned. 
 She had fallen away from Morton. 
 
 "There is something else, " Glenn said simply. 
 
 "Polly is "; she looked steadily at Sam. The 
 
 effect of the look upon Morton was terrific. He 
 was elemental; he suddenly comprehended. His 
 character was like a crude collection of blocks. Each 
 held a separate emotion; yearning, passion, or virtue. 
 They had never flowed together or commingled; but 
 
82 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 always, pervading everything was the hall mark left 
 of his lonely, helpless childhood. Unfathered, he 
 had begun life with his deserted mother. z He 
 had not understood, until long after her death, what 
 it had all meant. After she went, the people in the 
 small western town had, in turn, taken Sam in. From 
 house to house, unwelcomed, he had passed with his 
 beggarly little bundle of ragged clothing. Children, 
 keen to detect differences, had made life bitter for 
 him until at last he had run away from them who 
 had made no effort to reclaim him. He had worked 
 and starved stumbled along until, from sheer 
 strength of character, he had managed to get his 
 head above water and reach the mountain heights. 
 And now he looked blankly at Glenn. It was one 
 thing to let a woman drift to Connor s Sam had 
 early grown to blame his dead mother for her part in 
 his misery but to let another child know what he 
 had known and suffered! That was quite a different 
 matter. 
 
 "You mean ?" Then, suddenly: 
 
 "My God!" 
 
 Glenn knew that he had surrendered. Something 
 in her leaped up gladly. Again she drew near Mor 
 ton and took his hands. 
 
 "Polly is still making believe, Sam; I guess she s 
 that kind. And and I ve told them that you are 
 going to marry her. Dad s arranging the the 
 wedding." 
 
 Sam s eyes had the expression that one might find 
 in the eyes of a man who, expecting death, was given 
 a life sentence. He was bidding good-bye to the 
 free, glad open; the place of choice and happiness. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 83 
 
 "That that s mighty good of you all," he mut 
 tered, but even as he spoke, his hopeless words belied 
 the straightening of the broad shoulders that had 
 accepted the burden he had so heedlessly wrought for 
 himself. 
 
 Then something of the old dare-devil came to the 
 fore. 
 
 "I ll be the dummy groom, all right. But Glenn, 
 I want you to know you ve got to know it was 
 the kid; and don t you forget that! I can t make 
 you see it but I meant fair with you, as Heaven 
 hears me! Nothing meant as much as you un 
 til " 
 
 "I understand, Sam. It will help us both." 
 
 It was a Christmas wedding Sam s and Polly s. 
 Grey, later, wrote it into a good story a story that 
 brought a smile and a tear to many a seasoned reader, 
 back among the commonplaces of life. Some people 
 from outlying ranches came gleefully to the feast; 
 the Pitkinses arrived in force a proud, soiled, and 
 irrepressible lot. A minister was corralled from a 
 village fifty miles away. He was escorted by some 
 rollicking cow-boys who made life hard for him, on 
 the way up. They refused to have their souls saved, 
 and would not let him keep his own free from con 
 tamination. They made him believe that they were 
 as bad as they seemed when, in fact, they were the 
 kindest, most genuine youngsters that ever harried 
 a Necessity. That is what they dubbed the Rever 
 end. 
 
 "Your name, sir, is Necessity ," they announced. 
 "Folks can t begin life decently without you and 
 
84 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 they can t get out of it respectably, without you. 
 Just plain Necessity that s your number, all 
 right." 
 
 And then they swore a bit, loudly and merrily, and 
 enjoyed themselves hugely. But once they reached 
 the Lodge they were courtesy itself and grew quite 
 sentimental and misty-eyed when the minister per 
 formed the ceremony. 
 
 Grey, standing at a distance, looked on and felt 
 his own heart throb a little faster than usual. He 
 knew that he was in the dark but he still had a feeling 
 such as he had once experienced when, from a river 
 bank, he had watched a lonely angler, below, poise, 
 nicely, a glorious prize. The moment of doubt as 
 to whether the trophy would be secured or not, had 
 set his blood coursing through his veins; when it was 
 landed he gave a shout of sympathy a shout that 
 no one noticed. 
 
 Something that Glenn had very much wanted, had 
 come to pass. Grey was rather annoyed at himself 
 for caring so much for what Glenn wanted. Per 
 haps there was something to say on the other side of 
 the question Morton s side. 
 
 Just then the minister waited for Sam s reply as to 
 whether he would forsake all others and cling only 
 to the pale, wistful creature gazing mutely into space. 
 
 "I ll do my best, sir!" was the amazing answer 
 from the rigid-faced groom. 
 
 An electric thrill ran through the room; and then 
 the ceremony proceeded without further hitch. 
 
 "By the Lord!" muttered Grey. Then he thought: 
 "The fish isn t landed yet, by a long shot." He 
 turned his eyes upon Glenn. She was looking at 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 85 
 
 him, pleadingly. He smiled and nodded. He meant 
 to imply to her that it was all an amusing incident; 
 nothing to be taken seriously by him at least. 
 
 The thought reached the girl s trouble. It was 
 more to her to think that Grey suspected nothing 
 than to have had his keenest sympathy. To Glenn 
 the chasm had been bridged a catastrophe averted. 
 The way on ahead might be difficult but it certainly 
 could not be menaced by any such danger as had 
 almost made her lose her faith in her little world. 
 
 The festivities lasted until late afternoon and then 
 the guests departed Sam and Polly, last of all. 
 Surely no stranger couple ever set forth. Up the 
 trail they went, side by side, hands hanging limp; 
 their faces bent and no word passing between them. 
 
 "Sam sure came near making a show of the thing," 
 Arnold remarked turning from the door and closing 
 it, now that the bridal couple had passed from sight. 
 "And the boys from the ranches! Did you ever see 
 such polite manners? They wanted to bu st, but 
 they corked it up. The preacher sees only hell and 
 damnation for those chaps but I told him that he 
 could take it from me that most of them would have 
 stars set thick in their crowns when they reached 
 Kingdom-Come." 
 
 Then he turned to Glenn who was standing by the 
 fire, her back to her father and Grey. 
 
 "Girl, you made me think shame for you when you 
 came in with your togs on. You ve got clothes 
 why didn t you wear them? Breeches and flannel 
 shirt at a wedding and a girl inside them!" Arnold 
 sniffed. 
 
 "Dad, the boys would not have known me in fix- 
 
86 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ings. I would have upset the meeting." Glenn 
 smiled, wanly, as she spoke. 
 
 "They must think you haven t any," Arnold went 
 on. "It s a waste of time for you and me to pick 
 and choose from the catalogue if you aren t ever going 
 to spruce up. You might have worn the beads, any 
 way, out of respect for me." 
 
 "Dad!" Glenn s eyes were tear-filled. Then she 
 looked at Grey. 
 
 "I have beautiful things," she said, as simply as a 
 child. "Dad sends for everything that is pretty; 
 some day I will prove it. It isn t Dad s fault that 
 I came just as I was to the wedding. At first I only 
 thought of Polly; then well I wanted everyone else 
 to keep on thinking of Polly. It was Polly s day, 
 
 not mine." 
 
 tion." 
 
 I am afraid you might have divided the atten- 
 
 Grey tried to look indifferent but he was imagining 
 the girl as a woman. He was doing that more than 
 ever lately. It always ended by a stern resolve on 
 his part that when spring came he would go back to 
 his own place! Surely nothing very serious could 
 happen, even with his friendly weakness considered, 
 before spring. And when Grey reached that point 
 a contempt for himself steadied him. "Good Lord ! " 
 he argued; "why must a man or a woman eternally 
 mess the sex idea with everything else? It s all right 
 in its place, but it has a place; and that a man and a 
 woman just happen to be together doesn t necessarily 
 create a condition. Lord! Why can t I stay here 
 and enjoy this life without ?" 
 
 But no pebble is thrown into the water without 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 87 
 
 causing a ripple that reaches the farthest shore. The 
 vivid affair of poor Polly had stirred the depths of the 
 lives closest to it and the ripple widened its circles 
 and touched here and there, as it grew. It touched 
 Arnold, making him more tender and kindly than 
 was his wont with the Pitkins family. He recalled 
 their unselfishness when his need had been sorest 
 he meant to do something for Polly. He decided 
 that he would send her a broncho and a cow. 
 
 Grey felt the ripples as he sat alone in his room 
 trying to write down his impressions while they were 
 fresh in his mind. He fixed upon the phase that 
 included Sam. He felt confident that Morton had 
 been driven to marry Polly Pitkins. Why? Around 
 that little word the whole thing revolved. Women 
 were p.lways so much more concerned with a danger 
 close at hand than with that which menaced from a 
 distance. But were they? And then Glenn came 
 into line in her boyish dress and her elusive beauty. 
 How splendid of her to have kept Polly s day intact 
 when she might so easily have filled it with herself 
 and her achievement! What a woman she would be 
 some day when she lived, outwardly, her real nature. 
 And then Grey visualized her and fell to dreaming. 
 He did not write much on his story that night, nor 
 for many days after. 
 
 The ripple touched Glenn. The next morning 
 she came downstairs in an amazing gown which, the 
 catalogue had informed her, was suitable for morning 
 wear in the country! 
 
 Grey never could describe it. He had never seen 
 anything in the least like it, but it had the power of 
 transforming a boyish-looking girl into a very start- 
 
88 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ling young woman. Its power was impertinent and 
 oppressive. It called attention to form and colour; 
 it pronounced sex in clear terms; it placed Glenn in an 
 entirely new position in regard to her father and 
 Grey. 
 
 Arnold, viewing his daughter dispassionately, fell 
 to assuming new duties. "You cannot slop around 
 in a dress like that," he said; "let me carry the water. 
 So ! Now then ; you wipe the dishes; I ll wash them/ 
 
 This delicate distinction made Glenn smile and 
 when she smiled both Arnold and Grey noticed, for 
 the first time, that her beautiful hair was dressed 
 rather ornately and that it left the nape of her neck 
 bare and exquisitely white. 
 
 The morning gown gave place, a few days later, to 
 another of deep, golden brown tint, which seemed to 
 bring out all the unnoticed glories of Glenn s colour 
 ing. 
 
 If the girl had been disturbing in the morning 
 gown, she was positively exciting in this one. Un 
 consciously, apparently, she arrayed herself and went 
 quietly about her tasks. If her eyes were a bit 
 brighter and sunnier Arnold attributed it to the fact 
 that she was "grown at last." 
 
 But the continued attention to dress irritated Grey. 
 It had a meaning which, somehow, seemed directed 
 toward him. He resented this. He could not keep 
 his eyes off the girl; she began to creep into his stories. 
 He was afraid Beverly Train would detect her. He 
 ended by not sending manuscripts to Beverly! "This 
 will never do!" he said to himself. "What sort of 
 an ass am I, anyway, to let myself moon when there 
 is absolutely nothing to moon over ? " But there was 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 89 
 
 this new, woman-thing introduced into the isolation 
 of the mountain winter; and it would not be ignored! 
 
 Then came the days when Grey sought to master 
 situations; when he feared some act of Glenn s might 
 turn him traitor to his determination to keep a year 
 of his life clear. He wanted the present nothing 
 else. He acknowledged his own changed feeling to 
 ward Glenn; he called it by its right name, but he 
 hoped, until the year was over, she would remain a 
 child. 
 
 He concluded to test her at some moment when he 
 had himself well in hand. He believed the hour had 
 come, one day, when he found her in a window seat 
 reading a novel Beverly Train had sent for his con 
 sumption certainly not for Glenn s. 
 
 "Where did you get that book?" he asked, sharply; 
 then as if sorry for his brusque tone, he added: 
 "You re too young to read such stuff." 
 
 "Why, I should think it is when you are young 
 that you need it. When you re old, it doesn t mat 
 ter, does it? It is true, isn t it, Mac? this story, I 
 
 mean." 
 
 Glenn s eyes had a deep, intense expression. 
 
 "True?" Grey could not push away from him the 
 faith and sweetness in the girl "why yes, in a way. 
 It s life." 
 
 "Then why shouldn t I read it? Why shouldn t 
 I know life?" 
 
 Grey sat down in front of the girl and leaned to 
 ward her, his hands clasped before him. "I don t 
 see why you should know all of life; none of us do. 
 If you happen to be set apart from the grime there 
 is no reason for grubbing." 
 
9 o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Glenn considered this, then said slowly; "Of 
 course. But you see, Mac, you never know when 
 you are going to stumble upon any particular part of 
 life. That s the trouble. Now this girl" Glenn 
 touched the book "hadn t the least idea what 
 she was to go through after she met the man. It 
 seems to me " the words trailed gently, almost 
 pleadingly "it seems to me that men expect a good 
 deal of women considering that they do not let them 
 know, or want them to know, everything. It is this 
 way" and now Glenn leaned toward Grey; their 
 extended hands almost touched "this man, for in 
 stance, married the girl because he liked a certain 
 kind of woman a woman who hadn t the least bit of 
 knowledge about life and and things. Then, once 
 he had married her, he expected her to be quite an 
 other kind. It doesn t seem fair. Is life fair, 
 Mac?" 
 
 "Not always, Glenn; but, after all, life is pretty 
 much what we make it. People are not fair, you 
 know." Then so abruptly that the girl fell back 
 he asked: "Glenn, why do you wear these clothes?" 
 
 "Wear these clothes? Why shouldn t I wear 
 these clothes ? They are mine!" The purplish eyes 
 grew dark and the mouth drew in at the corners. 
 Besides, I wanted you to know that I have clothes." 
 "Is that all, Glenn?" Grey kept a close watch. 
 
 "Well, perhaps not quite all. You see, Mac, I I 
 wanted you to to know that I am a woman. I was 
 afraid that you you might not might not you 
 see!" 
 
 Through the crust of girlhood the primal force was 
 pressing. It did not see, in Grey, at that moment, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 91 
 
 the man; it saw merely Man, and every sensitive 
 nerve quivered. 
 
 Then Grey, blindly seeking to set right a condition 
 too delicate for any handling, said: 
 
 "If you had a big brother, Glenn; if 7 were your 
 
 big brother at this particular moment, I d tell you 
 . )t 
 
 "What, Mac?" 
 
 "Well; stop reading that book, for one thing and 
 and " 
 
 "Yes, Mac." 
 
 "Slip into your boy-togs again for as long as they 
 they fit you." Grey laughed a bit shamefacedly, 
 to be sure but he felt that he had saved the day and 
 safeguarded the future. 
 
 Glenn rose quietly and held the book out to him. 
 
 "I only got as far as the middle, but that has given 
 me a lot to think about. I am going up now to 
 to put on my togs!" She turned from him with a 
 little crinkling of the eyelid. 
 
 Grey had reinstated the old relations but at the 
 cost of much that he did not realize. What he had 
 sent back, to its dark corner, would come forth again 
 and soon; but not for a second repulse from him! 
 
 The ego in the man believed that it could hold the 
 perilously sweet condition safe until such time as 
 revealment would be safe and sure. But a man s 
 ego cannot always determine situations; the woman s 
 ego plays its part too. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 GREY told himself over and over again, during 
 the weeks following Morton s wedding, that 
 as soon as spring came he would go back to his 
 place and stay there until he could return a free man. 
 So long as he called it, and recognized it, as his place, 
 he felt secure and at peace with his conscience. But 
 the trouble was that Grey was merely drugging him 
 self. More and more he was fitting into his new 
 environment; developing an intense interest in things 
 and people near him. His old self, native of what 
 he chose to term his "place," was becoming more 
 and more his subconscious self a force to be relied 
 upon for inspiration in writing, in keeping him right 
 with his conscious self. 
 
 Grey became expert on snow-shoes and he often 
 >vent away for days with Arnold. They slept at 
 night in the shelter of rocks, with lurid fires, set in 
 glistening snow, at their feet. 
 
 The two men grew closer until Arnold more often 
 called Grey "son" than by any other name. 
 
 When they were away Polly would sometimes 
 stay at the Lodge. These little breaks in the life of 
 the Mortons, Gray looked upon with favour. He 
 felt that the strain in the lonely cabin on the trail 
 was lessened when the pressure was at times removed. 
 
 "You have the feel of the trail," Arnold once said 
 to Grey. "Now, there re men who get to the top, 
 
 92 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 93 
 
 and plucky fellows too, but they never have the 
 feel ! You get to know the lack when you are with 
 them." 
 
 Grey began to believe he was getting the "feel" 
 of lives in a way that he had never known. It was 
 not sympathy alone, nor a desire humanly to help; 
 it was kinship, a common tie, and he often wondered 
 why he had not felt it down among his own. 
 
 "I did not belong in the procession," he smilingly 
 thought; "I was too apt to stop and get out of step. 
 Up here there is room enough to let others pass or 
 wait with them." 
 
 Daily, Arnold referred to the summer, and of 
 turning some of his guests over to Grey. He took 
 for granted that Grey would remain. 
 
 "I m tired of being the only one to guide them," 
 he said; "there are times, and folks, who tempt me 
 there always will be; but Fd like to know that I could 
 call on some trusty person, like you, Mac, when I 
 wanted to remain behind." 
 
 Grey felt flattered. He determined, then and 
 there, to give himself a summer. It would round 
 out the year. He would then go back to his place 
 and honestly confront life with a clear conception of 
 exactly what he owed it. 
 
 Having settled that question in his own mind he 
 permitted his roots to sink a little deeper into the 
 soil; he became more and more interested in the 
 Mortons, for instance. "The fish," he mused, "is 
 not landed by a long wriggle." 
 
 Morton he had seen was a born rover. Spiritually, 
 as well as physically, he was happiest when drifting. 
 But Grey noticed that when Sam took time to pause, 
 
94 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 his cabin home meant much to him. So Grey, rather 
 boldly, conceived a plan which, while attracting Sam 
 to his home place, would give Polly a joy she had 
 never known and perhaps most of all please Glenn 
 to such an extent that her twinkling eyelid would 
 come into play. Grey often watched for the pretty 
 trick. He was living on trifles and living happily. 
 
 Poor Polly was feverishly making believe until her 
 thin little face had become tragic and her weak chin 
 was taking on firmness. But all the make-believe 
 in the world could not put actual pictures on rough 
 walls, nor give the grace of physical comforts to a 
 bare, mountain shack. With the help of Beverly 
 Train, who had a passion for playing middleman, a 
 detachment of wedding presents found their irregular 
 way up to Morton s. What joy and solace they 
 brought could not be expressed, but Sam s shy grin 
 and Polly s quick, grateful tears gave some evidence 
 of what they meant. 
 
 Glenn made no remark. Since the day when she 
 had handed back the novel to Grey and had resorted 
 to her knickerbockers her attitude had been one 
 that a watchful big brother might have applauded, 
 but which Grey, in no wise, understood. 
 
 This should have pleased Grey, but it often dis 
 turbed him. At times it positively alarmed him. 
 It well might be that he had misunderstood the whole 
 situation and when he d done his part his conscien 
 tious part he insisted upon calling it that he 
 might find that his backings and fillings had not con 
 cerned Glenn Arnold in the least! That she had 
 never needed his protection from himself. 
 
 Thus does a detached life act and react upon small 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 95 
 
 happenings, but do as he might, struggle as he did 
 to be sensible, the girl in the Lodge was always on the 
 sky-line of Grey s future. Her tenderness, her 
 strength, her sense of justice, and her high spirits, 
 thrilled him; but most of all, the new sense of com 
 radeship that Glenn evolved awoke new interests. 
 And so he was off on the old line of hope, despair 
 and silent resolve to hold to his ideals. 
 
 Hitherto women had largely touched his sym 
 pathy or compassion. They had been weak, or 
 wronged, or exploited. There had been some call 
 upon his protection, but here was a woman who 
 reached out to him a frank equality that, to some 
 men might have been repelling, but which was, to 
 Grey, a singular attraction. "One would only have 
 to love her!" he thought "love her without quali 
 fications or excuses. She would never keep you 
 guessing, but her faith would mean all a man ought 
 to ask for, from his woman." 
 
 It had been a slow progression on Grey s part, this 
 development of his love and desire; but when he 
 accepted it his life was suddenly transformed and 
 irrespective, too, of Glenn. 
 
 Of course this was all dangerous and the outcome 
 of too concentrated a life. Unless he was prepared 
 to take a definite stand he had no right to remain at 
 the Lodge knowing what he did, of himself. 
 
 One day Polly Morton let a little light in upon 
 Grey s confused ideals. Glenn had asked him to go 
 and bring Polly to the Lodge. 
 
 "Sam s off," she explained, "he stopped early this 
 morning. Tell Polly my feet are twinkling." Grey 
 laughed at the "twinkling" as applied to feet. "Polly 
 
96 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 will understand. When we were very little and I 
 got the twinkles, Polly never questioned. She did 
 her tasks and mine while I ran away! I evened 
 up, when I came back. Polly always knew that I 
 would. Lately I ve had a fancy for doing something 
 quite freaky and I m going to get Dad to do it with 
 me. We re going to walk by night and sleep by 
 day; I want to see how the world looks turned inside 
 out!" 
 
 "What an idea!" Grey was caught by the fancy. 
 
 "Isn t it great ? " Glenn was in high spirits. 
 
 "It s it s weird, " Grey replied. Then he added: 
 "But it s rather splendid. I d like to to share 
 such an experience. 
 
 "If you were my father, Mac or my big brother! 
 I d invite you." And with that Glenn made a wry 
 face at him. 
 
 Grey turned away. He knew the eyelid was 
 about to perform and he did not care to see it just 
 then. So he strode off to Polly s. 
 
 He found her sitting by the window of her little 
 living room, her hands idly folded over a workbasket 
 on her lap. The door was open, just as Sam had left 
 it when he passed out; something in Polly demanded 
 freedom to follow. The woman hardly heeded Grey s 
 entrance, though she did speak quietly to him. 
 
 "Mooning, Polly?" Grey sat down and looked 
 at the little woman with interest. 
 
 "Queer thoughts come sometimes, Mr. Mac. They 
 come, by themselves." 
 
 "Yes; they do. At least we are not conscious of 
 creating them. But what particular queerness has 
 caught you now, Mrs. Sam Morton?" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 97 
 
 Her own name seemed to startle Polly to fix her 
 roving fancy. 
 
 "It s it s about Sam, Mr. Mac. And I guess it is 
 in us all alike it is something that no one can get to, 
 or touch and I reckon no one ought to, either. And 
 when your love is big enough to see that, then, it s 
 odd, but the thing doesn t fly off from you so much. 
 It well, it is not afraid any more and it trusts." 
 
 Grey puckered his brows. He understood, but 
 was puzzled by the realization that he did under 
 stand. 
 
 "The thing in Sam that likes to to roam and be 
 by itself," Polly, seeing the pucker, became more 
 definite: "it just was real afraid that I was going to 
 lay hold of it, Mr. Mac; and at first I did want to it 
 was what I wanted most to get. It hurt cruel 
 when I couldn t. Then, sudden-like I got to seeing 
 there was something in me that held off from Sam. 
 I couldn t even talk to him about it, and if he had 
 tried to clutch it well, he couldn t any more than 
 I* could clutch that something in him; and then I 
 grew quiet and real happy and and rested. After 
 awhile, I can hardly tell you Mr. Mac, but it was as 
 if Sam got to understanding, and now when he goes 
 off he really doesn t seem to be off off where I 
 cannot reach him. I ve worked it out in my own 
 mind that the two soulthings in us in Sam and me 
 have an understanding of their own; and that s why." 
 
 Grey did not speak for a moment. He looked be 
 yond the woman in the chair by the window; he saw 
 Glenn and the vital meaning that she represented to 
 him. He believed that she, too, must understand! 
 The thought was a comfort. 
 
98 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Yes, you and Sam are," he said presently, "in 
 deed all of us, every mother s son and daughter 
 of us holds the meaning of all the others like a 
 kernel." Then he got up and stretched himself as 
 one does with a growing pain. 
 
 "Glenn s feet are twinkling! She said that you 
 would understand/ he spoke, abruptly. 
 
 Immediately Polly was changed. Her eyes bright 
 ened; her lips parted. 
 
 "I bet she wants to take to the trail on some fool 
 lark," she said. 
 
 "That s about it" Grey assented "walking by 
 night and resting by day. A mad idea, but rather 
 Glennish." 
 
 Polly got up. As she did so her hands fell away 
 from her work-basket and there, in full view, was 
 something that has had power, always, to stir the 
 heart. It was a tiny garment, absurdly fragile and 
 dainty a waiting shell; a hope to be realized; an 
 evidence of a mother s faith in things unseen. 
 
 By a quick movement Grey grasped the basket and 
 put it out of sight he felt unworthy to gaze upon it; 
 it was a holy thing! It explained everything like a 
 flash of light. Very quietly, a little later, he and 
 Polly went down to the Lodge. 
 
 Now whether Glenn had only made an excuse to get 
 Polly away from home no one ever knew, but once 
 she had achieved what she desired she made no men 
 tion of "twinkling" feet, and the freakish idea of the 
 night walk was not referred to. The girls worked 
 and often sat apart. When Sam returned he was 
 urged to stay on at the Lodge and assist in some 
 work Arnold had undertaken on a lean-to shed. Grey 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 99 
 
 felt himself pushed aside a little and he wondered 
 if Glenn was wiser than she seemed, or indifferent ? 
 
 And thus the time passed so rapidly, that, almost 
 before any one had realized that it was near, spring 
 came to the heights! It came rather violently, turn 
 ing the streams into rivers and the rivers into dash 
 ing, roaring cataracts. The snow was torn from its 
 holdings and swept away; sturdy bloom, which had 
 been but waiting its chance, surprisingly raised its 
 brave head and the mountains were radiant! The 
 Monk was particularly jubilant; his white plume was 
 daily flying. 
 
 Arnold went forth more often alone, for it was his 
 habit, once winter was gone, to get a comprehensive 
 idea of what had taken place. Sometimes he came 
 back bearing in his arms a wounded or a sick animal 
 bear cub, or innocent-looking mountain lion. 
 
 "We ll mend them up, poor creatures," he would 
 say; " but keep in mind what they are. Don t forget 
 the blood that runs through them. A lion is mostly 
 lion, and it is apt to break out early. A cub gets to 
 be a bear sooner than you might expect." 
 
 This was interesting. 
 
 "Don t you think you could train the bear and the 
 lion out of them?" asked Grey. 
 
 "And if you did what would you have?" countered 
 Arnold, looking amused. "I ve tried it, but it isn t 
 satisfying. You somehow feel as if you d spoiled a 
 good job. There are sorts that can bend and yield 
 run close, yet never break but not the genuine sort." 
 
 "I guess that s true," Grey admitted. 
 
 It was in May that Arnold left the house one morn- 
 
ioo UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ing before the family was astir. For some reason 
 Glenn when she appeared, resented this, rather an 
 grily. 
 
 "I ve known for days," she said, "that Dad was 
 going to sneak away to the Monk. He wants to 
 make sure that everything is safe on the trail, and 
 then he means to take me. Just think, I ve never 
 been yet! But I don t want things made easy I 
 want to fight my way up, beside him. He had no 
 right to sneak off! It s been the dream of my life 
 to go with him." 
 
 Grey laughed. "I reckon he knows what he is 
 about," he suggested. 
 
 "He took the pups," said Polly; "they re missing. 
 I guess he wanted to train them a bit." 
 
 "And Rajah?" queried Glenn. 
 
 "No, Rajah is plain sulking; he looks like you." 
 
 "Very well," Glenn suddenly declared, beaming. 
 "Rajah and I will follow on, Mr. Daddy!" 
 
 "Do you want any other company?" ventured 
 Grey, looking hopeful. 
 
 "I don t, really, Mac." Then, as if she relented; 
 "But at three o clock, if we re not back, you may 
 come and meet us. You know the Monk trail, don t 
 you ? It s the worst." 
 
 "All right. In the meantime I ll get my cabin in 
 order." 
 
 Grey had taken one of the near-by cabins and was 
 giving it a permanent air that was most unconvincing 
 whenever his projected leave-taking was under dis 
 cussion. He had a bedroom, a study, and a kitchen; 
 already the rooms had the appearance of a home. 
 
 At nine o clock Glenn departed, Rajah at her heels; 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 101 
 
 a goodly lunch, in a gunny -sack, hanging on her 
 back. . ":;;,: > :" ! i A 
 
 It was a glorious day. The air was balmy, but keen. 
 There was the smell of growing things at every turn. 
 While Polly sang in the Lodge, Grey whistled in his 
 cabin; but not for a moment did he forget that at 
 three o clock he might take to the Monk trail. 
 
 He made his own mid-day meal in his newly equip 
 ped kitchen. He was vigorously reaching out in 
 every direction in order to be a "regular," not a 
 foreigner. Surely such discipline would not come 
 amiss in any walk of life, he argued. 
 
 The clock was barely through with its third stroke 
 when Grey was on the trail. Polly looked after him; 
 from the heights and depths of her wisdom she 
 smiled, vaguely. The thought that she held made 
 her happy, though the thing she thought about had 
 brought her much heartache. With it all Polly felt 
 she could not express it, but she felt that it was 
 truly worth while. It held the meaning of life life! 
 
 Grey mounting, mounting, the worst trail of all- 
 was thinking, more coherently, the same thought. 
 This welling-up of fountains he had never suspected 
 caused him both happiness and pain. It was some 
 thing to know what real love was. It was not given 
 to everyone to distinguish between the real and the 
 unreal. The old conception that he had once held 
 amused him. Even before his life had been twisted 
 from its own course, he had had but a poor ideal 
 compared to this simple creed, regarding love, that 
 held him now. "It is civilization that has played 
 havoc with the best that is in us" he mused, stum 
 bling on; "not having patience to wait until we re 
 
102 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 needed, We patch iip something that we imagine is 
 real** .This was. all rvery comforting, viewed from 
 his own point of view, but lately Glenn had puz 
 zled him. It was not going to be all his own way 
 Grey smiled rather grimly. "Women at the best 
 or the worst," he thought "are complex." 
 
 And then he gave himself up to contemplation of 
 the dangerous by-paths which, far too often of late, 
 he had been longing to explore. With absorption as 
 absolute as that of any youngster during his first 
 love affair, he revelled in the delights of possibilities, 
 all tinged by his desire. He found much comfort in 
 the conclusion that such emotions as he was ex 
 periencing could never have acquired the power they 
 had unless they were fed upon reality. Glenn might 
 be complex; she might be wise and fine enough to 
 shield herself from him; but he felt confident that 
 from behind her defence-works, she suspected all his 
 feeling for her; that she returned it, too, in her shy, 
 sweet way; that she knew there must be some cause 
 for his silence, and was willing to trust. 
 
 It was during these mental ramblings that Grey 
 became aware that only Glenn s footsteps and Ra 
 jah s were before him. He wondered if Glenn had 
 noticed that her father s prints had departed from 
 the way? Or perhaps she knew of a shorter cut that 
 would join the trail later. However, Grey was not 
 following, or seeking to follow, Arnold; he had but one 
 object in mind and was doggedly keeping to that. 
 Glenn was too well trained to lose her head he knew. 
 
 When the day began to darken he had a moment of 
 unrest; conventions held him at times, most unex 
 pectedly. His first thought was for Glenn. Sup- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 103 
 
 pose that, when he reached the rocks, he should fail 
 to keep to her path ! a night on the mountains, alone, 
 would be a test for nerves as strong even as Glenn s. 
 Then again, suppose he did overtake her, and he and 
 she were forced to seek shelter until morning! This 
 supposition was alluring as well as disturbing. Grey 
 recalled Glenn s wild fancy for turning night into 
 day and his pulses quickened as he imagined the long, 
 starry hours of the night the awaiting the new day! 
 However, for the present there was nothing to do but 
 to plod on. This he did, but more slowly, for he 
 was tired and it was becoming more and more difficult 
 to see the tracks. 
 
 Presently Grey was aware of a great peace and 
 happiness overcoming all his other sensations. He 
 calmly contemplated the years on ahead. As his 
 body mechanically pressed forward, so did his 
 thought. He meant to live up to his ideals now that 
 he had disentangled himself from the trivialities of 
 his life. He meant to fulfil his duties and obliga 
 tions; to prove that, to him, they were facts not 
 mere moonshine as many, among them his oldest friend 
 Dick Carrington for instance, had often termed them. 
 Grey had not thought of Carrington lately, but now 
 he regarded him and his conception of life as directly 
 opposed to his own. "Odd," he thought, "how two 
 fellows, jogging along in pretty much the same road, 
 can get such different views and come to such differ 
 ent conclusions." 
 
 Throughout all these idle conjectures, Glenn was 
 spiritually beside Grey. Through her, his ideals of 
 marriage, home, life-work, and all the rest, ran with 
 out check. As Sam Morton once had said, Glenn 
 
io 4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "fitted in"; she was that kind of woman. And Grey 
 felt that it was because she recognized in others the 
 "something" which Polly had described as a thing 
 not to be touched, that she was so satisfying. "And 
 when the thing is not touched" Grey thought, in 
 the darkness, for it was quite dark now "it grows 
 unafraid and draws close to the same thing in others. 
 It s the big understanding of the best! It s the only 
 safe hold men and women have upon each other." 
 
 And then, because he could not see any mark be 
 fore him, Grey kept his eyes lifted. He was seeking, 
 now, a light in the little half-way house. That was 
 the next hope to which he must cling. He had been 
 there, a few weeks before, with Arnold on his rounds 
 of preparation. "A night here is quite an experience 
 for climbers," Arnold had explained; "the sunrise 
 isn t bad from the doorway." 
 
 By early evening, Grey knew he should reach the 
 shelter. He would doubtless find both Glenn and 
 Arnold there and they three would make a night of it. 
 Alone, under the stars, he and Glenn might watch 
 the night s mystery. It would be the high point of 
 his life, Grey realized that moment when with love, 
 self-acknowledged but secret, he could look forward 
 to a certain line of action, severed, finally, from a 
 mistaken sense of duty. 
 
 The last bit of the trail, before reaching the shelter, 
 was the most difficult of all. It took nerve and 
 muscle to master it, especially in the dark. And in 
 spite of himself Grey was anxious. 
 
 Falling over rocks, sinking into puddles, feeling the 
 way, he mounted higher and higher. He was long 
 past the timber line. The stars above him were 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 105 
 
 superb; the sky had the blue-black colour that was 
 such a perfect background for the snowy peaks. 
 Presently on ahead, at some distance, he saw a point 
 of light. 
 
 "The shelter !" he exclaimed; "and they are 
 there." 
 
 He went forward with renewed vigour. His weari 
 ness, bruises and lameness were forgotten. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 STRANGE to say, Glenn had not noticed that 
 her father s footprints, early in the climb, had 
 departed from the trail. So confident was 
 she that he had gone toward the Monk, that after 
 accepting this theory the matter had slipped from her 
 attention. It was no easy climb at the best and it 
 took a good deal of concentration to keep on the path 
 if path one could call the opening, cluttered with 
 rocks, fallen trees and muddy snares. Rajah was 
 non-committal. He would go, of course, but he had 
 his opinion of that form of outing. 
 
 At noontime the girl and the dog were in the open, 
 above the trees, on clean rocks. They paused to eat 
 and to rest; Glenn made a cheerful little fire and be 
 came ridiculously joyous. "Rajah, when Dad sees 
 us, he ll say a bad word first and then laugh after. 
 He ll know that he cannot sneak from us!" But 
 later on, in the afternoon, Glenn grew more serious. 
 She realized that she could not make the summit; 
 she would not attempt it. She could not hope, even, 
 to overtake her father; she would have to wait for 
 him at the half-way house. "He will come upon us 
 in the shelter," she comforted herself; "and then, 
 perhaps Mac will fetch up! Rajah; I wonder if 
 you are satisfied with just being a dog?" 
 
 There was a strange light in the girl s eyes. If in 
 spring a young man s fancy turns to love, how about 
 
 106 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 107 
 
 a girl s? If Grey s wells of primitive emotions had 
 overflowed their well-constructed banks, what could 
 be said of this rushing flood of life, and love of life, 
 that were sweeping through this girl, whose sweet, 
 free years had put no obstacle in its path ? She had 
 not reached the discriminating point almost any 
 one with love as an offering would tempt her. It 
 was springtime and she was young. She even for 
 got Grey s repulsings they did not enter into her 
 present mood. 
 
 The story of her mother had opened the gate be 
 tween childhood and womanhood. Sam Morton s 
 crude touch had set something vibrating. Later, 
 Polly s tragedy had brought a distinct note to the 
 fine instrument of Glenn s imagination. The anti 
 cipation of Polly s baby had awakened the maternal, 
 that lies so near to all love in woman. It had purified 
 and given meaning to all the rest. 
 
 And now, ready for the master hand, with the 
 world wakening to the warm touch of life, Glenn 
 feeling, yet not knowing, love toiled in the gloaming 
 to the little shelter by the trail. 
 
 Her father was not there! He had not been there; 
 he might not come all night! Not suspecting that he 
 was followed, preferring the open to any form of 
 cover, he would, undoubtedly, make his fire, find a 
 hole in the rock and take his ease in his own way 
 wherever night chanced to find him. Too late, this 
 realization dismayed Glenn. 
 
 "It looks," she said, lighting the fire; "it looks, 
 Rajah, old man, as if you and I you and I would 
 have it all to ourselves to-night." 
 
 But as she spoke Glenn was estimating how long 
 
io8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 it would take Grey to reach her. "He ll never turn 
 back," she thought. "We ll eat the scraps" she 
 had saved them from her noonday meal "we ll 
 sit by the fire; he ll tell me a story." Her eyes wi 
 dened and deepened; they were now the colour of the 
 blue-black sky, but no one was there to glory in 
 them. 
 
 It was very hot in the little shelter, and, lying 
 curled up on the hearth, her head upon Rajah s will 
 ing body, Glenn fell asleep. She felt herself going 
 and made no effort to keep awake. She would hear 
 any approach; it was only napping after all, until her 
 father or Grey appeared ! 
 
 And wandering close to the borderland of con 
 sciousness, a strange dream drew the girl relentlessly 
 into its power. She seemed to be on the trail again 
 happy and refreshed. She seemed to know the way 
 perfectly; a bit on beyond would be the ticklish strip 
 of rock-path, just before you came to the lake whose 
 water was as blue as the sky! And then presently 
 she was on the narrow ledge of rock walking cau 
 tiously, but with no fear. She did not raise her eyes 
 the sight of the blue lake might undo her. (Her 
 father had cautioned her about this!) She wondered 
 in her deep sleep, where her father was; he seemed to 
 be near her, but out of sight. Safely she crossed the 
 rocks and came just as her father had said she 
 would upon the wonderful scene that he had kept 
 just for her! It was marvellously beautiful and there 
 were flowers close to the edge such lovely flowers! 
 just as her father had described. But how lonely it 
 was and how still! She was waiting waiting for 
 some one. Was it her father? or ? Then she 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 109 
 
 knew, sitting there by the water that she was waiting 
 for Grey! Grey meant more even than her father! 
 How strange that was! And it did not make her 
 unhappy; it was as it must be things always were, 
 if they were not bungled. Her father knew that, as 
 well as she. And just then she thought she saw a 
 man coming across that ticklish bit of trail! He had 
 his arms stretched wide, like one who was blind; he 
 was feeling his way. Her breath came short and 
 hard. It mattered more than anything else in all 
 the world, the safe passage of that man upon the 
 ledge! The dream became, at that point, a night 
 mare. And how slow the man walked! how he 
 swayed ! And then he stopped short turned wildly, 
 and fell fell fell! 
 
 After what seemed an eternity, the limp form lay 
 at Glenn s feet. The body was lifeless crushed 
 but the upturned face was calm and unhurt. She 
 gazed amazedly upon it and saw that it was not 
 Grey s face! It was a new, a strange face one that 
 she was never to forget. It was a face whose calmness, 
 not even violent death could change. The opened 
 eyes were calm, too frozenly calm. They chilled 
 Glenn even while sleep held her. The lips were set 
 firmly and the chin was like iron in its rigidity. 
 
 Fascinated by the quiet, dead face, held captive 
 by the spell that controlled her, Glenn was yet con 
 scious of being glad because it was not Grey who lay 
 at her feet! 
 
 And then she ceased to dream: she sank into ob 
 livion and slept on and on. 
 
 It was while she lay thus, relaxed and at rest, that 
 Grey reached the shelter and looked in at the small 
 
no UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 window. The sight sent the blood coursing through 
 his veins! His hand was on the latch 
 
 Just then a curious thing occurred: Grey thought 
 of Beverly Train! His hand fell as if a power had 
 removed it. He was angry helpless amused. 
 What did it mean ? Why should he not go in ? What 
 else was there for him to do ? 
 
 But he did not go in! "The year! You will 
 never be sure, never confident, unless you hold to the 
 covenant you made with yourself." The thought 
 seemed to become vocalized. It rang in the silence. 
 
 Grey looked at the sleeping girl so far beyond his 
 reach and yet so appealingly near and wondered 
 why she did not waken ? 
 
 There suddenly came a realization of the moment s 
 meaning, and, with it, an overwhelming conception 
 of himself that never before had been suspected. He 
 had been caught in time had been saved by what 
 was best in him, from that which was less. He had 
 narrowly escaped being carried away by passion 
 but he had dared to believe, even in that humil 
 iating moment, that he had meant no injustice to the 
 girl. Nevertheless he acknowledged to his honest 
 self that had any wrong happened it would have been 
 because of that unseen power outside of himself. 
 
 There were times in Grey s after years when he 
 was to look back at those hours and feel that they 
 were the holiest he had ever known. He was to 
 know, too, that they never would have been so, had 
 he gone inside the cabin. In his blindness and self- 
 sufficiency he had all but stumbled into the pit where 
 in have fallen so many who, like him, overestimated 
 their strength. He, for the moment had been mas- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES in 
 
 tered. In similar circumstances men and women 
 had done deeds for which they had paid by years of 
 remorse; Grey was in a deep sense understanding 
 his kind with a sympathy born of similarity. While 
 these fevered thoughts ran on barely heeded, con 
 sciously Grey was watching the sleeping girl 
 watching her, withdrawing from her, planning to 
 guard her against harm against himself! 
 
 At last he stepped noiselessly away. He found a 
 crevice in a rock and by some sacrifice of comfort, 
 began his vigil. He and Glenn were to watch the 
 mysteries of the night but apart. 
 
 But as Grey crouched in his crevice, the hours 
 went majestically on. At last came the stirring; 
 it was as if the command "Let there be light" were 
 again moving the darkness; the mystery of birth was 
 on the heights, and Grey watched it with a deeply 
 religious thought. Quietly the high peaks signalled 
 the day; they flushed and radiated with welcome. 
 And just then the door of the shelter opened Grey 
 was watching it and Glenn and Rajah came out. 
 Troubled by her dream of the night and the call of 
 the dawn, the girl stood with uplifted arms like 
 one waiting for a gift or a burden! Her face was 
 grave and tense. She was offering a prayer of grati 
 tude, longing, and faith. "O God/ she cried, softly, 
 and the words reached the man in the rock crevice. 
 It was an appeal to the Infinite a seeking of the 
 Most High. 
 
 Then the mood passed and the girl turned her at 
 tention to Rajah who responding to the instincts of 
 his nature, was alert and on guard his nose close to 
 the earth. "Shame, sir! It s not like you to want 
 
ii2 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 to harry any poor creature shivering in its hole in 
 fear. Come in sir!" They went inside, but the 
 door remained open. 
 
 Presently Rajah came forth, alone. He had chosen 
 a moment when his mistress s eyes were off him. He 
 came quickly, unerringly to the spot where Grey 
 crouched. He came close and showed his teeth in 
 that broad dog-grin of his that proved his sense of 
 humour. Grey reached out and took the shaggy 
 head in his arms; he looked into the humanly appeal 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " It s a great joke, old chap, isn t it ? " he whispered, 
 "the greatest old joke that was ever set loose in the 
 world. Go back, boy, go back to her; and be glad 
 since you do not know any better be glad that you 
 are the kind of dog you are !" 
 
 In another half hour Glenn came again into view. 
 She had extinguished the fire and laid another ready 
 to light. She closed the door, whistling to Rajah, 
 and then she turned down the trail. She had no 
 taste now for the peak; she was cramped, hun 
 gry, and lonely. Her dream haunted her; she 
 wanted, more than anything else, home! A thin, 
 filmy snow had fallen during the night and foot 
 prints were obliterated. 
 
 Grey waited until the girl and the dog were out of 
 sight; then, indifferent as to possibilities, he struck 
 out to the left of the trail; imperilled life and limb; 
 and managed, at the end of an hour, to sweep around 
 to the beaten tracks and confront Glenn as she wear 
 ily descended. 
 
 "You so you were looking for me?" she asked ? 
 a gladness creeping into her eyes. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 113 
 
 "Yes, child. Of course. I left on the last stroke 
 of three." 
 
 "And you got lost? Poor Mac!" 
 
 "Well only for a short time," replied Grey, 
 slowly weighing his words. 
 
 "I was in the shelter all night, quite safe, Mac." 
 
 "Yes. And I was in a crevice of the rocks; it was 
 quite splendid the night, I mean." 
 
 Glenn looked up quickly. Her eyes grew alert. 
 
 "What rocks, Mac?" 
 
 "What rocks? Glenn; how can I answer that? 
 When one is beyond the timber line, rocks are 
 rocks!" 
 
 "Did you follow me?" 
 
 "Yes. I saw your footprints part of the way. On 
 the rocks, I lost them." 
 
 "But but did you notice that mine were the only 
 ones?" 
 
 "Yours and Rajah s; yes." 
 
 Glenn turned from him. Again he had pushed 
 back to its place that spiritual seeking of her soul on 
 its quest of life. She was hurt dismayed. 
 
 "And you let it go at that!" she said, quietly but 
 with an injured tone. "You took chances; but per 
 haps it was because you did not know the danger!" 
 
 And at that something in Grey knew resentment. 
 After all he had understood of danger, this was a poor 
 return ! 
 
 "Perhaps I did not," he answered, rather grimly. 
 And they made the rest of the way in silence. 
 
 When they reached the Lodge all thought of them 
 selves was temporarily forgotten, for there sat Ar 
 nold, his foot in a tub of hot water, and Polly was 
 
ii 4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 standing affrightedly beside him like a priestess at her 
 rites. Arnold was using strong language a rare 
 indulgence for him and when he caught sight of 
 Glenn and Grey he burst forth with renewed energy. 
 
 "Slipped! Me!" he almost screamed. "Slipped, 
 by the Lord Harry! Me! Forty-eight years I ve kept 
 upright and yesterday a pebble a pebble! turned 
 me down like a crumpled leaf! I had to crawl 
 crawl, Grey, like a snake for more than half a mile. 
 Polly saw me and pulled me in, all the pep taken out 
 of me." 
 
 Arnold was suffering and, in his relief at seeing 
 Glenn and Grey safe, he had let himself go. 
 
 "Dad, Dad! You poor, blessed, old, silly giant." 
 Glenn was beside Polly and the steaming tub 
 "don t go fashing yourself. This will teach you to be 
 human with them who do fall. Run, Polly; get 
 bandages and liniment. Now, then Mac, help me to 
 bind up this old ogre s ankle. We ve got him now! 
 This comes, sir, of sneaking off to the Monk alone 1 
 It serves you right for deserting me." 
 
 "How did you know, girl?" Arnold was soften 
 ing; he saw tears in Glenn s eyes. 
 
 "By the light of my star!" she whispered. But 
 Grey did not understand. 
 
 "What did you think of me not coming after 
 you, girl?" The roughness was all gone now from 
 Arnold s tones. 
 
 "I thought you did not know, Dad." 
 
 Then Arnold turned to Grey, "But you followed! 
 You re the stuff, son. Where did you find her ? " 
 
 "He he didn t find me," Glenn put in, hastily; "I 
 made the shelter and stayed there by myself." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 115 
 
 "And you, Mac ? " Arnold s eyes were keen. 
 
 "Well, when I went as far as I as I could see the 
 trail, I got into a crevice of the rocks, took a smoke, 
 and waited until I could get the lay of the land in the 
 morning. I I sensed that Glenn had got to the 
 shelter. Indeed I made sure of that and " 
 
 But a twinge of agony saved the hour. Arnold 
 did not ask: "What rocks?", nor: "How did you 
 make sure?" 
 
 The days that followed were too full of Arnold and 
 his needs to admit of any trivial affair assuming im 
 portance. Self-sufficient and unselfish in health, 
 Arnold became a martinet in bondage. With his 
 injured foot resting on a chair, he regarded it as a 
 personal enemy a thing detached from his healthy 
 body and menacing all the future. 
 
 "God!" he confided to Grey; "this may make an 
 eternal cripple of me. I ve never had an ache or a 
 pain in my life before." 
 
 "Nonsense, Arnold. It s only a sprain. Not a 
 very serious one. But suppose I ride down to Con 
 nor s and see if I can scare up a doctor?" In spite 
 of himself Arnold s attitude impressed and worried 
 Grey. 
 
 "No, you don t, Mac. I ve seen enough of 
 doctors. There s only one that I would let touch 
 me, or mine, and he doesn t come until July; got a 
 ranch twenty miles beyond Connor s. Davis is his 
 name; he knows how the Lord put the human frame 
 together and what he made it of the rest of the 
 batch only guess. No guessing on me, son! I d 
 rather die here with that enemy facing me" here 
 
u6 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 he shook his fist at his foot "than let any guesser 
 take another guess on me." 
 
 To Glenn, Arnold confided the belief that he was 
 not long for this world and commanded her to write, 
 at once, to a Denver lawyer, who had all his business 
 affairs locked in a drawer in his desk. 
 
 "And I guess, girl, when I m gone you d better get 
 down where that blamed teacher-chap said you ought 
 to go." 
 
 "In the procession, Dad?" Grey was amused at 
 the girl s smiling calm. She did not fear for her 
 father. 
 
 "Yes, darned fool that he was!" 
 
 "Mac will be able to help me, Dad. We ve talked 
 it over. That nice Miss Train will teach me how to 
 parade, I know." 
 
 This was made of whole cloth and on the spur of 
 the moment. Grey laughed as he watched the effect 
 upon Arnold. At once the nervous man made an 
 effort to get control of himself. He saw through the 
 ruse, and was ashamed. 
 
 "Well," he said, presently, with a twinkle of the 
 eye, "Since you ve done all the arranging, I don t 
 know but what I ll give you a little more trouble 
 and stay on." 
 
 From that moment he began to mend. But other 
 forces contributed to the result. Spring planting had 
 to be attended to. Arnold had delayed it while 
 engaged in the more congenial tasks of overlooking 
 the trails. The need, now, was imperative. Sam 
 Morton, on his return, was urged to lend a hand, and 
 Grey bent his own back to the tilling of the soil in 
 real earnest. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 117 
 
 "You certainly are becoming a regular , son/ 
 exclaimed Arnold cheering him approvingly, "and it 
 means more to me than I can tell you. Being tied 
 here and helpless" [he glared at his foot] "my old 
 life seems mighty fine to me and you are helping to 
 make it possible. Just think of never getting to the 
 tops again! Think of your soul climbing out of 
 your carcass and going up and on, while the carcass 
 just rots in the Lodge! If that was to be my fate " 
 
 The sweat stood out on Arnold s brow. Glenn 
 was standing by the fire place, at that moment 
 standing just where she had stood the day when 
 she suggested to Grey to try a turn in the open, after 
 his illness. Her face was whimsical, tender, and 
 piteous but a bit anxious. 
 
 "Dad," she said, softly,"why don t you try to 
 stand and see what happens?" 
 
 "Eh?" gasped Arnold, "stand on that? "he 
 pointed to the slippered offender. 
 
 "Yes, Dad. Here are Mac and I ready to give a 
 hand if you crumple. But the swelling is all gone, 
 Dad; I honestly " 
 
 Arnold was dazedly putting his foot to the floor. 
 Gradually he rose, breathlessly stood ! 
 
 "Well by the Lord!" he gasped and took a step, 
 paused; straightened himself, winced; tried it again 
 and then, shamefacedly, confronted his audience. 
 
 "Do you know," he said to Grey, "I had an idea 
 that there was a gap between me and my ankle. But" 
 he smiled, "I see I am still joined together." 
 Then he turned to Glenn: "And, girl; I guess we ll 
 let those papers down in Denver gather a little more 
 dust." 
 
n8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Dear old Dad of course we will!" Glenn was 
 glowing and happy in her relief. "But go slowly, 
 dear; you re all right, but you haven t been quite 
 fair to your foot; it may resent it, you know just at 
 first." 
 
 The little shoulder was within reach. Grey saw 
 Arnold grip it with his big, tender hand, and the sight 
 moved him curiously. He seemed to feel the firm, 
 tender flesh in his own hand; he found himself closing 
 his fingers, tight. He shut his eyes, still he could see 
 that radiant head going before him leading him, 
 leading him not Arnold. 
 
 Grey was up to his old trick of dreaming. Feeling 
 secure, he dreamed on. Where another man would 
 have put his hope to the test, Grey s faith never 
 wavered. "And above all," he insisted to his soul, 
 "when I tell my love, it must not be shadowed by 
 another woman s misery if I can help it." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ANOLD was a changed man. This struck 
 Grey as consumedly comical, but the weeks 
 of suffering slight as that suffering had 
 been had flooded Arnold with a new light. 
 
 "Mac," he often said, "I thought I was fairly 
 understanding, but Lord! you cannot know anything 
 until you ve gone through it. Why, suffering and 
 pain make black white and white black, without any 
 consent of your own. Folks cannot be what they 
 might be when they re throttled." 
 }-Grey recalled the night at the half-way house and 
 nodded. 
 
 In this softened mood Arnold harked back to the 
 time when his wife had drifted out of life on the last 
 wave of bodily torture. Then, quite naturally, he 
 thought of Polly and her coming motherhood a re 
 flection that included Sam, in a strange way. Arnold 
 had a strong desire to make Sam more considerate 
 and gentle. He thought of many things that he, 
 himself, might have done, long ago, if he had better 
 understood pain and pain s effects. "Especially 
 on anything so helpless as as some women," he 
 concluded. "Sam will regret every heedless word 
 and act when he stands apart while Polly rights her, 
 fight alone." 
 
 And then Arnold looked at his own girl and his 
 eyes dimmed. He saw in her Woman! And withj 
 
 119 
 
120 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 that vision there came wide vistas, before which his 
 spirit bowed humbly. 
 
 He wanted Glenn to know, of course, the heights 
 and the depths of all that her nature craved; but he 
 grew weak at the realization of the terrible price to 
 be paid in suffering. He began to have fears, too, 
 that because of his selfish love and life, she might 
 lack opportunity. Many things that the young pro 
 fessor had said came vividly back to him. No longer 
 did he resent them; he grasped the wisdom of them; 
 but he was helpless. How could he send the girl 
 away? How could he go with her? Whither could 
 they go to find her trail? What was her trail, any 
 way? and could any one find it but herself? 
 
 By all these signs Grey and Glenn believed that 
 Arnold for the first time in his experience, was a vic 
 tim of nerves; and, not being very wise, although 
 exceedingly loving and devoted, they exerted them 
 selves to the exclusion of their own affairs to 
 supply his needs. Grey proudly led Arnold forth to 
 view the results of his farming; Glenn got her mando 
 lin out and invented several new chants that were 
 designed for amusement not criticism; and Grey s 
 comments on them were a realization of the result 
 desired. 
 
 The Lodge atmosphere, presently, became less 
 strained; Arnold s nerves calmed; and everyone, 
 even little Polly, showed relief. Grey gave some 
 thought, now, to his own work, and his cabin. The 
 latter was an expression of his needs his tastes. 
 Not a chair or book-shelf but filled a want. He could 
 think out his problems before his own hearth as he 
 could nowhere else; and his wide, hand-made desk 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 121 
 
 was cluttered with work that daily was attacked with 
 vigour, now that Arnold was himself once more. 
 
 Glenn would wander in and out; she never dis 
 turbed Grey; often her silent presence was an in 
 spiration. Sometimes she would bring her sewing 
 and sit by his open door rarely speaking, rarely 
 looking at him, but filling him with a sense of her 
 nearness. This consciousness of her presence had the 
 power to clarify his thought and set it free there 
 seemed to be a mental stimulus flowing from the 
 silent girl to the working man. 
 
 All this was very dangerous, though no one seemed 
 to realize it. Arnold was never one to question a 
 state of affairs that seemed to offer no cause for 
 alarm. Grey was a man to whom life s experiences 
 would always come slowly, because of his own de 
 termination to hold them off until he could accept 
 them conscientiously. Glenn, with the heritage of 
 her sex, was, perforce, silent because she dared not 
 speak. Day by day she brought her offering to her 
 secret altars and wondered, subconsciously, why they 
 were not received. She did not question; she was 
 happy, but she was perplexed. At such an epoch a 
 false note might turn into discord all the pleasant 
 tune of life, and early in June it struck. 
 
 Skirting their own problems, Grey and Glenn, as 
 often happens, took the problems of others to illus 
 trate the trend of their own thoughts. Polly and Sam 
 were the convenient vehicles just then. They stood, 
 in the narrow environment, for the eternal verities. 
 
 "I wish that Polly" said Glenn one early evening, 
 sitting by Grey s door, "would not forget that she 
 is Polly, as well as Mrs. Sam." 
 
122 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Does she forget it?" Grey asked. He was 
 rummaging through his papers; their disorder an 
 noyed him but he knew he would always be dis 
 orderly. 
 
 "Well, if she doesn t" Glenn went on, "she thinks 
 it a virtue to make believe. I don t see why a woman 
 cannot be well just herself. She always has to 
 try to be what a man expects in this case what Sam 
 expects ! " By keeping the line of thought focused on 
 Polly and Sam, Glenn could better air her opinions. 
 
 "You re mighty wise, child, aren t you?" Grey 
 gave a laugh and mentally tried to get beside Sam 
 in this clash of ideas. There were times when he 
 felt a strong sympathy for Morton. He knew that 
 the poor fellow was trying to live up to the promise of 
 his marriage day, but it must be devilish hard to be 
 conscious always of Glenn s watch upon him. 
 
 "One has to be, when she has the Pollys and the 
 Sams on her hands," Glenn replied flippantly. 
 
 "It s not up to you, my dear girl, to run the uni 
 verse." Grey was thinking of Beverly Train s warn 
 ing to him. 
 
 "Oh! well" Glenn was determined to keep the 
 conversation impersonal "Sam hasn t the least idea 
 what sort of woman he wants. Polly could afford to 
 be the kind she likes best." Grey contented himself 
 with a scoffing laugh. 
 
 Glenn went on, "Polly has the chance to make 
 herself since she is bound to try into the kind Sam 
 ought to want." 
 
 "He might not like it after the job was done," 
 Grey argued, in the defence of his sex. "He has 
 some choice, you know, as to likes and kinds." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 123 
 
 "Yes; but if Polly really tried to be the best sort 
 she knows how to be good enough to have little 
 children and to thank God for them Sam ought to 
 like that kind, oughtn t he? You see, Mac, as I 
 watch Sam and Polly it does seem to me that their 
 chance of keeping each other would be greater if 
 they both had something bigger than themselves. 
 They just get edgy, rubbing against their difficulties/ 
 Conversation was becoming more serious. And now 
 Grey came to the door and stood above Glenn. 
 
 "Wait until you are in love," he ventured calmly 
 watching her keenly. "I think you ought to leave 
 something to Love to work out." 
 
 Glenn raised her eyes to him and he saw they were 
 misty. "I know, Mac, and it makes one afraid. 
 Love ought to mean the wide-open door, oughtn t 
 it ? But so often it seems to shut the door. And 
 then I get to wondering what a man and a woman 
 think behind the door. After all, Mac, God does 
 give to a man and a woman something that He is 
 going to ask for, some day. It cannot be given to 
 anyone else to answer for. I think that is why He 
 made them man and woman, just to help one an 
 other make that something stronger and better. Oh, 
 Mac, I am so sorry when I see folks folks like Polly 
 and Sam just wearing out, when they ought to be 
 getting stronger." 
 
 "Is there anything new up the trail, Glenn?" Grey 
 asked this doubtfully for he felt that Glenn was 
 merely using Sam and Polly as marionettes. She was 
 pulling the strings making them dance to her tunes. 
 
 Again he had the overpowering desire that he had 
 felt the night when he had stood at the door of the 
 
124 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 half-way house: to cast all barriers down between 
 him and the girl near him. But again as then 
 something stronger than his impulse and his longing 
 stayed him. 
 
 Glenn, almost afraid of what she did not under 
 stand, in Grey s attitude, ran on a bit breathlessly: 
 "I told Polly that I wished she and Sam would push 
 each other out of the way, once in awhile, and live 
 well, sort of separate." 
 
 "Why, child, you re a regular rebel! You ll end 
 by demoralizing the whole social structure, beginning 
 with Polly and Sam, if you don t look out!" Grey 
 laughed and sat down on the step beside the girl he 
 felt that he dared! "You ll turn the procession into 
 a mob by such ideas." 
 
 "Will I really, Mac?" 
 
 "Girl, you won t be let* as the children say! We 
 all get attacks of taking a fling at the thing we call 
 life but I rather imagine Life looks after its own 
 laws fairly well. You see, there are quite a lot of 
 people coming after us and they must have some 
 thing to do." 
 
 "But, Mac, we can try." 
 
 "That s about all, child. Now I have a plan. 
 Let s work with what we have not bruise ourselves 
 
 creating new tools. Let us begin, say, with Polly s 
 )> 
 
 eyes. 
 
 "What a funny idea, Mac." Glenn, more spirit 
 ually than physically, moved away. 
 
 "Her eyes are great, and they are getting greater. 
 We ll live up to the eyes. I m not so sure either you 
 or I could change Polly much, insidt , but we can 
 dress her, outwardly; and Sam certainly does sit up 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 125 
 
 and take notice when anything new and pretty gets 
 on his horizon. I heard a story once of how a woman 
 got her husband s love back by wearing a pink silk 
 dressing-sacque!" Glenn looked more and more 
 puzzled. It was not exactly pleasing to find how 
 easily Grey became absorbed in Polly. "Polly cer 
 tainly looks a freak," Grey went on. "I don t know 
 much about her soul, but I do know that her general 
 appearance is sloppy." 
 
 "I never thought of that, Mac. She is dowdy." 
 This came vaguely. 
 
 "I m going to turn Beverly Train on her," declared 
 Grey, swaying back and forth in an ecstasy of vision. 
 
 Beverly Train, heretofore, had been to Glenn but a 
 medium for carrying out Grey s ideas as to furniture 
 and hangings for the Morton s cabin; but now, Grey 
 brought her humanly close. He wanted Glenn to 
 know her love her. 
 
 "I often think that God took the biggest heart and 
 mind He had and put them in the smallest body that 
 would hold them," he mused, looking far, far down 
 the trail as if he saw his friend. "She was born with 
 a hump on her back, too heavy for her poor little 
 legs to carry, so she took, early, to a long wheel 
 chair. She studied and grew very wise. That she 
 survived, lived at all, is a miracle, but, having decided 
 to live, she put her soul and mind to the task; and 
 she has done wonders. She specializes in women 
 and children; nothing stands between her and them; 
 they adore her. Men, occasionally find her out, 
 too. She studied law; her father was a judge. I ve 
 heard people say that he was the only just judge they 
 had ever known. Beverly is rich and manages her 
 
126 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 i 
 
 affairs alone. She has an old home in Boston and a 
 wonderful place some miles out of town. She revels 
 in flowers and she always has people to serve her who 
 owe her about all they have in life though she will 
 not admit that. Her voice is the loveliest I have 
 ever heard and from that chair of hers she covers a 
 great distance. She reached to me; and I m going 
 now to put Polly within range of her touch." 
 
 "Oh, Mac!" Glenn was half crying. "How I 
 would love Beverly Train. I never thought of her 
 otherwise than as well, as a person, your friend, 
 some one you knew. But now; why, she is mine > 
 everybody s. What are you going to tell her to send 
 to Polly?" 
 
 "I shall tell her nothing after I have put Polly 
 where she can see her. Beverly will do the rest. I 
 am going to write to-night." 
 
 It would be difficult to express what Glenn was 
 thinking as Grey talked on of Beverly Train and 
 Polly. She was interested, deeply touched, but 
 also, in a sense, hurt. Grey in his efforts to please 
 and divert was creating a distance between himself 
 and her. He was not conscious of this, but she was; 
 and it chilled her. It was all very fine this effort 
 for Polly and Sam but Grey was overdoing it. 
 
 "I ll go over to the Lodge and leave you to write 
 the letter," said Glenn as she got up and walked 
 away. She seemed almost majestic. 
 
 "Why, Glenn, what is it?" Grey felt as if the 
 girl had hit him. And then because after all, as 
 Grey himself said Life does look after its own laws 
 the girl turned her head and laughed merrily. The 
 laugh marked the dividing of the ways. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 127 
 
 "There isn t anything," she called back. "Why 
 should you think there is?" She was driving him 
 to the open. 
 
 "Glenn!" 
 
 But she ran on leaving Grey to wonder far into 
 the night. 
 
 On the following day Grey and Arnold went for a 
 climb. Arnold s ankle was about as strong as ever, 
 but the bare sight of a pebble in his path still had a 
 bad effect upon his nerves. Grey accompanied him 
 with misgiving. He had to go without seeing Glenn. 
 
 "People will soon be coming for the summer," 
 Arnold said, "I must be in shape." 
 
 They made a successful trip and came in late and 
 tired. Sam had arrived with the mail and Grey took 
 his over to his cabin. He decided to prepare his 
 evening meal and go later to the Lodge. He ate; 
 and then, from healthy weariness, he fell asleep in his 
 chair by the fire. He slept for two hours. Then, 
 suddenly, he awoke to find Glenn, sitting across 
 the hearth, watching him with fixed and waiting 
 glance. 
 
 "Good Lord, child! Anything the matter?" he 
 asked, sitting up. Now that she was near him his 
 moodiness passed. He had been hungry for her all 
 day. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, slowly; "something is, Mac. 
 A very queer thing has happened." 
 
 "What?" Grey was impressed. 
 
 "A man has come to the Lodge; some one from 
 Connor s brought him up." 
 
 "Well? what of that?" 
 
 "Mac, do you remember the dream I told you 
 
128 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 about; the dream I had that night when I slept in 
 the half-way house alone ? " 
 
 Grey vaguely recalled it; Glenn had repeated it to 
 him and Arnold, after the excitement of Arnold s 
 accident was past. 
 
 " Yes I remember it. Some one fell; you thought 
 it was I, but it wasn t." 
 
 "Yes. Well, Mac, I told you that I should never 
 forget the face that I saw in my dream. You and 
 Dad laughed at me, but to-night when I was standing 
 by the fire in the living room, that man came in! 
 Mac, he has the face of the man in my dream!" 
 
 "Good Lord! girl, what are you talking about?" 
 Grey was amused. "I ll tell you what is the matter 
 with you: nerves! Now do not give way to them. 
 Once you do, you re a goner. Come; let us go over 
 and take a second look at this stranger." 
 
 "Don t laugh at me, Mac. I know how silly I 
 must seem to be, but really he does look like the 
 man of my dream." 
 
 "Perhaps he looked as if he remembered you; did 
 he, Glenn?" 
 
 "Mac honestly he did!" 
 
 "Glenn; you re good copy if you are nothing 
 else," Grey smiled into the serious eyes. 
 
 "All the same I m not going back until after Dad 
 and that man are through supper. I cooked it and 
 
 ran." 
 
 "All the better for me! Sit down, child, and I ll 
 get something for you to eat. In the meantime let 
 us talk this thing over. What sort of a chap is the 
 stranger? Has he come to stay?" 
 
 "I heard him tell Dad that he d come on bus- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 129 
 
 iness. Funny, isn t it? business! He s good- 
 looking enough. He looks well, he looks as if he 
 had come for something!" 
 
 "Glenn; don t get a kink in your mind about a 
 perfectly innocent tourist. Just give him the benefit 
 of the doubt. He may not be the dreaming sort, 
 but if he did have a tumble, in a dream, the chances 
 are that it stunned him. Child; speak low, tread 
 easy, let s keep him stunned!" 
 
 The spell was broken. Glenn flung her arms over 
 her head. "I tell you, Mac," she said, gaily, "you 
 bring me around in great shape. I suppose I am a 
 bit of a a dub." 
 
 After eating the meal that Grey had prepared, 
 Glenn quite recovered from her unaccountable 
 shock stole away to the Lodge, but Grey decided 
 not to go over until morning. He was not interested 
 in the stranger and, although he was no longer tired, 
 he wanted to be alone. He stretched his legs to his 
 fire; clasped his hands behind his head, and was 
 not conscious of any connected thought. He felt 
 that the air was growing chilly the door behind 
 him was open; he kicked a log into the embers and 
 then drifted again luxuriously. 
 
 "Mac!" 
 
 The voice that spoke his name had a carrying 
 quality. It was not a loud voice, it had all the quiet 
 intonations of cultivation, but it also had its relent 
 less power and determination. It seemed to bear, 
 in its quiet demanding, all of Grey s past; it signified 
 that it meant to hail him back to take up what he had 
 dropped. It meant to imply: "It is no use to try to 
 escape!" 
 
130 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Slowly Grey turned, then got upon feet. 
 
 "Hello, Dick!" was all that he said, but he looked 
 the rest. Then, after a moment of reconstruction: 
 "Sit down and and give an account of yourself. 
 How in thunder did you get here ? Are you alone ?" 
 
 Grey would not have been surprised if the man, 
 now comfortably seated in a chair, had informed him 
 that he was accompanied by all the company that had 
 been thrown overboard when he had fled his past. 
 
 "Yes, I m alone. Why should I have to account 
 for being here, old man ? When you crept into your 
 hole you didn t pull it in after you, did you?" 
 
 "Lord, no. And it isn t my hole." 
 
 Grey s eyes were fastened on Richard Carrington s 
 face; he was slowly recovering from the shock of see 
 ing him, and details were coming into prominence. It 
 must have been Carrington s face that had given poor 
 Glenn her bad half-hour. His face was The Face! 
 
 At this Grey was tempted to laugh, but sup 
 pressed it. He continued to stare, however, while 
 Carrington was glibly accounting for himself. Grey 
 barely heard a word but the "face" was taking on 
 importance. It was a face of Family and of Money. 
 Not that the Carringtons had ever handled much 
 money others did that for them they themselves 
 received money value, and it had set its mark upon 
 the Face. 
 
 It was not the sort of face, Grey was thinking rather 
 humorously, that could be kept dead. When you 
 might least expect it the eyes and lips would open 
 and warn you not to presume ! 
 
 "And so you see," Carrington came to a climax, 
 "I am combining business and pleasure." He took 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 131 
 
 a cigarette from a valuable gold case. Like his face 
 and his ease of manner, it was an heirloom. "Got 
 a bit rummy, you know. Another strike at the 
 factories. I always leave them to Thompson. When 
 I m around he feels it his duty to consult me. If 
 Thompson weren t such a master when I m out of 
 sight, I d get rid of him for that habit he has of of 
 pestering. Once I m off the map, however, he rolls 
 up his sleeves and grits his teeth. I was going 
 abroad, but something occurred that that turned 
 me this way." 
 
 "Beverly Train all right?" asked Grey. It struck 
 even him as odd that Beverly should be the only one 
 who seemed to matter, for his life had been lived 
 down in the place from which Carrington had come. 
 
 "She s the same as usual. Night-blooming flower 
 and all the rest. She sent for me a week ago. She" 
 Carrington, having smoked his cigarette to the exact 
 point where he always discarded a cigarette, lighted 
 another "she wanted some one who knew you, 
 old man, to tell you that that Kathleen Maurey is 
 dead!" 
 
 The room seemed to grow cold. The fire did not 
 penetrate the chill; and yet it flared brightly, vividly. 
 It leaped and made the place light the cold place 
 where ghosts walk ! Grey got up and closed the door. 
 
 "Dead?" he said, simply, as he took his seat again. 
 "Tell me all about it, Dick. I suppose Beverly had 
 the details?" 
 
 "Yes. I believe she has confided them to you. 
 Here is the letter. I do not know the contents." 
 
 "The letter?" Repetition seemed necessary in 
 order to convince him. 
 
132 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Here it is." Carrington held it out. "Beverly 
 told me the bare fact of the death/ 
 
 Grey took the envelope, opened it, leaned toward 
 the firelight and read, silently: 
 
 BEVERLY, DEAR: 
 
 You always held to something in me that you thought was big. 
 I never believed there was anything big in me anything really 
 worth while but the year, alone off here, has let something 
 within me, grow. I guess it is the thing that only you saw. 
 
 I ve been terribly lonely, Beverly and ill. All my good 
 looks are gone; everything is gone for which I cared. I know 
 this, and all that is left for me to do is the thing that I m going 
 to do! 
 
 I want you to tell Mac, some day, all about this letter. After 
 he knows, his life will be safe; and he will understand that (in 
 the only way possible for me) I helped to make it so. I wish 
 that I had never caused him so much trouble. 
 
 Isn t it strange, Beverly, that a very bad woman can some 
 times be good and a poor little fool like me can do, at the pinch, 
 a rather fine thing? 
 
 I ve been suffering with neuritis. The doctor has given me 
 some sleeping medicine. At first he would only trust me with a 
 little, but a week ago he went away, leaving a dozen powders 
 with me: enough to last until he came home! To-night, Beverly, 
 I am going to sleep! They will call it something else, but I 
 wanted you to know the truth. It has helped me to feel that 
 you will understand. It will square me with my conscience. 
 
 Pasted to the letter was a short notice from a 
 Canadian newspaper. 
 
 Suddenly, on the loth of May, at the St. Mark Hotel, Kath 
 leen Maurey, late of Boston, Mass. 
 
 It was like Beverly Train, Grey thought, to put the 
 whole secret in his keeping at once. Now that he 
 was free she felt that poor Kathleen should have the 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 133 
 
 glimmer of glory that belonged to her. Slowly Grey 
 crumpled the sheets of paper in his hand a faint 
 fragrance came from them. He knew the odour, it 
 had a sickening effect upon him now, and he tossed 
 the paper to the purifying flames. 
 
 "So that s ended," Carrington said, watching 
 Grey s face. 
 
 "Yes. That s ended, Dick." 
 
 "After all it was the best thing that could have 
 happened. I must say I did not expect such a sane 
 outcome. I was afraid, old man excuse me, but I 
 was afraid you d be an ass and let her get a strangle 
 hold on you." 
 
 "Were you?" Grey did not smile. "I m afraid 
 you flatter me, Dick. There have been times when 
 I was afraid I wasn t going to be an ass." 
 
 Carrington was not sensitive to subtleties; he was 
 keener along more obvious lines. 
 
 "It was a devil of a mess, Mac, but because a 
 fellow snarls up his life with a married woman, there s 
 no reason why he should continue to knot it once 
 they both are free. It s an open game in most cases." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so occasionally." Grey was not 
 paying much attention. He was thinking that as 
 soon as he felt steady he could go to Arnold and 
 Glenn ! 
 
 "I don t imagine, old man, that it was anything 
 but well, the usual was it? You re not broken 
 up, are you?" Carrington earnestly believed him 
 self sympathetic. 
 
 "Dick you won t mind I m sure I m devilish 
 grateful to you and Beverly for dealing so gently 
 with me but there are some things that one such 
 
i 3 4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 a one as I, at any rate cannot go into. Let s agree 
 to to shut the door on it all, old man." 
 
 "Right! And toss the key on the scrap heap." 
 Carrington was relieved. He hated complication 
 abhorred "scenes." The two men sat in silence for 
 a few minutes during which both got their armour 
 adjusted. 
 
 "Queer, isn t it?" mused Carrington. "I m not 
 subject to fancies" [he wasn t!]; "my life has, by 
 inheritance, been rather exempt from any tempta 
 tion to sidetrack my emotions or feelings. The 
 beaten track has always seemed adventurous enough 
 for me. But a few hours ago I got a jog." 
 
 "Yes?" Grey had to say something. 
 
 "When I went into the Lodge, a girl was standing 
 by the fire looking, for all the world, as if you may 
 laugh, Mac, but as if she were waiting for me! 
 Women don t usually attract me at least not until 
 I know them well but that girl fixed herself; and 
 the queer thing about it was her what shall I call 
 it? her familiarity! I suppose she looks like some 
 one I ve seen known, perhaps, rather well. It 
 will come to me. Does she resemble any one you 
 know back home?" 
 
 "Lord, no!" Grey set his jaw. "That s Ar 
 nold s daughter. She is unlike any one who ever got 
 her start down where we came from." 
 
 "Ah?" Carrington, raised his eyebrows. That 
 trick was an inheritance; it seemed to imply strange 
 and rather reprehensible things; but .he made no 
 direct charge. Grey felt himself flush and angrily 
 resented it. 
 
 "I think," Carrington said, presently, "I will turn 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 135 
 
 in. They ve put me up in great shape at the Lodge; 
 bath and all the luxuries of home, here in the wilds. 
 I ve heard of the place for years always wanted to 
 come and here I am! Arnold suggested that you 
 guide me to-morrow, as a starter. New job for you, 
 isn t it ? Arnold seems quite a character. I can t just 
 account for him at the beginning; he and the girl do 
 not quite agree with one s expectations of their kind." 
 
 "All right, Dick!" Grey had a mental yearning 
 to kick his old friend from his cabin. "We ll go 
 for a climb to-morrow; you need limbering. We ll 
 take the Giant s Tooth first, I ve never been up that 
 and it s a comparatively easy climb." 
 
 "Beastly name. Sounds ugly." Carrington was 
 at the^door. 
 
 "I rather like it. Good night, old man. Hope 
 you ll sleep well." 
 
 "I always do, Mac. I ve made it a point to drop 
 my sleep-slayers with my clothes. And you?" 
 
 " Sometimes I Asleep in my clothes. It s rather an 
 experience, now and then. Saves trouble in the 
 morning." 
 
 "Lord, Mac! Don t. You might revert. You 
 know they say you can revert in a devilishly quick 
 time. I saw the figures once they staggered one 
 who likes to believe that a long line counts." 
 
 He was gone at last! Grey opened the windows 
 and drew a long breath. He was free; he would be 
 able to take a clean love to Glenn. He could tell 
 his story: his strange story. They would believe 
 and understand. But he would wait until Carring 
 ton went. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 GREY and Carrington took a day for the 
 Giant s Tooth. They started before Glenn 
 was astir and did not get back until late. 
 Grey kept Carrington for supper and the two men 
 spent the evening going over the experiences of their 
 early friendship. This seemed to draw them to 
 gether and spanned the uneasy hours of their first 
 meeting. Eliminating all that was of real heart in 
 terest, they found much in common. 
 
 Carrington was a world traveller. While having 
 his roots well planted in his home state of Massa 
 chusetts, he had always been able to cling, tena 
 ciously, to other places, especially those at a distance. 
 
 There were certain French and some English spots 
 for which he held a sincere liking. 
 
 "Some day," he confided to Grey. "I m going to 
 marry." He said this in the tone of a man who 
 contemplated adding to a choice collection. "I m 
 twenty-seven and of course mean to do my duty, in 
 due time. I have always kept it in mind; always, 
 in a way, made ready for it. I haven t wasted my 
 self and I have my ideals. Under Thompson the 
 business has boomed." 
 
 "I should think," interposed Grey, "that you 
 would want the factories to bear your name, now 
 that your father is dead. He had a sentimental idea 
 about keeping them in your mother s name while she 
 
 136 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 137 
 
 lived. I ve heard him say that; but he always 
 wanted you to have the credit of any success you 
 managed to bring about, and you certainly have 
 made them rear their heads." 
 
 "Thompson has." Carrington had a strange 
 humility about his business relations. "Besides, 
 I like to keep the old name. Hale Mills has a signi 
 ficance that Carrington Mills would take long in 
 acquiring. And then " 
 
 "It s convenient when one wants to travel in 
 cognito?" suggested Grey. 
 
 "Exactly." Carrington puffed luxuriously at his 
 cigarette. "After all, to a certain extent one s busi 
 ness is a private affair. Providing that you respect 
 the rights of others, you may exact the same courtesy 
 from them." 
 
 "Yes; that s true. I was only thinking" Grey 
 spoke detachedly "that it s a temptation, these days, 
 to express yourself in your well, your job. Pass 
 it on with your own mark on it; challenge the world, 
 so to speak, with your own conception of the game." 
 
 Carrington laughed outright. 
 
 "That s all well enough with such one-horse jobs as 
 yours, Mac," he said, indulgently; "when you put out 
 an expression you ve got to father it; it s no matter of 
 choice. With my complex machine it s another 
 matter. It s like an engine that has been built, 
 little by little. Every man has had his turn at im 
 provements, or new inventions. It s my part, as 
 things are now, to choose my experts. Thompson 
 is my master expert; he, in turn, does likewise down 
 to the lowest cog in the wheels that go round and 
 round " 
 
I 3 8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "And grind out the gold!" 
 
 "Exactly. Grind out the gold. And then I 
 come in again and see that the gold circulates." 
 Carrington looked his content. 
 
 "And doesn t get tarnished," added Grey, stretch 
 ing himself and yawning complacently. "It tarn 
 ishes so devilishly easy." 
 
 But Carrington frowned. He was sensitive to dis 
 approval. He could not see how it was possible for 
 Grey to disapprove of him, or his well-run and well- 
 paying machine. He thought for a moment and 
 then good-naturedly said: 
 
 "You writing folk are the very deuce where money 
 is concerned. There ought to be a National Com 
 mittee to look after you. Fellows like you should 
 pool your money; the Government should add more, 
 and every one of you good, bad, and indifferent 
 should be looked after!" 
 
 "By a Thompson, I suppose?" Grey was more 
 alert. 
 
 "Well, by good business heads, at any rate." Car 
 rington was wholly at ease again. 
 
 Then Grey arose and, with the most charming 
 grace, said: "You don t mind if I turn in, do you 
 Dick? Fm off to-morrow with Arnold and I need 
 to be fresh. It means something to compete with 
 him. If you like this fire better than the one at the 
 Lodge, stay on." 
 
 Then Grey disappeared into the bedroom and 
 Carrington, without the least resentment, sat for an 
 hour longer, musing alone. Then he started, con 
 tentedly, for the Lodge. 
 
 The next morning Polly came, to stay for as long 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 139 
 
 as Arnold and Grey should be absent. They might 
 be gone longer than they had planned, for this was a 
 business trip to a distant cattle ranch. Polly was a 
 transformed woman. She wore the clothing that 
 Beverly Train had sent, with due regard to the de 
 tails of hairdressing and general neatness that Bev 
 erly, tactfully, had introduced into the directions. 
 Sam often sat gazing at his wife in deep perplexity; 
 he looked as a man might who had won, unexpect 
 edly, at a lottery. 
 
 Carrington, watching his host and Grey depart, 
 had a twinge of envy. 
 
 "Practise up," Arnold suggested to him; "get 
 ready for a man-sized climb. You mustn t expect 
 to eat your muscles at the first meal." 
 
 Carrington decided to avail himself of this advice. 
 He had come equipped with all the latest parapher 
 nalia for mountain life, and he meant to get some 
 results for the money expended. 
 
 Glenn startled him, the day after Arnold s de 
 parture, by proposing to be his guide on his trial 
 trips. 
 
 Now the idea of spending hours alone, with any fem 
 inine thing, in desolate mountain trails gave Carring 
 ton a singular sense of alarm. In his clean, well- 
 regulated life, he acquiesced in all the code of his 
 world, while not availing himself of its favours. He 
 had recognized only two kinds of women, formerly: 
 the kind that he approved his mother was of that 
 type and the kind he did not approve. Carrington 
 was not interested in shades or degrees. What he 
 did not approve, he eliminated. 
 
 Glenn, however, could not be disregarded, and, 
 
i4o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 in his effort to classify her, Carrington was becoming 
 interested in spite of himself. The girl flouted 
 all his preconceived conclusions. Her intelligence 
 and beauty aroused him; her perfect poise and free 
 dom defied his conceptions of the proprieties while 
 they still commanded his respect. He was afraid 
 to appear doubtful as to his relations with her, yet, 
 at the same time, he was utterly at sea. 
 
 Such a condition of mind had been unknown in 
 Carrington s orderly past, but it gave a zest to life, 
 which he attributed to altitude. 
 
 After Arnold and Grey had departed, the Lodge 
 with the two women caused Carrington a bad half 
 hour. He viewed the situation as a personal affront. 
 He could hardly be expected to roam at large, alone; 
 nor could he agree to the alternative, namely to re 
 main close to the house and mope; so, with a stirring 
 of the senses, he decided to accept Glenn as a guide 
 and see what happened. 
 
 Several things happened happened so rapidly 
 that they left no time for meditation. 
 
 In the first place, quite innocently, Glenn revealed 
 her innermost and hidden nature to this stranger 
 whose vaguely familiar face gave impetus to her 
 imagination. She could not free herself of the im 
 pression that he held some relationship to her which, 
 while not understandable, was, none the less, real. 
 She expanded before Carrington with a fearless sweet 
 ness that appealed to the best that was in him. She 
 took for granted so much that was utterly foreign 
 to the man, that he strove to keep up the delusion. 
 All the solidly packed information that Glenn had 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 141 
 
 once acquired from her unappreciated tutor, stood 
 her in good stead now. Carrington was amazed at 
 the scope and quality of the well-trained mind. He 
 could hardly mention a subject and he mentioned 
 a great many that Glenn did not know something 
 about or in which she did not show an intelligent 
 interest. She was so sincere and eager that her ques 
 tions were often the most subtle flattery to Carring- 
 ton s pride. 
 
 Again, too, her charming disregard of sex appeal 
 for she frankly wore her trousers and shirt made a 
 peculiar impression upon her companion. It aroused 
 or, perhaps, created an imagination that shook 
 him from his moorings and left him dangerously free 
 to find new ones. 
 
 There is given to everyone, at least once in a life 
 time, an opportunity to be something other than 
 his enemies and friends expect. Carrington s hour 
 had struck. As his flabby muscles began to stiffen, 
 his newly recognized imagination became a trickster, 
 luring and deluding its captive, who was soon in 
 chains and clanking them merrily. 
 
 Glenn could not possibly know the grim humour of 
 the situation. She saw in the handsome fellow, 
 gaily filling her days, a most charming and inspiring 
 comrade. June throbbed with beauty and, while 
 Arnold and Grey roamed afar, Carrington, for the 
 first and only time in his life, became a simple and 
 primal creature. Those days were, perhaps, the 
 only really happy ones he had ever known. He felt 
 the thrill that Pygmalion knew the power that the 
 creator of Frankenstein experienced for he hon 
 estly believed that he had discovered the real Glenn 
 
H2 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Arnold and that he had it within his power to breathe 
 the breath of life into her. 
 
 Having got thus far; his mental vision was 
 blinded by a force that was controlling him; he ap 
 propriated the girl, in a high spiritual sense. While 
 feeling a bit dizzy at the prospect of the breath-giv 
 ing, he also had twinges of doubt that added fervour 
 to his dreams of conquest. Simple as he believed 
 Glenn to be, he nevertheless detected a defensive at 
 titude at times. As he advanced, she withdrew. 
 Her laugh, and that maddening trick of her eyelid, 
 held him at bay. The girl was a goddess simple 
 and primitive, undoubtedly, but a goddess! 
 
 At this point Carrington began to put forth argu 
 ments to his old ideals. "Here is a new element" 
 he reflected, "that might, if introduced into the 
 Carrington line, bring forth bewildering results! 
 A being fresh from the hand of its Maker" Carring 
 ton was losing his head "ready for life! Here was 
 he, Carrington, with all the power to form and guide 
 this divine and clear nature; make of it a fine and a 
 finished thing! It had all the possibilities of in 
 telligence, charm, and adaptability; he had family, 
 fortune, taste, and leisure. Other men of his class 
 had tried the experiment; why not he? Some had 
 failed, he would succeed." 
 
 Carrington tested his power. 
 
 On the third day he prostrated himself before 
 the imagination of the girl; he let her see the influence 
 she was exerting over him this was most dangerous 
 to such a nature as Glenn s he anticipated her every 
 wish and thought. To one who had never felt the 
 need of protection had always been sufficient unto 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 143 
 
 herself the sudden realization that she was an ob 
 ject of intense concern to another, was little less than 
 overpowering. Suddenly it was Carrington who was 
 helping Glenn to climb, or steadying her across 
 streams and swaying logs. The warm, firm clasp 
 of his hand made her tremble; she developed weak 
 ness to tempt his strength. 
 
 By the fourth day Glenn was a Woman to com 
 plement his Man! In the lonely, divinely beautiful 
 spaces, no disturbing thought entered to caution or 
 warn. It had evidently been foreordained that Car 
 rington, should know, in the time vouchsafed him on 
 earth, an hour of madness! And so madly he fell in 
 love with his idea of Glenn Arnold ! 
 
 By the fifth day he had so completely succumbed 
 to his master passion, that he drew forth from the 
 girl what Grey had so unconsciously chilled; the grop 
 ing instinct of the woman, not for its mate, but its 
 interpreter. All Glenn s nature bent to the spell that 
 held it. Her eyes became tender and submissive; 
 her mouth, pathetic in its wistful sweetness. 
 
 Carrington was deeply moved. He felt that he 
 held a sacred trust in his keeping; which, indeed, he 
 did, and he never doubted his ability to carry out, 
 in the girl near him, the work so well begun by her 
 Maker. Of course Carrington did not think, or rea 
 son, in this fashion. He merely surrendered and 
 proceeded! 
 
 Now, even at such a critical moment, all might have 
 happened differently had Arnold and Grey returned, 
 or had Fate been less dramatic, but, on that fifth day, 
 Glenn decreed that they should climb the Twins. 
 
 "I am going," she said looking her most tempting 
 
144 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 self "to show you my own, secret trail. I found it 
 when I was quite young; I haven t even told Daddy 
 about it. He was with me when I first came upon it, 
 but I ran away from him and came in sight again only 
 when I had reached the top." 
 
 Carrington held Glenn by the look in his eyes. 
 "Are you going to run away from me?" 
 
 "No." Glenn dropped her eyes. 
 
 "I should find you wherever you went," declared 
 Carrington; "I m made that way when things are 
 worth while." And Carrington never felt more sin 
 cere in his life; therein lay the danger to them both. 
 
 Polly watched the two depart. She shook her 
 head. How she wished that Arnold and Grey were 
 back! Polly was strangely full of misgivings; she 
 felt aged beside the girl who had once settled her 
 affairs for her in such a masterful way. "I don t 
 just know what s edging me up," thought Polly; "but 
 I am edged." 
 
 Still there was nothing to do but watch Carrington 
 and Glenn pass from sight, laughing and talking 
 gaily. "It s like he was two men," muttered Polly, 
 turning to her work; "two men, walking along there 
 by Glenn, and her not sensing it." 
 
 Glenn, however, was conscious of but one person 
 ality that day. Carrington rose to every call of her 
 nature. He was tender and strong; he was humble 
 and watchful. He made her feel that she was some 
 thing precious and desirable she, who had never 
 taken herself largely into consideration ! 
 
 They reached the Twins at high noon, made their 
 camp fire, and ate their feast. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 145 
 
 Carrington was so far gone in his madness by this 
 time that he had but to close his eyes to visualize the 
 girl in every phase of a woman s relations with a 
 man. Having spiritually appropriated her, he viewed 
 her progress along the course of her remaking until, 
 bursting forth as a bright achievement, she at last 
 reigned where the women of the Carringtons had al 
 ways reigned in a place prepared for them by the 
 honour of their men ! Carrington, to do him justice, 
 was silently offering the unsuspecting girl the best, the 
 highest, that he had. 
 
 At two o clock they were on Glenn s secret trail. 
 
 "You see, sometimes I come here when no one 
 knows," she explained. She was going ahead, lightly 
 tripping from rock to rock, edging her slim body 
 through crevices and laughing to see Carrington 
 estimate his chances in following her. "You have 
 done wonders since Dad went away; and only five 
 days, too!" she flung back, gaily. 
 
 "Five days?" Carrington was breathing a bit 
 more quickly "Five eternities, you mean." 
 
 "As bad as that?" Glenn s lip trembled. 
 
 "As wonderful as that." 
 
 For a while they went on, silently. Then Glenn, 
 approaching Carrington, said: 
 
 "And now I m not going to run away, really 
 but I want you to close your eyes. So!" She 
 showed him, standing with her face to a rocky wall. 
 "You must promise not to peep; I m going to to 
 surprise you." 
 
 "I promise. Don t be long!" 
 
 It struck him, even in his new state of mind, that 
 his present position, standing like a little boy with 
 
i 4 6 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 closed eyes, was humorous to the last degree, but he 
 revelled in the humour. 
 
 Presently he heard Glenn call. He turned and 
 looked up. She stood where once she had stood be 
 fore the horrified eyes of her father! She seemed 
 poised between heaven and earth. The narrow strip 
 of rock upon which she balanced did not look strong 
 enough to bear even her slight weight. She was 
 laughing, too, and waving her outstretched arms. 
 
 "Good God!" groaned Carrington. And in that 
 second all that he had been about to clutch seemed 
 escaping him. 
 
 And then, because he had always been able to 
 command what he desired, he shouted: 
 
 "Come down!" 
 
 Glenn again laughed the sound echoed and re 
 echoed in the sunny place. She swung one foot free 
 and actually swayed to and fro. Carrington s fierce 
 passion for power came to his aid. He was angry 
 because he was being caused suffering. 
 
 "How dare you take such chances?" he called. 
 But again that sweet, mocking laugh rang out to him 
 defiantly. 
 
 "What will you give me to come down?" Glenn 
 demanded, merrily. 
 
 And then the savage rose rose with his club, the 
 club that Civilization has evolved. It is the first and 
 the last surrender of Caste. 
 
 "All that I possess. Anything you want!" And 
 Carrington stood at bay. 
 
 "See! I will dance for you. What will you give 
 me if I dance for you?" The savage possessed the 
 girl, too. Now that she felt power, she bartered. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 147 
 
 Carrington closed his eyes. He was dizzy and 
 faint. He bent his head and groaned. He dared 
 not look again. 
 
 And then, after a black space of time, he felt a 
 touch on his arm. 
 
 " Did I frighten you ? Did you care really ? " 
 
 At that the savage laid down his club and resorted 
 to an even more primitive method of conquest. The 
 woman was in his arms! Her head lay back and her 
 uplifted face was still and lifeless. She was the 
 frightened one now! 
 
 "Listen to me. I love you; love you! Do you 
 understand, Glenn? I love you! That s how I care. 
 You have got to be mine. Do you hear ? " 
 
 Then Carrington kissed the quiet face. He kissed 
 the brow, the eyes, and last, the mouth! A flicker 
 like candle flame, touched the girl s features. 
 
 "Kiss me. Kiss me, my darling," entreated Car 
 rington. 
 
 "I I don t know how." The words came on a 
 sigh. Carrington knew that she spoke the truth, 
 and the knowledge added to his madness. 
 
 "See I will teach you. Now!" 
 
 "Is this love?" The words came faintly; there 
 were tears stealing from under Glenn s closed lids. 
 
 "It is love, Glenn. I ve never known it before 
 nor have you! ; 
 
 "It seems as if I had known it always some 
 where else!" 
 
 Carrington drew her close. "I think, my beloved, 
 that I am to be the one to to give you all things ! " 
 
 "All things? all things?" sighed Glenn, looking 
 up. Her eyes were shining. 
 
148 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Lie still, my sweet. Lie still until I get used to 
 the feeling of you in my arms. How unutterably 
 precious you are/ 
 
 "It s so strange and wonderful!" Glenn clung 
 now, and she found that the act transformed her. 
 In so touching Carrington she appropriated him. 
 "I think I must have fallen from the bridge," she 
 went on, whimsically. "I think I must have died." 
 
 "And wakened in heaven? Is that it, my own?" 
 
 "I I don t know. Is it heaven?" 
 
 " Yes; it is heaven, sweet your heaven and mine. 
 It took us why, darling, it took us just five little 
 days to create it. Five little, mad, bewildering 
 clays." 
 
 "We we couldn t make it in five days! It must 
 have been waiting for us; we just found it," whispered 
 Glenn, struggling to free herself. Reluctantly Car 
 rington let her go. 
 
 Never before in all his life had he held a woman 
 in his arms, excepting his mother. And yet, now, 
 how empty they felt without the small, strange crea 
 ture in them. 
 
 "I think I I want to go home," Glenn whispered; 
 "I wonder whether they will know me Father, 
 Mac, and Polly ? Do I look very different ? " 
 
 "I think you do, child," answered Carrington, 
 regarding her. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "I I dare not tell you!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Simply because I I love you so!" 
 
 And at that instant Carrington was sincerely rev 
 erent. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 149 
 
 When they reached the Lodge they found that 
 Arnold and Grey had returned. The evening meal 
 was waiting and the common things of life safely 
 shielded the miracle that had been performed on the 
 mountain. 
 
 After the meal was finished Glenn stole away. 
 Grey had not come to supper. It was a puzzling 
 thing to Arnold this growing habit of Grey s to keep 
 to his own quarters while his friend was at the Lodge. 
 But Arnold was not one to pry; he concluded that the 
 two younger men knew what they were about. They 
 probably made up for lost time when they were alone. 
 Certainly their attitude toward each other was most 
 cordial. 
 
 Left with Carrington, Arnold filled his pipe, tilted 
 back the chair the two were on the western porch 
 and fell into that perfectly gracious silence that so 
 fully explained his popularity. 
 
 Carrington was less at ease. He was trying to 
 formulate some method of approaching Arnold that 
 would not so startle him as to threaten the peace of 
 the future. In the calm light of the early gloaming, 
 to burst upon Arnold with the news that, after a 
 week s acquaintance with his very simple little 
 daughter, he, Richard Carrington, was madly in love 
 with her and intended to marry her at once, was 
 hardly to be contemplated. And yet, what other 
 course was open ? 
 
 But Carrington did not know his man. The force 
 that had controlled Arnold at the time he went down 
 to Conner s to love and watch a young, unknown 
 girl to guard her from the worst of things and finally 
 bring her back to the Lodge held him captive, still. 
 
150 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 No matter how revolutionary a thing might be, if 
 truth marked it, Arnold accepted it and dealt with it 
 justly. So when, presently, Carrington said : 
 
 "Mr. Arnold, I have told your daughter to-day 
 that I love her," Arnold was not shocked he was 
 merely taken off guard. He dropped his pipe, 
 brought his chair to the level, rescued his pipe, and 
 then asked that the remark be repeated. Carring 
 ton complied and added: 
 
 "This may seem like madness, after so short a 
 time, Mr. Arnold; but it is a fact." 
 
 "Such things do happen," Arnold muttered; "but 
 they always knock someone out at the start. My 
 girl what did she say?" 
 
 "She loves me!" Carrington was at his best. 
 He was still obsessed by the memory of the after 
 noon. 
 
 "I suppose" Arnold was trying to get his feet on 
 solid ground "I suppose like death and some other 
 inevitable things this sort of happening never seems 
 possible to one s self or his nearest; but if it is a case 
 of my girl s happiness I can get out of sight until 
 I m used to the idea. Of course you ll take time to 
 get acquainted with each other." Carrington stiff 
 ened at this and said: 
 
 "I am prepared to give you all the data you de 
 sire, Mr. Arnold. Mac s friendship and knowledge 
 of me and mine, ought to go a good way, and I think 
 I do know your daughter." 
 
 " But you cannot expect " Arnold choked. 
 
 "What?" asked Carrington. 
 
 "That I I can give her up suddenly, like this?" 
 
 "Both she and I, sir, have been swept from our 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 151 
 
 feet. I know how staggering this must seem to you. 
 I can assure you that there are moments when I can 
 hardly realize it myself. I think if you could believe 
 that she fills my life has taken possession of my 
 every thought and desire it would not seem so so 
 hard to you to give her up. I m about the last man 
 that this sort of thing could happen to, Arnold, but 
 it has happened!" 
 
 Because he was the man that he was, Arnold 
 travelled, in thought, back to that hour of his life 
 when, with Mary Glenn before him on the saddle, 
 he had ridden twenty rough and perilous miles to a 
 minister. At that time it would have been danger 
 ous for any human being to have blocked the path! 
 
 "The girl s like me and her mother!" thought 
 Arnold; "what right have I to hold her back?" Then 
 he turned frankly, simply to Carrington: 
 
 "I don t know what to say, Mr. Carrington ;?and, 
 not knowing, I leave it all to my girl. She isn t one 
 to stray far." 
 
 And then they talked man to man talked late 
 into the night. With real delicacy Carrington spread 
 his possessions before the honest gaze of Arnold. 
 Meanwhile the heart of the father was relinquishing 
 and renouncing. Although he had always told 
 himself that this day would come, he was still under 
 the influence of the surprise of it all, but he was trying 
 to feel glad that Glenn was to have all that was being 
 enumerated have her woman s chance at life; her 
 Chance! 
 
 "The mountains will feel mighty queer without my 
 girl," he said, finally, even while Carrington was de 
 picting Glenn in her niche in the Carrington Hall of 
 
152 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Fame. "She must come back every year, Carring- 
 ton. I ll have to put that in the agreement." 
 
 Carrington felt it easy to comply. 
 
 "I hope it s to be a long wooing, my boy? I 
 reckon Love had to have its way, but there s ground 
 to go over for safety." 
 
 "I want to take my wife with me when I go, Mr. 
 Arnold." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 Arnold felt the blood leaving his brain. 
 
 "At the end of the month." 
 
 "At the end of the month ? Why, that will be 
 the end of June, Carrington!" 
 
 Carrington smiled. "The month of months, 
 Arnold." 
 
 "The end of June!" 
 
 The words sounded, as Arnold uttered them, 
 like a dirge. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN Glenn left her father and Carrington 
 she had no very definite end in view. 
 She wanted companionship one minute; 
 the next she wanted to be alone. She started for 
 Polly she had a sudden feeling of kinship for Polly 
 but before she reached her she saw, from a window, 
 Grey calling his dog inside the cabin. Then she 
 wanted Grey. He had annexed a dog to his estab 
 lishment, and somehow, as he called the animal in, 
 he looked lonely; looked as if he, too, needed com 
 panionship. 
 
 "I wonder why he keeps so to himself?" she 
 thought, then a smile came. A slow, sweet smile, 
 but it brought a tear in its wake. "Dear old Mac! 
 but of course he won t mind; he will not really care! 
 I m glad, now, that he will not." 
 
 Glenn did not go to either Grey or Polly. She 
 went upstairs to her small room; she locked the door 
 after her! She sat down and took her toys from the 
 shelf and regarded them with fond but renouncing 
 eyes. "Not Little Girl Glenn any more," she 
 whispered to a doll that Arnold had evolved from 
 the root of a tree, "but some day when I am quite, 
 quite old, and very wise I will bring my my 
 children here to play with you." The eyes were 
 misty the cheeks flushed. "It s wonderful, Susan 
 Ann," she went on, with a catch in her voice; very 
 
 153 
 
154 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 wonderful how we just play on, learning while we 
 play; and then, suddenly, something happens and 
 and we re not strangers in a new place at all! Now 
 Dad and my mother made me understand; and you, 
 Susan Ann, you taught me so much. And then a 
 mighty love opens my eyes and my soul wide and I 
 see that Love means men, like father. And and 
 little soft babies are just Susan Anns, with life 
 breathed into them; and I am like my mother I 
 am, Susan Ann, I am! So wait very patiently, you 
 dear old thing, and I will come back." 
 
 Grey never went to bed early. That night he sat 
 by his fireside, his dog close at his feet, his outer door 
 open, as usual, to the starry night and the possible 
 guest. He felt ill-natured and inhospitable. He 
 realized that if he kept on as he was going he would 
 erect a barrier between his cabin and the Lodge. Of 
 course his detachment appeared strange and yet he 
 had no inclination to be genial. He wanted Car- 
 rington off the scene ! 
 
 Many emotions swayed him. He was deeply 
 depressed by the news of Kathleen Maurey s desper 
 ate end. His conscience was clear, for he knew 
 himself to be blameless, but he had yet to convince 
 others of the truth of this. He knew his world fairly 
 well. A year or two and he might, if he permitted 
 it, be regarded rather sentimentally on account of his 
 "romantic past" which, actually, had no reality. 
 This did not move Grey either way he was singu 
 larly indifferent to estimates of himself. What did 
 hurt and bow him was the picture that his imagina 
 tion drew of Kathleen s last lonely days and nights. 
 How afraid she had always been of the dark! How 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 155 
 
 she had always shrunk from death! And he had 
 wanted her to do her big best and yet have love and 
 life. "It was a big, a huge thing that she did poor 
 little woman!" Grey repeated to himself. "She was 
 big enough to die; but I doubt if she ever would have 
 been big enough to live really live." 
 
 Then, passionately, Grey wanted to talk to Beverly 
 Train wanted it so that, had he not promised to re 
 main for the summer at the Lodge, he would have 
 drifted down to that dim, quiet garden in the eastern 
 town and cast his troubles among the many already 
 there. After that he would be free to love. "Lord ! 
 what a mind, what a soul Beverly has!" thought 
 Grey; "no kink in them. How like her to share the 
 truth with me, knowing that the wound would be a 
 clean one and heal. Yes, it will heal, without much 
 of a scar after a while, after a while. I m glad I 
 told Beverly all." 
 
 Then Grey considered Carrington. "Queer!" 
 he thought on by his fireside "queer, how a fellow 
 can chum with another for years without getting 
 under the skin. Lord Harry! how I d hate to get 
 under Dick s skin. It s a good clean skin, too. It s 
 the cleanness that I ve liked. Nothing smudgy ever 
 stuck to Dick; he kept a safe distance. I wonder" 
 (here Grey almost laughed outright ), "I wonder 
 how Dick would look if he ever, by accident, got too 
 near Smudge so near that some of it stuck? I 
 wonder what he would do ? " 
 
 This easy wandering was diverting; it led to other 
 and far-reaching points. Grey soon found himself 
 feeling quite safe about Glenn, and was surprised 
 that he should feel so! "Why she s as secure with 
 
1 5 6 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Dick," he reasoned, "as she would be with the Monk 
 or any other icy, inaccessible thing. I wonder 
 whether they talk much she and Dick; and what 
 do they talk about?" 
 
 Then Grey chuckled, recalling Carrington s ca 
 pacity, when he chose, of talking at people. He had 
 a way of deluging one with information whether they 
 desired it or not, if he happened to be in a talkative 
 mood. Perhaps they did not talk much. Dick 
 could be silent at times, and Glenn never regarded 
 conversation as essential unless it meant more than 
 talk; she was like Arnold in that. "I bet Glenn 
 doesn t care whether he speaks or not!" mused Grey. 
 "And I wonder how Dick regards her trousers? By 
 heaven! I must get into closer touch with him. I, 
 somehow, have got so used to the trousers that I 
 haven t applied them to Dick. I wager they made 
 him qualmish for a minute or two." 
 
 Grey recalled a remark of Carrington s and it had 
 not sounded caddish, either, at the time. He had 
 said: "I see all women through my mother, Mac." 
 
 "Mrs. Richard Carrington, Sr. in trousers, would 
 be a show!" bethought then Grey pulled himself up 
 sharply; the picture he had conjured up shamed him. 
 
 And just then he heard steps coming up the path 
 to the cabin. "Come in!" he called before the steps 
 reached the porch; he wanted to appear more cordial 
 than he felt. 
 
 Carrington entered. He was dressed in his proper 
 outfit, designed by a firm that stopped short of well 
 short of the comic-opera effect. He was slightly 
 grimy and rufHed. One s clothes were likely to be, 
 after a day with Glenn on a real trail. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 157 
 
 The general effect left upon Carrington s face by 
 his late conversation with Arnold was confusing; he 
 had a bewildered expression but an uplifted one, 
 at the same time, He felt as he might have done had 
 he been talking, for an hour or more, in a language 
 of which he knew but an occasional word, and none 
 of the local phrases. 
 
 "Sit down, Dick; you re not very friendly." This 
 being hardly fair, Grey added: "at least we haven t 
 seen as much of each other as we should have; we 
 must get on the hills together, to-morrow." Then, 
 rather interestedly: "When do you think of leaving, 
 old man?" 
 
 "At the end of the month at the end of 
 June." 
 
 "You look all in , Dick. Has Glenn given you 
 something too hard to do? It s the devil, isn t it, 
 when a girl can give you trumps and aces? you 
 can t hold back and lie down on the job." 
 
 Carrington legs stretched to the blaze, hands 
 stuffed in pockets regarded Grey as if he had never 
 seen him before. It seemed strange, but, after 
 the first plunge Arnold had been easy; Arnold was 
 no fool; he would be an ugly customer if things were 
 not straight. But Grey, now that Carrington esti 
 mated him, had an advantage that Arnold had not. 
 He d had a background of Carrington which Arnold 
 lacked. Why this should cause Carrington a mo 
 ment s unrest, he could not know. 
 
 "Mac"; Carrington clutched the bottom seam 
 of his pockets; "Mac, I m engaged to marry Glenn 
 Arnold!" It sounded positively silly. If he could 
 have added: "I ve hidden her in a mountain cave 
 
158 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 she s mine," it would have seemed in keeping with 
 things. 
 
 Grey turned his clear, steady eyes on his visitor 
 and said slowly: 
 
 "What sort of damned nonsense are you trying to 
 put over, Dick ? " 
 
 Carrington tried to resent this, but failed. He re 
 sorted to subterfuge. 
 
 "Mac; do you remember that diamond I brought 
 from Africa the one that deceived everyone else? 
 Do you remember it after I got through with it had 
 it cut and polished? I knew that stone, didn t I?" 
 
 Grey s steady stare was not encouraging. It de 
 noted more interest in the man than in his achieve 
 ments. 
 
 "I took that stone in the rough, Mac. I had faith 
 in it and in myself. I m not much given to flights 
 of imagination, as you know, but it seems to me that 
 between Glenn and and that diamond there is a 
 distinct connection. I am going to have it set in her 
 engagement ring." 
 
 Never before in his life had Grey known the stun 
 ned sensation that now overcame him. He felt the 
 cruel injustice of a mistake that he could not right. 
 He felt the walls crumbling but he could neither pre 
 vent the catastrophe nor warn those in peril. His 
 own love was the insurmountable barrier. Because 
 of that he dared not speak. Anything he might say 
 would first have to bear that mark, and so lay itself 
 open to wrong interpretation even by himself. He 
 felt stifled, angry and impotent. 
 
 "If you don t mind," he said, vaguely, "perhaps 
 you ll tell me what you re talking about, Dick." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 159 
 
 Carrington coloured. " Is it so strange to you, Mac, 
 that a girl such a girl as Glenn Arnold should 
 sweep a man off his feet ? She s like that diamond, 
 you know; it took me just twenty-four hours to see 
 well, to see how she would be when cut and polished." 
 
 Grey gave a mental shudder as if the knife and 
 buffer struck his soul. 
 
 "And and you ve undertaken the job, Dick? 
 Well, by God!" The world seemed a devastated 
 wilderness! 
 
 Grey, at last, got a comprehensive idea of the 
 crude elementals. Women were Sex to Carrington. 
 Viewed alone as Sex, Grey began to understand 
 Glenn s appeal. Her physical charm; her mental 
 superiority to her "class," as Carrington would term 
 it, could not fail to attract the nature of a man who 
 longed, always, to possess what was rare or unique, 
 and who craved power and achievement. This, in 
 conjunction with Glenn s apparent influence over 
 Carrington s sluggish imagination, accounted for 
 what had occurred, but Grey was appalled at what 
 he felt would inevitably be the result, when, in the 
 light of full understanding, these two natures 
 separated by a world of difference, each strong and 
 clearly defined confronted each other in the open! 
 He, himself, seemed no longer to exist. 
 
 "Yes; God helping me, Mac," Carrington was 
 saying in a reverent tone, "I am, as you express it, 
 undertaking the job ! " 
 
 "Hold on!" Grey got up and closed the door. He 
 had an impulse to keep Carrington to himself until 
 he was through with him. 
 
 In the meantine Carrington was rhapsodizing: 
 
160 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "She s primal, Mac. She s divine. Think of her 
 one, two, ten years hence! I am going to give her 
 travel and all that wealth can provide. I am 
 going to devote myself to her and watch her evolve 
 into the All-woman type. And can you not think, 
 Mac, with your imagination, what it means to me 
 a man sunk in the belief that there was nothing new, 
 nothing untried to come face to face with this 
 woman who, by her very untested powers, can stir me 
 to my depths make me willing and glad to fling 
 every restriction aside in order to prove my belief 
 in her promise and my own vision?" 
 
 It was at this point that Grey lost control of him 
 self. He towered over Carrington. 
 
 "Shut up!" he commanded in so fierce a tone that 
 he brought his bewildered companion rather roughly 
 to a halt. 
 
 "What did you say?" Carrington asked, con 
 fusedly. For no man likes to be hauled down by a 
 force of which he is unaware. 
 
 "I said: Shut up! and I ve got something more 
 to say to you." Grey flung himself into a chair. 
 "Are you a damned fool, Dick?" he half whispered, 
 though, somehow, the words gave the impression 
 of being shouted. "Don t you know what s the 
 matter with you? Why in thunder don t you call 
 things by their right names?" 
 
 Carrington was indignant, naturally, but he was 
 also most forbearing. 
 
 "Of course, Mac," he replied, evenly, "I can quite 
 understand how a fellow like you I don t mean 
 to hurt you, old man, but your ideals of love and 
 women do differ from mine." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 161 
 
 This brought Grey to his senses. 
 
 "Yes; my ideals have been different," he said, 
 bitterly; "they are now. I never offered a woman a 
 crazy passion and called it love! I never wanted to 
 twist a woman out of shape for my own satisfaction, 
 and then try to fool myself into believing I was doing 
 her the big and noble thing. Why, Glenn Arnold" 
 emotion was almost choking Grey "Glenn Arnold 
 is like the air up here like the snow; you cannot 
 make her she s made! She may, Heaven knows 
 she may think she loves you. You ve offered her 
 something that she loves; she loves Love\ but, man, 
 it s yourself you ve got to fix up, for if she finds you 
 less than Love has made you seem to be, she ll turn 
 from you without a moment s doubt. Don t, for 
 her sake and your own, do such a damned rotten 
 thing as to take that girl away, drugged, and then 
 let her wake up down there!" 
 
 Carrington rose, stiffly. He looked at Grey, 
 cruelly keenly. His glorified exaltation was de 
 stroyed and he meant to make someone suffer. 
 
 "You re a poor kind at hiding your hand, Mac," 
 he said, brutally. "I see your cards now; and after 
 the dirty deal you have just given one woman, I 
 think it s as well that I should get this young girl 
 away as soon as possible. "You ve got the father 
 under control. I suppose you thought you were safe 
 enough here in the wilderness, but I came at the 
 wrong or, shall I say opportune ? time. You 
 might have been willing to keep this paradise for 
 yourself. I stand ready to offer this girl the earth 
 for her heritage. My love does not bind; it sets free. 
 You ve had months up here. Why since you seem 
 
162 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 so interested why haven t you tried to do what I 
 have done?" 
 
 Grey was white with rage. He went toward the 
 door, paused, and then reflected. In that moment 
 he had a glimpse of the future. He felt that he must 
 not put himself beyond Glenn s reach! Nothing 
 else mattered. That she would need him, he never 
 doubted, and he must be prepared. 
 
 "Dick," he said, presently, "like everyone else in 
 high moments, we re both right; and both wrong. 
 Will you shake hands?" 
 
 Carrington stretched his own out at once. In the 
 act, they unconsciously signed a pact with Fate. 
 
 Early the next morning Glenn went to Grey s 
 cabin. She had seen him moving about. The love- 
 light had not been dimmed by sleep; it had been 
 brightened. The sight of the girl almost unnerved 
 Grey, but he steeled himself for his part. 
 
 "It s a wonderful thing that has happened to me, 
 Mac," she confided; "do you know?" 
 
 "Yes. Dick came over last night." 
 
 "May I make your breakfast, Mac? The other 
 house is not astir yet. I wanted you just to myself 
 in the early morning. I wanted to begin the day 
 with you." 
 
 Grey could not speak but he set about gathering 
 the food for a simple meal. He drew up a small table 
 to the door where they could watch the coming, rosy 
 morning. 
 
 "It was only yesterday," Glenn said, passing a 
 cup of coffee to Grey, "only yesterday when I was 
 just Glenn! And then, Mac, I took my own little, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 163 
 
 secret trail up the Twins, and I surprised surprised 
 Dick" (she spoke the name as if it were a hard one 
 that she had just mastered) "by going out on the 
 bridge. He was so frightened that he forgot every 
 thing the common things and saw only the person 
 that he thinks I am; not Glenn at all, Mac. And 
 now, all my life I am going to try to be the thing he 
 thinks me, for it is so beautiful and it is so wonderful 
 to be that thing. It frightens me; I never was afraid 
 before." 
 
 "Maybe you never needed, before, to be frightened, 
 child." Grey gulped his hot coffee. 
 
 "But you are glad about me, aren t you, Mac? 
 glad that a sudden, great light showed me every 
 thing at once?" Then, after a pause: "I cannot 
 tell you why, Mac, but I d rather have you glad than 
 Dad!" 
 
 "If you are happy, Glenn, then I am glad." 
 
 "I don t see how I could be happier, Mac dear. 
 Why, I love the whole world better to-day because 
 of yesterday. I seem to feel that everything is mine. 
 Mac, this is love, isn t it?" 
 
 The dear, clear eyes were upon him, and Grey, with 
 all his yearning to speak truly to her, could not! He 
 wanted to tell her how it would be when the lurid 
 light of Carrington s big bonfire died down. He 
 wanted to show her the man that Carrington was 
 a straight, unbroken line down from an ancestry that 
 prided itself on its lack of curves. And then a grim 
 smile touched his lips. How futile any words that 
 he could speak would be to this girl, drunk with her 
 own ideal of love. Every damaging thing he might 
 say would seem virtue; any doubt that he might 
 
164 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 arouse would be directed toward himself, not toward 
 Carrington. 
 
 Grey arose and went around to Glenn; he took 
 her hands and drew her to her feet. 
 
 "You know what love is, child; you ve got it 
 straight enough, and it ought to illume all the way 
 on ahead for you." 
 
 "Thank you, dear Mac. Of course, I ve thought 
 about love as all girls do. I dreamed that it would 
 reach me, some day, up here; but I never got any 
 further. The idea of me going out into the great 
 unknown world! that never occurred to me, and 
 now it almost takes away my breath! It s not in 
 the least like what I expected, Mac; it s made me 
 into something quite different something strong 
 enough to do things." 
 
 "You will be enormously rich, child." 
 
 "All the better to help with, Mac." But Grey 
 looked serious. "A big world," Glenn chattered 
 on; "and a big lot of money, and always finding out 
 what people need, and giving it to them just as 
 your dear Beverly Train does. And then coming 
 up here to tell you all about it; you will stay a little 
 while with Dad, won t you, Mac ? Why, it s a fairy 
 story." 
 
 "I will stay, Glenn, until your father gets used to 
 to waiting for you to come back. I ll stalk through 
 the fairy story just because I ve got started in it." 
 
 "And oh! Mac; I shall have a beautiful home some 
 where Dick says I may make just the kind I want 
 and I shall have little children, and be the best 
 mother to them that ever was. That s life, isn t 
 it, Mac?" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 165 
 
 As she stood there with the morning on her face 
 Grey closed his eyes for he saw that Carrington 
 had opened the gate of life wider than he had in 
 tended. And Glenn was pushing in, not waiting for 
 revealment. But he also knew that Carrington s 
 hand was on the door! 
 
 Glenn was married during the third week of June. 
 A minister tourist happened to be at the Lodge and 
 this hurried things a little. There was no pretense 
 of celebration. Polly s wedding had been magnifi 
 cent by comparison. 
 
 Glenn wore an absurd gown that had been selected 
 from a catalogue. It made Carrington shiver, until 
 he realized how easily all that could be remedied at 
 the first city. For ornament Glenn wore her amber 
 beads! 
 
 Polly wept through the entire ceremony. Sam, 
 who was temporarily at home, looked stunned and 
 awkward; he stood by the outer door in an attitude 
 that suggested flight. Arnold s face was bereft of 
 expression; had his girl s life, instead of her happiness, 
 lain in danger, he could not have looked more death 
 like. 
 
 Events had been rushed faster than he could con 
 trol them. Now he felt that he ought to have held 
 them back. He had listened, over and over again, 
 to all that Grey had told about Carrington and his 
 family. It had seemed all right a little awe- 
 inspiring, perhaps, when the solidity began to include 
 Glenn. 
 
 Grey had been generous since he could not be 
 frank; but in the end he left Arnold in a more per 
 plexed state of mind than he had found him in. 
 
166 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "It s a sure enough spring freshet, Mac," he said, 
 shaking his head, "and I don t seem to have been 
 able to clutch anything to hold to on my way down. 
 All my old landmarks have gone with the rest. When 
 all s said and done I have a feeling that my girl s got 
 what rightfully doesn t belong to her; and yet I don t 
 see, even now, how it could have been prevented; 
 I swear I don t." 
 
 Then Grey resorted to heroic treatment. "See 
 here, Arnold; it happens now and then that Life 
 reaches up or down and takes what it needs. It 
 isn t all Glenn, you know. It s quite possible that 
 she may make a big thing of Dick. Then again, 
 anything as surprising as this must mean something. 
 Glenn, I imagine, will be willing to pay the toll of the 
 Big Highway. 
 
 "You don t think anything can really harm her, do 
 you, Arnold?" 
 
 "No! by the Lord, I don t." Arnold did not say 
 this irreverently but as one might voice a prayer of 
 gratitude, and he flung his head back proudly. After 
 that he could, with some show of cheerfulness, see 
 Morton drive the newly married pair down the trail. 
 
 Glenn s last words had been full of joy and childish 
 excitement. 
 
 "It s just as if I had been given wings, Daddy," 
 she said, clinging to him. "I shall never be away 
 for long. I m to see the whole world think, Dad, 
 the whole world! and every little while I ll be back 
 to tell you how it looks! Perhaps by my birthday 
 I ll be back and we ll celebrate on the Monk. It s a 
 disgrace that we have never made that climb!" 
 
 Carrington, having seen his young wife s capacity 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 167 
 
 for magnifying his powers, had taken an almost boy 
 ish delight in exhibiting them. 
 
 "There is nothing," he repeated, "that you cannot 
 have, my darling. Your will is my law so long as 
 I am with you!" 
 
 "Oh! I never want to be away from you, Dick, 
 dear. Why you are my what shall I say, dear? 
 my my self!" 
 
 "Your husband, darling." 
 
 "Yes, my husband." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IT WAS in late August that Polly s baby was born 
 and they called him Davey because Polly had 
 always loved the name. He was a dear little 
 chap, and, from the first hour of his life, his eyes 
 dominated his face. 
 
 Sam was awed by the child s coming. Before his 
 actual appearance he had seemed a vague reason for 
 bringing about unwanted results. But, once he lay 
 curled on Polly s arm, he became the convincing Rea 
 son for all things. Polly was transformed because of 
 him she had made him possible! The home must 
 be guarded and made fit always because of him. 
 All Sam s unshielded youth rose up and pleaded in 
 little Davey. 
 
 Polly had to learn to be a mother; but the pater 
 nal in Sam appeared only to have been awaiting re 
 lease. He hung over the child and, because he de 
 sired that the future might be secure, he worked with 
 a kind of passion. He undertook greater areas, but 
 his roving spirit was held in check by his yearning to 
 note every change in his child. 
 
 Arnold, missing Glenn until his big heart ached, 
 found distinct comfort in Polly s cabin. His old 
 talent for caring for babies returned, and when he 
 felt wee Davey s fingers clutch his thumb, he thrilled, 
 as a woman thrills. 
 
 168 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 169 
 
 Grey had never, consciously, noticed babies in 
 dividually but after viewing Polly s several times 
 he asked confusedly: 
 
 "Are they all as different from one another as 
 Davey is?" 
 
 And Polly, answering the question as if it had been 
 lucid, replied : "Certainly not, Mr. Mac." 
 
 Grey smiled and reflected: "The fish is landed all 
 right! Queer how anything so preposterously little 
 and red and weak can grapple such a big proposi 
 tion and solve it!" 
 
 He wrote all about Davey to Glenn who, after a 
 brief visit to the Carrington home in Massachusetts, 
 was to be wafted overseas to England, where one of 
 the pleasant places that Carrington liked was to be 
 her home for a time. (The world was somewhat 
 contracting during the "polishing" period.) 
 
 Arnold, also, wrote about Davey. And Polly 
 wrote; and then, lastly, Sam. 
 
 He scrawled: 
 
 Once I said to you, Glenn, that no matter what you told me 
 to do Fd do it knowing it would be right. I kicked, some, over 
 this tying of me up, but it was all right. I ought to have known. 
 Davey proves it. He s got the biggest eyes you ever saw, Glenn. 
 He looks like he could see the whole, eternal earth. 
 
 They all wrote about Davey s eyes the big, far- 
 seeing eyes. Glenn noticed this. "They look like I 
 felt when I first knew he was coming," Polly wrote 
 " the time when I thought I had to go to Connor s. 
 They are not frightened eyes, exactly, but watching- 
 out eyes." Glenn was deeply touched by Davey s 
 coming and she sent him some lovely and dainty gifts. 
 
170 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Her letters home were often puzzling. "They 
 sound," Arnold said, "as if my girl were getting some 
 one else to write for her. They are Glenn, but some 
 one else besides/ The bewildering changes, the 
 beautiful clothes, the jewels, the people, were setting 
 the girl s brain to a giddy whirl; and her letters 
 proved it. 
 
 I haven t thought one minute since I left, Daddy. All day 
 I go flitting about, and at night Fm so tired that I forget every 
 thing. 
 
 The world is really the biggest place one ever dreamed of, 
 and it is crammed with the most amazing things that are not in 
 our catalogue, Dad. I m mighty glad that I have all those facts 
 that my professor squeezed into my head; they come in handy. 
 Every once in a while something happens and I pull out a bit of 
 knowledge and it fits! Then Dick looks so surprised and 
 proud. I am afraid he feared that I was a sad fool his love 
 seems all the more wonderful on that account. 
 
 And Dad, I can keep in step with the procession! Sometimes 
 I have to mark time, and Dick holds my hand; then on I go. 
 The whole parade is so kind to me. They think I am like the 
 air from my mountains. That s funny; but they mean it as a 
 compliment. When I get a bit breathless they all stop and wait 
 for me at least it seems to me that they do. They never get 
 angry, as dear old Mac said they might. 
 
 The roar of the sea frightened me, Dad. I heard it long be 
 fore Dick thought it was possible. It is always in my ears, 
 though now I am getting a bit used to it. When I am alone, or 
 at night, it makes me cry. It is trying to tell me something 
 that I cannot understand. It s the only thing down here that 
 really makes me want to run away home. 
 
 Tell Polly that no one can love Davey more than I do and I 
 think he is opening his eyes wide, trying to see me, way down here! 
 
 Grey had a letter from Glenn that he did not share 
 with Arnold. It was written just before she went 
 abroad. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 171 
 
 Mac, dear, it makes me very happy to think of you with Dad. 
 If he were alone I couldn t cross the big sea that roars so I just 
 couldn t. 
 
 I shall be glad to get to that English house to which we are 
 going. Dick has pictures of it; it has trees and quiet places to 
 rest in. I m whisked about so fast that I cannot touch things; 
 I just look at them. 
 
 I hardly got to Dick s real, own home before I was in something 
 with wheels and off! Wheels are always waiting for me nice 
 automobiles and cars. 
 
 I m very rich, Mac. I saw the tall chimneys of the place where 
 all our money is made; it just flows out. "You turn the wheels," 
 Dick says at least a man named Thompson does and whoop! 
 out comes the money that makes the world go round and me 
 with it! 
 
 And such clothes as I have, Mac. Some of them make me feel 
 queer. Dick says he cannot see why, since trousers didn t. I 
 have glittering things to wear on my neck not half as pretty as 
 Dad s amber beads, though and I do wear the beads often, 
 especially with a yellow dress that matches them. 
 
 I have a tremendous diamond in a ring; Dick calls it the Glenn. 
 He s very funny at times. He says this stone was mine before 
 Time was! Now that is a joke, and I haven t found the answer 
 yet. Don t tell Dick, but I do not care for the big diamond. I 
 don t know why, but I don t. It tires my hand. 
 
 I ve been so breathless and hurried since that day when I left 
 home that I have not had much time to sit by myself and see 
 myself; but I ve had one blessed breathing spell, Mac. Beverly 
 Train sent for me, and Dick let me go alone! It was the most 
 lovely, cool July evening just light enough to see the purple 
 dark, you know! I went into the garden and I saw very dimly 
 (for she was in a long chair, half covered up) your Beverly 
 Train! Just at first she was a Voice a beautiful, sweet, kind 
 Voice. After a little while she said I might come near and see 
 how little there was of her. But oh Mac! she is big enough to fill 
 a large place, after you know her. She put her dear, pretty hand 
 on mine and she said some very strange things. She told me 
 that I mustn t try too hard to please Dick, or I wouldn t. She 
 said Dick wanted something, and that I must try to be and to 
 remain that something. How odd it sounded! But I m be- 
 
172 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ginning to understand, for whenever I slump ever so little 
 Dick looks as if I had hurt him. 
 
 And then Beverly told me a good deal about you, Mac. I 
 just sat and listened and cried, for I realized that I had not known 
 you at all the real You. She said that you were the first one 
 who made her see what a coward she was to be ashamed of the 
 way God had created her. You were, she told me, her first 
 friend. 
 
 Grey did not show this letter to any one, but he 
 re-read it, again and again. 
 
 Throughout that summer tourists came and went; 
 when Arnold did not care to act as guide, Grey took 
 to the trails. He had never been so well nor so strong 
 in his life, and when once he and Arnold had got over 
 the first sickening sense of loss they had felt at 
 Glenn s going, they settled down, like the two con 
 genial comrades that they were, and really enjoyed it. 
 Grey did not do much writing, for the outdoor life 
 filled all the waking hours; the rest were forgot like 
 Glenn s weary nights. 
 
 Polly s baby was a sweet, tender undercurrent of 
 delight. Davey was a beautiful child from the mo 
 ment that the flabby, pink stage was past. He 
 laughed at a remarkably early age, and took to any 
 form of life that offered action and amusement. 
 Above all else he loved to ride in Sam s arms when 
 Sam travelled to the near-by houses. The soft 
 little bundle, gathered close to Morton s breast by 
 one hand, while the other guided the spirited horse, 
 kept all temptation from the young father. 
 
 "You don t pass anything wrong over a little head 
 like that," Sam explained to Arnold; "why, Davey s 
 hair is clear gold, Arnold clear, fine gold." 
 
"The soft little bundle was gathered close to Morton s breast 
 by one hand, while the other guided the spirited horse" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 173 
 
 But it was the beauty of the child s eyes that held 
 them all. Those large, far-seeing, peaceful eyes! 
 It was the peace in them that made Polly anxious. 
 
 "I never saw eyes like them/ she confided to Grey, 
 "they re too peaceful-like, Mr. Mac." 
 
 Grey was looking at the child lying in its basket- 
 cradle. Suddenly he started. Then, when Polly 
 was not looking, he made a rapid motion before the 
 wide, clear eyes. The peace in them was unmoved. 
 A sickening fear rose in Grey s heart. 
 
 "Polly, put Davey in his riding togs and let me see 
 whether I can perform Sam s stunt with him on 
 horseback." 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Mac, you surely don t want to be pes 
 tered with little Davey." But Polly really was 
 hugely pleased. 
 
 "Yes, I do; I want to make Sam jealous." 
 
 And so Davey was put across Grey s saddle and 
 trotted down to the Lodge. He slept part of the 
 way, his pretty, soft face lying close to Grey s breast, 
 and when he wakened and the sun shone on his eyes 
 the peace still held, unwaveringly! 
 
 A physician of high reputation was staying, just 
 then, at the Lodge. The night before he had been 
 relating some of his experiences among children: 
 tests; remarkable cures largely the correcting of 
 inherited symptoms, taken in time. Grey, jogging 
 along with the tiny, warm body in the hollow of his 
 arm, and knowing that the moment was drawing 
 nigh when his fears were to be verified or set to rest, 
 experienced a sickening sense of helplessness and, 
 at the same time, of power. If Davey were all right, 
 then he must take his chances in life with a boost, 
 
174 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 now and then, out of pure kindliness; but if he had 
 been started with a handicap, and if science could 
 overcome it, then Grey might step in. He had no 
 longer any need for saving or planning for his own 
 future. Here was something weak and small some 
 thing that Glenn would have loved and mourned 
 over right at hand for his helping. Little Davey 
 of the hill cabin at that moment represented all 
 piteous childhood to Grey and he saw him through 
 eyes made understanding by the simple humanity 
 he had learned on the heights. 
 
 Arnold and the doctor were on the Lodge porch, 
 smoking. They had just returned from a climb and 
 were in the best of spirits, swapping stories and roar 
 ing with laughter. 
 
 "Well, by all that s holy!" exclaimed Arnold, sud 
 denly; "if there isn t Grey with Morton s Davey on 
 his saddle. What s up, Mac?" 
 
 "Nothing. Just giving the kid an airing. I 
 wanted Dr. Cornish to have a look at him; label him, 
 as you might say, good, bad, or indifferent." 
 
 "That s a darned funny thing for you to do, Mac." 
 Arnold was serious and alert at once. 
 
 Cornish tossed his cigar aside and strode heavily 
 over to Grey as he dismounted. He, too, realized 
 that there was more in this little episode than ap 
 peared on the surface. He took the baby in his arms 
 those big, tender arms that children naturally 
 nestled in. The grave, bearded man had a voice of 
 thunder for sham or cowardice; he was merciless 
 to brutality or lack of self-control; but where real 
 suffering or helpless childhood was concerned, he was 
 not merely a giant of power but a giant of gentleness. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 175 
 
 As he took Davey he said quickly, with his quiet, pro 
 fessional air: 
 
 "Pretty little rascal for so young a baby. Good 
 features, too. The bumps on the skull are all in 
 the right places." 
 
 Davey had been napping, his eyes were still closed, 
 but he snuggled in the strong arms, cunningly. 
 
 "Look up, sonny, let s have a peep into your win 
 dows and see what kind of a disposition you ve got 
 with this mouth and forehead. That s the boy!" 
 
 Davey s lids lifted. Those wonderful eyes lay ex 
 posed to the keen ones fixed upon them. 
 
 "Give me a match, Arnold." Arnold came up 
 with one. "Light it. Pass it close in front of the 
 eyes." Arnold s hand trembled. 
 
 Jsust then, unobserved by any one, Sam came 
 around the corner of the house and stood still, per 
 plexed by the scene near him. 
 
 "The the baby is stone blind!" The words fell, 
 not harshly but with a finality that cut like a knife. 
 
 Arnold gave forth a sound that was almost a sob, 
 and turned away. 
 
 "But we ve taken it in time, haven t we?" 
 gasped Grey, white and tense. "I ve suspected this, 
 that s why I brought the baby here. You can do 
 something; suggest something. I ll stand back of 
 anything that can be done, Cornish." 
 
 "Grey; this is a case of nothing to do. There is 
 no sight!" 
 
 As if Davey disputed this he gurgled rapturously 
 and reached forth his tiny hand, seeking something to 
 which he might cling. Cornish seemed to be holding 
 the child in the hollow of one of his huge hands; with 
 
176 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 the other he clasped the waxen, groping fingers. He 
 did not utter a word, but all the commiseration of the 
 big-hearted gathered in his eyes as he gazed upon 
 wee Davey. 
 
 At this moment Sam staggered forward like a 
 drunken man. A fierce fire burned in his eyes. 
 
 "What did you say?" he moaned; "say it again." 
 
 Cornish turned and answered this new call. 
 
 "Brace up, Morton. It s hard, devilish hard, 
 and it seems unjust, unfair; but you ve got to face 
 the music, man. The little chap is never to see. 
 He s blind!" 
 
 Then Morton understood. His face grew old as 
 the three men watched it in silence. All the gay, 
 indifferent, debonair expression faded as if the hand 
 of Time had blotted it out. In its place a sad resig 
 nation grew and grew. Turning to Grey, he said: 
 
 "Come back with me; come back, for Pity s sake, 
 and tell Polly!" 
 
 Grey shrank. For a moment he felt that he could 
 not; then he drew himself up. 
 
 "All right, Sam. I ll take Davey. You come 
 on a little behind; we don t want to startle Polly." 
 
 So up the trail they went. The birds sang; the 
 sun slanted through the tall rocks; the trees cast 
 shadows, long and dark. Davey was in high glee. 
 He cooed and gurgled and kept waving his little 
 hands. Grey, lost in thought, let his horse jog on; 
 looking far ahead demanding, since all else had 
 failed, that his imagination explore and find some way 
 out of the gloom. From the distance the sound of 
 Sam s horse came less and less distinct. The heavy 
 heart of the young father was holding him back. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 177 
 
 Polly was waiting at the cabin door. Her face 
 was illumined. She had a beauty that was, at times, 
 startling. Davey had created it. He had done 
 more; he had awakened in the mother a clairvoyance 
 of protecting love which was to outrun any effort 
 that Grey might make to save her. 
 
 During the hours that her arms had been empty 
 and the cabin deathly still Polly had had time to 
 think. 
 
 "It was a queer thing for Mr. Mac to do take a 
 six-weeks-old baby for a ride!" So the thought be 
 gan. "He s keeping him a long time!" (Hardly 
 a half hour had passed.) "He couldn t be thinking 
 of taking him to the Lodge who would care to see 
 the baby there?" Then, with a strange tightening 
 of the heart muscles : "What s the name of that big 
 doctor at the Lodge? the one that set a crooked leg 
 straight, farther up the trail, and put strange fasten 
 ings on Mary Thomas s girl s back?" 
 
 It was then that Polly had run to her door. The 
 house stifled her. "Davey! Davey!" she called, 
 just to keep her spirits up. "Davey; come to 
 mammy." She seemed to see the pretty, soft, little 
 face feel the touch of the fingers on her aching heart. 
 "You want Mammy, Davey, don t you? Men are 
 so daffy! Taking a lambie from its mammy for 
 hours and hours!" 
 
 And then, when Grey did appear, she stood in the 
 doorway. She had no strength to move her thin 
 body, but the divinity in her the divine that had 
 
178 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 come with her child guided her gently, miracu 
 lously. 
 
 Grey dismounted and put Davey in the arms of 
 love; they clasped him fiercely. Then: 
 
 "Mr. Mac, you took Davey to that big doctor, 
 didn t you?" 
 
 Grey reeled back from the unlooked-for assault. 
 He had barely words to answer the desperate appeal. 
 
 "Yes, Polly." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "What for, Mr. Mac? Is is Davey sick? He 
 couldn t be, and me not know me!" 
 
 "He he isn t sick, Polly." 
 
 "Is it his legs?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "His back then?" 
 
 "No, Polly." 
 
 "It it can t be Oh, Mr. Mac, it can t be 
 
 his eyes?" 
 
 Grey nodded. 
 
 Polly did not faint; she did not tremble. She 
 seemed, as Grey watched her, to be growing tall, 
 masterful. 
 
 "Never see the light on the mountains my 
 Davey?" she crooned. "Never see the flowers when 
 the snow goes? Never find the trails, all for him 
 self, my Davey? Never see me or Sam oh! my 
 dear God ! What have we done that you should hide 
 the light of day from my Davey?" 
 
 Polly did not heed Grey, but behind him she saw 
 Sam! Then she asked faintly: 
 
 "Does he know?" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 179 
 
 "He knows, Polly." Grey drew back. 
 
 "And he cares so much that, that he couldn t 
 come, Mr. Mac. He had to be alone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 But Sam was at his wife s side a moment later. 
 At her side as he had never been before. He and she 
 merged and flowed together in their child. They 
 were one now. One for his care and protection. 
 They must lead true, see clear, and interpret life to 
 the boy as best they could. 
 
 Then Polly spoke. "Don t go, Mr. Mac!" For 
 Grey was turning away with bowed head. He did 
 not feel worthy to be in that place. "Mr. Mac, 
 couldn t you talk to us ? Can t you sort of fix up 
 something we can do for Davey? A make-believe 
 something ? It would be better than than nothing." 
 
 Grey thought that he understood. They didn t 
 want to be alone; they were afraid to face, just at 
 first the burden, the common burden, that had been 
 laid upon them. So he sat down upon the step 
 of the porch, and Sam stood near while Polly went to 
 the pretty rocking chair that Beverly Train had sent 
 her, and clasped her baby to her aching breast. 
 
 After awhile Grey began to speak aloud the 
 thoughts that had been roaming, unchecked, through 
 his mind. 
 
 "It s up to us" how naturally he felt that he be 
 longed to them all "to make things a little easier 
 for the boy than otherwise we would. He will need 
 the rough things toned down. We can always tell 
 him the best; perhaps he need never know the other." 
 
 Polly had ceased to listen, she was conscious only 
 of the pressure of the baby s lips upon her breast. 
 
i8o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "We must make eyes for Davey," Grey s rambling 
 words ran on; "fix things up a little better than they 
 are. Make the mountains a bit higher and brighter, 
 the days sunnier, the nights fuller of stars. Davey s 
 eyes must see only the best and finest." 
 
 Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 "You mustn t fail Davey!" said Grey, challenging 
 the broken creature above him. 
 
 "Lord knows, I ll try not to"; and Sam wept like a 
 child. But Polly was singing singing a low, swing 
 ing thing which Glenn had invented in that time 
 when she and Polly played dolls together: 
 
 Bye-oh! little baby that God sent to me, 
 
 Just to have a good time and see what is to see; 
 
 And bye-oh! little baby-thing, by-and-bye lo, dear, 
 
 There s lots of things to love and want, but nothing t all to fear. 
 
 Grey rose, stiffly, holding his hat in hand. The 
 look in Polly s eyes was unnerving him. 
 
 "You ll bring Davey to the Lodge, Polly, to 
 morrow?" he said. "I want Dr. Cornish to talk to 
 you. He s the Creator s own man." 
 
 "Maybe, Mr. Mac. Bye-oh little baby 
 
 Then, suddenly: "You ll tell Glenn, won t you, Mr. 
 Mac?" 
 
 "Yes, Polly. I ll write to-night." 
 
 "Tell her awful easy, Mr. Mac. She takes things 
 hard, and she s way off alone now. She loves 
 Davey even if she hasn t seen him." 
 
 "I ll tell her gently, Polly." 
 
 And then Grey mounted and rode away. He 
 noticed, as he never had before, how rough the trail 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 181 
 
 was. He determined to have it made safe, to have 
 the loose stones removed, the way widened. "I sup 
 pose a tough little bronco could be taught to carry 
 a child, if they were both taken young; that is, if the 
 trail were made easy," he pondered as he went along. 
 And that night Grey wrote to Glenn, who was still 
 in England, taking a breathing spell. Very gently 
 he broke to her the hard, hurting fact. Vividly he 
 described every detail, for strangely enough he real 
 ized how alone she would be when she read the words 
 he was carefully choosing. 
 
 We must make Davey s world for him, Glenn, the best world, 
 ever! Already I am fixing you up for the little chap. You are 
 going to be the fairy god-mother slipping in when most wanted, 
 bringing what everyone else forgot; in short, putting the finish 
 ing touches on. 
 
 Then I am going to start, at once, an experimental school for 
 blind children very young ones. When Davey is old enough 
 he shall go to his own school and share whatever there is to share in 
 his particular line. 
 
 There was a little more about Davey and then 
 Grey put the question that lay in all their hearts. 
 
 And when, young woman of the gay feathers, are you coming 
 back to us? Your father rather banks on your birthday, but 
 you can hardly get here by October unless you take to those wings 
 boastfully referred to on your wedding day. 
 
 Couldn t you manage to come and get snow-bound as some 
 one else did, once? It seems eternities ago, but it was glorious 
 enough to remember. 
 
 With every word Grey s heart grew heavier. His 
 effort for Glenn taxed his enforced cheerfulness. 
 
182 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 The letter reached England when the autumn 
 weather was anything but inspiring. Carrington 
 brought it in with his own mail which had been more 
 upsetting than usual. He was inwardly cursing 
 Thompson for lack of firmness with the "hands." 
 Carrington never thought of his factory workers 
 otherwise than as "hands." Hands of the machin 
 ery; never minds, or souls hardly even bodies. 
 
 It was costing a great deal more to live, since Glenn 
 had been annexed. The cutting and polishing were 
 expensive. Already Carrington was arranging to 
 "set" his new jewel in the Massachusetts home. 
 That would lessen the strain somewhat, and it was 
 about time to settle down and live. 
 
 At that point Glenn across the hearth, cried 
 softly: "Oh! oh .! little Davey." 
 
 "Who the devil is Davey?" Carrington looked 
 up. His flare of passion was dying down but it still 
 had heat and glow when it touched upon Glenn. "Is 
 that a letter from Mac, Glenn? When in thunder 
 is he going to get back into harness?" 
 
 "Little Davey is blind, Dick blind!" Glenn 
 was crying. Her tears never disfigured her they 
 rolled gently down her face and left no stain. 
 
 "Davey, Davey? Is he one of the dogs?" 
 
 "He s Polly s little baby Polly s and Sam s!" 
 A pain shot through Glenn s heart. 
 
 "The deuce he is! and he s blind? That is hard 
 luck. But don t cry, dear." Carrington came over 
 and put his arms about Glenn; his touch and hers 
 were still electrical. 
 
 " Dickie dear, couldn t we go back home ? I ve 
 seen all the pictures in the world, and now I m just 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 183 
 
 a small bit tired. I d like to cuddle down and read 
 the writing under the pictures and and think them 
 
 out." 
 
 " Funny little wife-thing! But we are going home, 
 darling." 
 
 "Oh! Dick. But we couldn t get there by Oc 
 tober could we ? " 
 
 "Hardly. I must leave things trim here. I d like 
 to run over to Paris before we sail. You ought to 
 have the last word in gowns and hats. I want you 
 to load up." 
 
 "Why, Dick, I m simply buried in clothes. They 
 weigh me down. The only thing in the way of 
 clothes that I want, Dickie, is my old, patchy 
 trousers!" 
 
 "Good heavens, child!" 
 
 "That s all I would really need at home, Dick." 
 
 Carrington pictured Glenn in trousers moving 
 about the old Carrington place in Far Hills; he never 
 admitted the Lodge in the "home" category. 
 
 "Lord ! " he half groaned. He wasn t any too sure 
 about Glenn in the correctest things that Paris could 
 evolve. She was startling at the best. She might 
 take the Massachusetts breath by her grandeur, but 
 the real kernel of her somehow had eluded the cut 
 ting and polishing. She had a transient effect a 
 suggestion of not belonging where he placed her. 
 
 "Dick, dear, please sit down in that big chair." 
 Carrington obeyed. Glenn was luring him from 
 the anger he felt against Thompson, even from his 
 critical regard of herself. "That s a good boy. Now 
 hold me close against your blessed heart; so!" She 
 was in his arms, her slim, girlish form clinging close. 
 
184 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "I m going to tell you a great secret, Dick. It 
 will explain why I want to go home." In the still 
 ness the cannel coal on the hearth fell apart, showing 
 the blood-red heart of the fire. "I want the snow- 
 white hills, and the quietness, and Daddy. It will 
 be April when our baby comes, Dick, and often 
 April is wonderful on the top of things. I would 
 like my baby to be born where I was born, in the 
 room where I came to Daddy and you, dear." 
 
 Carrington s arms relaxed. He could not speak. 
 But through his surprised thoughts ran a new strain 
 an old, old imperious call. The woman in his arms 
 no longer was the object of his love and passion. She 
 had become an austere creature the mother of his 
 race! He didn t care for children he was not filled 
 with joy now but he was filled with pride, and a 
 new purpose. 
 
 He kissed the face resting on his breast kissed 
 it as a patriarch of old might have. 
 
 "What s the matter, Dick? Aren t you crazy- 
 glad?" 
 
 "I m I m very proud." 
 
 "And so you see why I want home?" 
 
 "My darling; you are to leave everything to me. 
 We will stay right here! I would not risk your 
 precious life, now, to any chance of accident." 
 
 "Stay here? Not go home?" Glenn gasped. 
 
 "Do you love me, dearest ?" Carrington asked. 
 
 "Oh! yes." 
 
 "Then give yourself absolutely into my keeping." 
 
 "Why I I cannot, Dick not absolutely." 
 
 "You must!" 
 
 "I cannot." The first spark glinted off as steel 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 185 
 
 struck steel. "I I wouldn t be worthy of being our 
 little baby s mother if I did that, Dick. Just having 
 one father and one mother seems hardly enough, 
 when I think of of the darling, but anyway it must 
 have both of us and as both as we can make our 
 selves." 
 
 This whimsical opposition had the effect of annoy 
 ing Carrington. 
 
 "I repeat, Glenn, you must leave everything to 
 me!" he said. 
 
 "And I repeat" (Glenn was oblivious of the 
 change in her husband) "that I cannot; and that 
 I should feel unworthy if I could." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 GLENN grew very white and still as the winter 
 passed. After accepting the exile that Car- 
 rington insisted upon, she never referred to it. 
 
 Science, and little else, stalked through her long 
 days. She was considered impersonally, largely, 
 but she was considered until her individuality al 
 most perished. She was amused scientifically. 
 Carrington became her warder and keeper carrying 
 out the commands of Science while Science was off 
 duty. But still she grew more white and delicately 
 fragile. 
 
 Her own appearance interested her and her quaint 
 humour flashed forth to Carrington. 
 
 "Can this be I? Look at my arms, Dick just 
 strings. And my legs I m afraid I couldn t dance 
 on the Twin bridge now." 
 
 "I should hope not, my precious!" 
 
 "Dick dear, if I hadn t danced that day, last June, 
 perhaps who knows? I might not have been 
 here." 
 
 "Are you sorry, beloved ? " 
 
 "Sorry? Sorry that Love just caught me, when 
 something, not my body, toppled over? I should 
 think not ! When you caught me, Dick, you opened 
 life to me." 
 
 " But you are crying, Glenn." 
 
 "Well, Dickie, you see I m not used to to having 
 
 186 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 187 
 
 babies. I feel sort of queer. After the baby comes, 
 Dick; then may we go home, please? " 
 
 "What do you mean by home , Glenn?" 
 
 "Why, the Lodge, dear." 
 
 "Your home, my dearest, is Far Hills. When you 
 are able to travel I must take you there. After 
 ward well, afterward, we will see." 
 
 "Far Hills! Doesn t it sound awfully distant, 
 Dick? It it sounds as if I never could reach it, no 
 matter how hard I try." 
 
 "I should like my son" (the word slipped from 
 Carrington unheeded) "to feel that Far Hills was 
 his home." 
 
 Glenn s eyelid twinkled. It rarely did now. 
 
 u Suppose such an awful thing as a daughter hap 
 pened to you, Dick; what then? Would you let the 
 poor little mistake go to the Lodge? Daddy is used 
 to to girls. He wouldn t mind." Then, quite 
 seriously: "I d like our little child, dear, to play 
 with Davey. Mac says he is wonderful." 
 
 "Mac is still in the mountains?" Carrington 
 frowned. 
 
 "Yes, but he s going down. He says he s going 
 to his place, wherever that is, for Christmas. Polly 
 and Sam and Davey are going to the Lodge to stay 
 with Daddy. Mac has a new book coming out." 
 
 "Has he?" 
 
 Grey s books were all drivel to Carrington. 
 
 "Yes. He s named it: The Trail Called Easy 5 ." 
 
 "Has, eh? He d better write another and call it: 
 The Trail Made Difficult . Mac always took the 
 easy trail." 
 
 "Why, Dick; you sound most un-Dickish." 
 
1 88 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 This brought Carrington to his senses. Science 
 had lain down laws regarding mental and physical 
 environment. 
 
 England smiled early that year. April was quite 
 June-like. Science did its best for Glenn, but it had 
 largely disregarded Nature, and, single handed, it 
 had a bad time of it. 
 
 There were black hours, when the door of life 
 seemed closed for ever to the girl in the dim, quiet 
 room. At such times her spirit still held by a loose 
 chain wandered where neither Science nor pride 
 of family awed it. It mounted higher and higher; 
 it sang gleefully; it called the dear, old names and 
 trod the familiar trails. 
 
 Then it was drawn back! Back to torture and 
 fear. Again, when it was given rein, it fled to the 
 one that had always left it free. 
 
 " Daddy ! Daddy ! I cannot find the way ! " 
 
 Presently the light of Glenn s star lent a ray to 
 guide her back this time to peace and safety. 
 
 "Here is your little girl, Mrs. Carrington." 
 
 It was decreed, by Science, that a well-trained 
 nurse, not Carrington, should give to Glenn her child. 
 
 "A a girl!" The announcement was startling. 
 "Why why it was to have been a boy, you know!" 
 
 Then because Glenn was too weak to cry, she 
 laughed; laughed rather terribly, too, and people 
 came quickly. And then she slept slept so deeply 
 that she did not dream. 
 
 The baby Constance they called her, that being 
 Carrington s mother s name took her entrance into 
 the world very calmly. She rarely cried, and rarely, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 189 
 
 so the nurse said, slept. She lay and looked about; 
 first blankly, then, very soon, with a serene air of 
 polite interest. She amused Glenn very much when, 
 at the end of two danger-filled months, she emerged, 
 white, haggard, and deplorably thin, to face life with 
 her child. 
 
 She seemed not to be the old Glenn at all. It was 
 as if, in the Shadow, she had left her buoyant, strong 
 self and came forth a wan woman with only one strong 
 passion love for her baby! Her attitude astounded 
 and dismayed Carrington. She was not exactly in 
 different to him, but she was distant. Tender she 
 was, and often playful, but detached. 
 
 Once he talked to her of her altered manner. 
 
 "Why, Dick, dear, surely you know how I love 
 you! You gave me love and then my child. You 
 are the holiest thing in the world to me." 
 
 "I m not desirous of being a holy thing to you," 
 Carrington returned, wondering how such a thin, 
 wraith-like creature could still be so lovely. "I 
 want you as you were, my darling." 
 
 "Ah, Dick, is a woman ever the same? The way 
 was so far and dark, it took so long to get back. Once, 
 when I seemed terribly alone, words came; they 
 seemed to ask me whether I I wanted to return? 
 Then I heard the baby cry and I had to!" 
 
 "Only for the child, Glenn?" Carrington looked 
 hurt. The maternal instinct was not appealing to 
 him; it had a plebeian aspect that was repelling. 
 
 "It seemed so then, dear old Dick. I felt re 
 sponsible for it. I think women get very near to 
 God when their babies come, don t you? You see, 
 they have to reach up, when He leans down to them." 
 
190 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "I know you nearly died, my dear one, so nearly 
 that I would not go through the agony again." 
 
 "Why, I would, Dick. Just for the feeling of the 
 baby hands after! Put the baby close, Dick. It 
 can see, you are sure?" 
 
 "It can see all right, and hear. I guess she s all 
 that one could expect." Carrington regarded his 
 daughter critically. 
 
 "I don t think she s very pretty" Glenn whis 
 pered this disloyalty "I don t know much about 
 babies, but Constance looks too too finished. Mac 
 says Davey has an adorable smudge for a nose, and 
 dimples, and a mouth like a strawberry, and hair like 
 the fluff on a duckling s breast; you just naturally 
 call him Davey not David. Why, Dick, lying 
 here alone with Constance, I ve tried to call her 
 Connie; and I don t dare! Look at her nose; I 
 declare it s like yours and just as good! What 
 hair she has is dark and and shiny. Her mouth 
 has a firm look, and I bet she s going to have a strong 
 character." 
 
 "You re a bit ridiculous, Glenn darling. Con 
 stance is a real Carrington. She looks like one of my 
 grandfathers; the resemblance is striking, even to 
 me." 
 
 "Does she, Dick? Isn t that awful? A two- 
 month-old baby looking like an old gentleman. Was 
 it the one who went to Congress isn t that where 
 you said he went?" 
 
 "Yes, Glenn." But Carrington did not laugh 
 he was gazing again rather intently at his daughter. 
 She was an extremely ancient and severe-looking in 
 fant and he was planning a course of action that 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 191 
 
 would place the child in safe and competent care 
 while, at the same time, detaching her from her 
 mother. It would never do to have Glenn, before 
 she was twenty, becoming maternal! A young 
 mother, correctly placed, was interesting; a baby, 
 as a background, emphasized youth, but a baby in 
 arms was unmentionable! and Glenn showed distinct 
 symptoms of maternalism. 
 
 But little Constance Carrington soon took the 
 middle of the stage in a most alarming and un 
 looked-for manner. Delicate from her birth, she 
 very soon showed symptoms that demanded the best 
 surgical care and nursing. During those days when 
 the little life wavered faintly poor Glenn thought of 
 Polly and her Davey. With heart-sick longing she 
 yearned for the hills, for her father, for Polly, and 
 for Mac. Sometimes she thought that if she could 
 carry her baby to the mountains and lift her up to 
 the sunlight and the cool sweet air a miracle might be 
 performed. 
 
 Once she voiced this craving and belief to Carring 
 ton, but he set it aside rather impatiently. His life 
 was disordered and confused. He wanted to get 
 back to America, but certain treatment, which 
 gave promise for Constance, must be continued and 
 Glenn was in no fit condition for a long journey, 
 anyway. 
 
 So for four years they remained abroad Carring 
 ton going home twice during that time to insist upon 
 more speed in the business. 
 
 "Good God!" he said to Thompson "have you any 
 idea what it costs me to live, these days ? Of course 
 I want you to obey laws" Thompson had insinuated 
 
192 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 that perhaps he did not "haven t I always obeyed 
 laws? Aren t the shops and factories abreast of the 
 times?" 
 
 "About." Thompson was a one-word man, when 
 two words might have been used by others. 
 
 "Well what then? I tell you, Thompson, I do 
 not mean to cater to this rabble. When one con 
 siders what they came from! Good Lord! what do 
 they expect ? They never lived so well in their lives 
 before. If they don t like it why don t they go 
 back; why do they stay?" 
 
 "American ideals." Thompson thrust in. 
 
 "American nothing! It s American peril that they 
 want to be." Carrington was furious. 
 
 "Bad housing," Thompson muttered; "that s one 
 of their complaints." 
 
 "Now see here, Thompson; my business is my 
 business. I pay regulation wages, keep to the time 
 schedule; but I don t intend to mix up in their domes 
 tic affairs. I own the property? What if I do? I 
 will not discuss the matter along this line, and I m 
 not responsible for economic conditions! What I ve 
 come all the way from England for is to speed you 
 up. Put on steam, Thompson. It will mean a cou 
 ple of thousand more to you." 
 
 And then Carrington went back to England for a 
 year or so more. 
 
 It was the winter when little Constance Carrington 
 was three and giving hopes of staying on, that Grey 
 came down from the heights, leaving Sam, Polly, 
 and Davey at the Lodge. He wanted to see how his 
 "place" was getting on. He had deferred his trip 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 193 
 
 over and over again. Beverly Train had urged it 
 now. She had written: 
 
 You re too young, Mac, to become a hermit; your books are 
 too popular. Your play is being rehearsed; the dust on your 
 furniture is too deep. People have almost forgotten poor Kath 
 leen, and Robert Maurey has behaved himself so detestably 
 lately that folks are beginning to wonder whether they did not 
 stone the wrong dog. Queer, isn t it how they throw stones 
 first and do their thinking afterward? 
 
 I m so afraid of being ashamed of having thrown stones, that 
 I hold back until it is time for the placing of wreaths. 
 
 But most of all, old Mac, I want to see you. I used to think 
 there was not enough of me for Time to waste in making me old, 
 but I suppose I am not exempt, and once the process is begun, 
 it will soon be finished owing to my brevity. 
 
 And so Grey swung back to his old haunts. He 
 was big and muscular and tanned. His eyes were 
 clear and undaunted, he entered the haunted places 
 of his past with quickened pulses, but a clean con 
 science. 
 
 The dust in his old rooms was a fiction of Beverly 
 Train s brain; some one had kept them immaculate. 
 His publishers were cordial; his friends those he 
 chanced upon, accidentally glad to see him. 
 
 "You look made over," one or two remarked. 
 
 "I have been," Grey returned. "I ve been 
 where I could get all the air I wanted." 
 
 But no man could return, after nearly four years, 
 and not feel strange in the once-familiar environment. 
 It was as if he were trying to find land-marks for a 
 friend the friend being his old self. He seemed to 
 be going about with a map and notes of instruction. 
 The person he now was, had no particular curiosity, 
 but he owed it to what he once had been. 
 
i 9 4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 He went where he had lived so long, to his grand 
 mother s old house in the Back Bay; a cheerful family 
 of youngsters was now living there. The narrow, 
 grim little street amused him; how had he ever 
 found it anything but cramping? Then he recalled 
 that it had opened into the first love he had ever 
 known and he remembered the surprising view of 
 garden and river from the back windows ! 
 
 In his own small apartment he feared that he 
 might find Kathleen Maurey, but the fear proved 
 groundless; she did not seem to have any part in the 
 rooms she had come and gone, as she had from his 
 life a brief episode of the years when he was finding 
 himself. 
 
 For a few days Grey refrained from seeing Beverly 
 Train did not even telephone or write, although he 
 had sent word from Denver that he was on his way 
 eastward. He wanted to do his errand fulfil his 
 duty to his old self before he went to the one friend 
 who, of all others, seemed nearest and closest to him, 
 most like his own. 
 
 At last, one balmy day, he shed the dust of his past 
 from him, got into some new and good-looking 
 clothes, and started out for Beverly Train s out-of- 
 town house. This was about thirty miles from Bos 
 ton and on the broad highway. It was an old, colo 
 nial house set in wide lawns, and behind it were 
 acres and acres of cultivated farm land. It was 
 called "On the Way" and indeed it was frankly 
 that; for, coming or going, one was almost sure to pass 
 it if he journeyed through Massachusetts. 
 
 Beverly had inherited the place from her father, 
 Judge Train. It had come to her with his blessing, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 195 
 
 as had her orderly, well-balanced, and judicial mind. 
 The little, cramped body was merely the casket a 
 frail one, at best to hold the big brain and the loving 
 heart. 
 
 The old judge, when about to depart from this 
 life, had remarked, casually, to this daughter: "I 
 know that you will carry on all my hopes for the 
 place; it will give you something to do. When you 
 are through with it, leave it to some one or to some 
 organization that will continue along our lines. 
 I d like it always to be on the way to something." 
 
 To that end, Beverly had devoted her lonely years 
 and her clear thought. Trades were taught on her 
 land; farming, weaving, and in small cottages 
 up-to-date home-making. Little groups of girls 
 and boys were gathered from the most neglected by 
 ways of life and started on the way. The green 
 houses, the lawns, the wooded parts of the estate, 
 gave evidence of the skill of the "home products" 
 as Beverly called them. The scheme was not charity 
 in any sense; largely it paid for itself in service and 
 production. And through it all, pervading it all, 
 were the heart and the brain of the tiny creature in 
 the long, wheel-chair. She was the spirit of the 
 place. 
 
 When Grey entered "On the Way," he was directed 
 to the conservatory by a smiling little maid who, a 
 few years before, had started out on the wrong way, 
 but had been caught in time. 
 
 "Miss Beverly ordered that when you came, sir, 
 you should just walk in and find her." 
 
 And Grey knew where to go, The long chair was 
 in the bright room where rare flowers bloomed and 
 
196 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 birds sang. It was late afternoon and the western 
 windows let in the last rays of sunshine. 
 
 The head against the back of the couch-chair, was 
 crowned with silver hair, cut short and combed back 
 from the broad, fine brow. The face was strong and 
 delicately chiselled; the body, under the gay-coloured 
 rug, like that of a child of twelve! 
 
 Grey, standing by the entrance, looked at the pa 
 thetic figure. His eyes dimmed; his throat con 
 tracted; he saw only the beauty of the spirit that was 
 caught and held in the frail shell. Then he heard 
 Beverly speak: 
 
 "Is that you, Mac Grey? I seem to feel you." 
 
 Grey went forward and touched his lips to the 
 smooth forehead. 
 
 "And now let me look at you, boy!" 
 
 Grey stood rigid for inspection. 
 
 "It s all right. You haven t confused stepping 
 stones with stumbling blocks. It was hard climbing 
 though, eh?" 
 
 " Part of the way, yes, Beverly. May I sit down ? " 
 
 "There s your chair. It s been close to me ever 
 since I heard that you were coming. And now Mac, 
 tell me everything." 
 
 Grey had photographs they illustrated his talk 
 pictures of the great peaks, the lonely trails, the 
 isolated cabins, the Lodge, even Connor s. Then 
 came the people: Arnold, Sam, Polly, and the wonder 
 ful face of Davey. 
 
 "Poor, little groping soul," said Beverly, holding 
 the picture in a better light. "I must get into touch 
 with the boy, Mac. He and I have something to say 
 to each other. It isn t easy to hold all the longings 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 197 
 
 and the passion of life while you re on a leash, but 
 it s possible to cut quite a caper in the limitations 
 if you know how." 
 
 "Yes; you must see Davey. And, Beverly, one 
 of the things I came for was to carry you back to the 
 heights. I want you to breathe that air, to see those 
 people." 
 
 "I ve thought of that, too, Mac. I am going, 
 later, to talk to you about building a little cabin for 
 me, near yours. I rather believe you ll spend a good 
 deal of your future among the hills. I would like to be 
 within ear-shot, and I think I could make the journey 
 with your help. 
 
 "Haven t you any pictures of Dick Carrington s 
 wife?" 
 
 So suddenly did Beverly ask this question that 
 Grey shrank back and all his barriers crumbled be 
 fore the glance of the clear, blue eyes. 
 
 "No, Beverly." 
 
 "Mac, why didn t you fall in love with that girl?" 
 
 "I did. Of course!" 
 
 "Why didn t you tell her so?" 
 
 "You know how it is with me Beverly always 
 dreams! dreams! dreams! At first I felt that I 
 wasn t good enough, and I had to adjust that. Then 
 I got to feeling that we belonged to each other, and 
 I wanted to take to her (before I told her of my love) 
 the cleanest thing I could in the way of pasts. I felt 
 that I wanted Kathleen to see things as they really 
 were; I wanted my love unshadowed for Glenn s 
 sake. Then Dick came with the news. It rather 
 knocked me out. And by the time that I came to my 
 senses, Dick had swept everything before him. 
 
i 9 8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Dreams have been my blessing and my curse, Beverly 
 I always wake up a bit too late." 
 
 Beverly Train was watching Grey. Her small, 
 cool hand reached out and took his. 
 
 "It s queer how a man like Dick can flare up once 
 in a lifetime, isn t it, Mac? All the best of him 
 caught fire. It will soon burn out, but while it lasts 
 it will warm the best in that girl that he has married." 
 
 "I suppose so, Beverly. But Dick s a good fellow; 
 I couldn t have stood it if he hadn t been. He has 
 never bungled his life. It was a clean, decent thing 
 he offered Glenn." 
 
 At this Beverly s eyes contracted, her smooth brow 
 wrinkled from deep emotion. 
 
 "It was a hard thing he offered a thing that noth 
 ing has ever got through. Mac, did you ever spill 
 alcohol on marble and set it on fire?" 
 
 "No, Beverly." 
 
 "Well, it burns itself up; it s hot and fierce, but 
 the marble isn t affected much." 
 
 "Come, come Beverly, aren t you a bit rough on 
 Dick?" 
 
 "I don t think so. Dick, to you, represents all 
 of the Carringtons, but they have been a tradition 
 in my family. My father used to say that all his 
 sharp edges were worn off by rubbing against the 
 Carrington breed. There was an old minister grand 
 father so good, Mac, that he made hell seem a sanc 
 tuary. Then the line ran to judges; still good so 
 good that every criminal begged for mercy before 
 he was accused, legally. Then they took to business; 
 still good ! Dick s good ! he s within all the religion 
 and law of his ancestors but his factory people are 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 199 
 
 always striking! They just naturally balk at his 
 goodness." 
 
 Grey laughed. Beverly was a tonic to him. She 
 was setting his confusion in order, voicing his thoughts. 
 
 "I suppose, owing to my being a prisoner, Mac," 
 the low, sweet voice flowed on, "I have time to de 
 velop an extra sense or two. Beside the people that 
 come to see me there stand dim shades of other 
 people, and I hear words words meant for my under 
 standing. I have to have explanations in lieu of ex 
 perience, you see. Sometimes the ghostly Shades 
 frighten me. With Dick Carrington I always see 
 his good ancestors keeping him upright. They will 
 not let him lean over. I do Dick the justice of think 
 ing himself madly in love with this wild thing he s 
 caught, but Mac, his Shades speak louder than he. 
 They cry out for new blood to keep the line strong. 
 They point out the fine hope of this mountain girl 
 she has possibilities but no price that the Carring- 
 tons can pay could buy Glenn Arnold ! " A quivering 
 excitement ran through the words. 
 
 "No, by heaven, no, Beverly!" Grey was im 
 pressed. 
 
 "Mac, dear, I never saw anything so pathetic as 
 the girl was the day she came to see me. She was 
 loaded down with things that Carrington had given 
 her. She was like a child with her arms so full of toys 
 that she could not appreciate them did not even 
 know what they were. She was overflowing with 
 gratitude. Dick s love, she believed, had given 
 them to her; she could not know that it was his 
 pride. Oh! I tell you, Mac, you cannot live as 
 long and as lonely, as I have lived, without seeing 
 
200 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 beyond the limit of your leash! Often the seeing 
 hurts but it is my life; mine!" 
 
 "And who " [Grey was bending close to the woman 
 in the chair; she seemed to him a high priestess] "and 
 who stood beside Glenn, Beverly, while she talked 
 to you?" 
 
 "You, Mac Grey! You were no Shade, either. 
 You looked good bone and muscle* You love Dick 
 Carrington s wife, still; and you must keep the love, 
 boy. For, as there is hope in heaven, that child will 
 find her way back to you ! " 
 
 "This this is scandalous, Beverly." 
 
 "Bare truth often is, to folks not up in anatomy! 
 But you and I, here alone, Mac Grey, can take our 
 skeleton out bravely, boy." 
 
 "Did Glenn strike you as unhappy, Beverly?" 
 Grey s eyes were deep and straightforward now. He 
 craved all that he could get. 
 
 "No. She was dreaming. It s Dick s purpose 
 to keep her dreaming of the man that she thought 
 he was. I m wondering " 
 
 "What, Beverly?" 
 
 "What motherhood has done for her?" 
 
 "Her letters are all quite remarkable," said Grey, 
 slowly; "she lives for her child. Strange, isn t it, 
 how a girl like Glenn could bear such a delicate 
 child?" 
 
 "It it isn t her child, it s Carrington s." 
 
 "Oh, Beverly, that s hard on them both. But in 
 any case Glenn is making it hers." 
 
 "She ll never be able to, Mac. I have a strange 
 feeling about the baby. It complicates it can 
 never solve." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 201 
 
 "I shouldn t like to think that, Beverly." 
 
 "It s true, all the same. See here, Mac, there are 
 some lines that cannot merge. The Carrington 
 brand, and Glenn s, for instance. They both come 
 straight down the ages without a break. They know 
 shades and tones, but they do not blend!" 
 
 "I m afraid, now, that you are getting in too deep 
 for me, Beverly!" Grey gave an uneasy laugh. He 
 had experienced, before, the feeling he now had, when 
 talking to Beverly Train. It was like sitting with 
 one verging upon a trance-state. 
 
 Beverly did not heed his words, but a rare light 
 filled her eyes. 
 
 "Mac; Glenn Arnold belongs to the Christ line 
 that battered, often unpractical line that has in its 
 wake the highest and the lowest all bearing the mark 
 of their Leader on their foreheads no matter whether 
 their heads be bowed to the dust or their breasts 
 bared for the fight. They know no law but His law, 
 they feel Him in all they do. His law is Love and 
 Service." 
 
 Grey bent nearer; he no longer opposed. In 
 Beverly s flight he caught the vision. 
 
 "And Dick s line, Beverly. What is his?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 "His? Why his is the Pontius Pilate line. Law, 
 law the law of man ! He uses it for a shield and a 
 weapon. It is a bitter, hard, unbending line, Mac; 
 and since the world began it has been at war with the 
 other. They have nothing in common; nothing! 
 The first is for ever standing, as He did, before the 
 Judgment Seat of the Law; and the Law turns Him, 
 and it, over to the mob ! Oh, Mac, the heart of me 
 
202 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 aches with the pity of it all." Beverly looked up, 
 her eyes wet with tears, her lips quivering. 
 
 "Beverly, Beverly, how you have needed to talk!" 
 Grey said, gently; and he laid his face upon the small 
 hand in his own ! 
 
 "Yes, boy; and now that I see you, I know that 
 you have needed to listen!" 
 
 "That s God s truth, Beverly." 
 
 "This Carrington business has upset us both, 
 boy." 
 
 "Yes; terribly." 
 
 "When Dick was home last he came to see me. 
 He doesn t often visit me never, unless he wants me 
 to do something for him. I did not like the look in 
 his eyes. He is beginning to do his duty by his wife. 
 Mac, when a Carrington takes to duty, the weak had 
 better take to the hills! He is bringing his his 
 family home. He wants me to help him do his duty 
 stand by him, so to speak. His family and mine 
 live too near have lived too near for generations 
 to be secure unless we live in peace. But Mac, do 
 you think that wife of Dick s is going to have her 
 flame kept alive by Duty?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Of course not! But she s given him a sickly girl 
 when his ancestral pride and hope expected better 
 things. She has failed him the injury has cut deep. 
 Duty comes to the fore not loving sympathy." 
 
 "Poor little Glenn!" moaned Grey, burying his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 "I m not so sure, about her poverty, Mac. If 
 she s only being fed on chaff, the sooner she knows 
 it the better." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 203 
 
 "Any disgrace would kill her, Beverly." 
 
 "Disgrace? Yes, I think it would. She d fly it 
 as she would a plague; but she would call things by 
 their right names, boy! She would know disgrace 
 when she saw it, without Carrington s line telling her. 
 You could not pass a counterfeit off on her." 
 
 "No, I don t think you could." Grey raised his 
 face; there was relief in it, though from what he was 
 drawing comfort he could not tell. 
 
 "Somehow all this talk doesn t seem exactly right, 
 Beverly, but it gives me strength I sorely needed." 
 
 "We all sense truth at times, Mac; not seeing it 
 should not prevent us from being ready. I know the 
 Carringtons, root and branch, and no one of them 
 ever did a madder thing than Dick has done. He 
 has attempted the impossible! To a Carrington 
 that means an ugly fight." 
 
 "This should alarm us, Beverly," said Grey as he 
 rose, slowly. 
 
 "No, it should merely prepare us. In a fight, 
 numbers count; quick vision counts; love counts. 
 They can sometimes outwit the law." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 GREY spent six months among his former 
 haunts. He enjoyed them, too. It was a 
 thing not to be despised this moderate, 
 well-earned, fame of his. He went to see his play. 
 Beverly Train was with him; they had a box to them 
 selves and sat well back in the shadow. Beverly 
 cried a little and Grey held her hand; he was thankful 
 that so warm and kind a hand was his to hold. They 
 celebrated afterward in Grey s room. Beverly was 
 giddily indifferent to her own appearance. 
 
 "Cover up my legs, Mac, and let people beautify my 
 head. Since you have no one else to do it for you, 
 I m going to see that you are properly chaperoned." 
 
 And how she talked and laughed and shone. How 
 charmed the chosen few, men and women, were with 
 her. It was a gala night, one to which Beverly al 
 ways looked back upon as her climax. 
 
 "It will always be to me, Mac," she said, "the 
 point that marked the Great Divide." 
 
 "Nonsense, Beverly!" Grey laughingly chided. 
 "It marks an open door." 
 
 "Perhaps. But I think I ought to tell you that, 
 in case anything should happen, I ve left everything 
 to you." She spoke lightly, as her father had spoken 
 before her, when he was about to leave life. 
 
 Grey stiffened at her words. Beverly, watching 
 him, laughed him to scorn. 
 
 204 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 205 
 
 "Some one has to take the work," she said, kindly; 
 "it really cannot be left to itself. You re not a 
 shirker, boy, and you are a good friend. You are not 
 without experience, either. I happen to know about 
 that school of yours for blind children, and that 
 home-place for old, and often forgotten, women!" 
 
 "The one is Grandmother s idea, Beverly." 
 
 "Come, come, Mac!" 
 
 "At least it is for her. The other one is for Davey. 
 I m trying experiments there; preparing for the day 
 when Davey will need all that he can have. The 
 way is deucedly rough for the blind kids, Beverly, 
 unless some one clears the trail." 
 
 "Yes, I know. And isn t it all fun, Mac? This 
 chance of being hands and feet for God Almighty? 
 After all, ours are all that He has to use in this world. 
 I wish you had more humour, boy. You ought to 
 get some amusement out of the game." 
 
 They both laughed at this point. Then Beverly 
 went seriously on. 
 
 "Now I don t want On the Way ever really to 
 arrive; I d like to look back at it from wherever I may 
 chance to be and see it always what its name im 
 plies. Some one with an imagination would have 
 to be at the head. Sitting all these years in my chair, 
 I ve made this old place my story. Boy; will you 
 make it what shall we call it? a continued story?" 
 
 "Beverly; I m not up to it!" 
 
 "That s your trouble, Mac. You ve always made 
 your mistakes by looking at yourself at the wrong 
 moment! Lord, boy, you don t matter. None of 
 us do. Here s the world s work; go to it give 
 it a helping hand, if you have a hand! It s the help 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 that counts, not the helper. Sometimes" and here 
 Beverly s eyes grew misty "sometimes I think it 
 is about time we began to take Christ off the cross 
 and set Him free to be where once He longed to 
 be with his people. Why, a minister came here the 
 other day to argue with me; he thinks me a great 
 sinner, because I refuse creeds his creed, he meant! 
 He said I was taking Christ out of religion. I told 
 him that I was only trying to put Christ in that 
 He d been nailed to the cross and worshipped as a dead 
 Christ too long that I wanted to see Him set free! 
 
 "The poor clergyman left me with a check in his 
 hand and with his head in the air. I was sorry about 
 the head, for really he and I are nearer together than 
 he guesses. One thing separates us: he does not 
 dare to put his belief into practice; I do! And so, 
 Mac, you must do the best that you can. You ll 
 bungle, you ll get to places where you see only defeat, 
 but I have no one but you, boy, and you must not 
 fail me. And remember this: no good deed is ever 
 defeated; at the worst it but gives place to a better 
 
 one." 
 
 I ll do my best, Beverly." 
 
 "You won t have to assume the responsibility 
 at once. I m going to try to get up to your mountain 
 heights next summer and see what they can do for 
 me. But, boy, when you do take over my story, I 
 want you to bring into it the characters others have 
 kept out. You see what I mean? The men and 
 the women, the girls and the boys that are not ex 
 actlylabelled." 
 
 "I think I see, Beverly. The ones that others do 
 not want; you want them here the gleanings." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 207 
 
 "Exactly. And above all else, make them happy. 
 First of all, food and happiness; then, time to think 
 it over. Don t let any one ever manage this place, 
 Mac, it has always kept clear of that. It s on the way 
 for everyone! A stopping place until they are 
 strong enough to take to the road." 
 
 "I understand, Beverly. The story must never 
 shame its creator." 
 
 Soon after that, a letter from Arnold hastened 
 Grey s departure. He wrote: 
 
 I suppose, Mac, you re going to spend the summer some 
 where. You d better come up here and potter around. I ve 
 picked out a spot for Miss Train s cabin; it has a great view 
 you can see everything without standing up. 
 
 Then, there s Davey. We can t make up stuff to suit him. 
 He s always calling out for "Unker Mac" when we get going wild 
 about how things look. Mountains and folks are facts to us 
 but Davey won t have facts. 
 
 So in July Grey travelled back to the heights. He 
 wanted to take Beverly Train, but she shook her head. 
 
 "I ll wait until my cabin is ready, Mac," she said; 
 and she kissed him as his mother might have kissed 
 him, when she bade him good-bye. 
 
 Sam Morton was waiting for Grey at Connor s. 
 He had been waiting for two days. The big fellow 
 was dumb when he saw Grey, but he had no need 
 for words; his eyes were enough. When they were 
 well on the way up, they talked a good deal, though, 
 about Davey. 
 
 "Do you know, Mac, that kid can walk clear down 
 
208 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 the trail from the cabin to the Lodge and never take 
 a tumble?" 
 
 "He has sight of a kind about which we know 
 nothing, Sam." 
 
 "He always says he can see," Morton spoke with 
 deep tenderness. " I used to think it was bad business 
 to doll things up so for Davey, but it s queer, ain t 
 it, how you get to seeing things more beautiful when 
 you make them out beautiful for other folks?" 
 
 "It s simply looking through Davey s eyes, Sam." 
 
 "I shouldn t wonder. But mountains ain t just 
 rocks and gullies to me any longer, nor does Polly 
 look like she used to; I just get wondering about that 
 sometimes when I m holding Davey." Sam s voice 
 trailed tenderly. 
 
 The two men went on up the road in silence for a 
 time after that. Then Sam spoke again. 
 
 "God! but we re glad to get you back, Mac!" he 
 blurted out. 
 
 Arnold was striding up and down his porch when 
 the two came in sight, but he controlled himself, at 
 once. He- appeared, on the surface, to be quite care 
 free but he and Grey sat up late into the night, talk 
 ing of Glenn and her child. 
 
 "I haven t held it against Mr. Carrington" [Dick 
 had never been "knighted" by Arnold] "for keeping 
 Glenn over seas. A sick child is excuse enough and 
 I reckon if my girl can stand it, I can. But when she 
 lands on her home shore if he don t forward the two 
 to the Lodge, I ll have something to say! I don t 
 want to do any man injustice, Mac, but I can t, as 
 the Lord hears me, get nearer to Mr. Carrington than 
 if he were but a tourist. Has it ever struck you, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 209 
 
 Mac, that he might be wanting to well, to change 
 Glenn?" 
 
 "Do you think he could, Arnold?" Grey looked 
 keenly at the older man. He was thinking of the 
 talk with Beverly Train. Did Arnold, also, sense 
 the truth the lurking, hidden truth ? 
 
 "No/ Arnold returned, and gave a grim laugh; 
 "no, I don t. But there might be a devil of a row 
 before she convinced him. The whole thing was a 
 damned queer performance, Mac. It was like trying 
 to hit something in the dark. If it hadn t been for 
 my own experience of such things I wouldn t have 
 stood around like a stalked deer, but you ought not 
 to risk too much on your own experience of life, Mac; 
 I ve learned that. You see you have to have the 
 same ingredients to get the same results." Grey 
 nodded. "Mac; I want to tell you a little about ; 
 about my girl s mother." 
 
 This startled Grey, but he did not raise his eyes. 
 He recalled the day, long ago his first day in the 
 living room of the Lodge after his illness and 
 Glenn s light, quick reference to her mother. He had 
 not thought often of the matter but it had rested 
 safely in the pigeon-hole of his memory the one 
 labelled: "Arnold." It was nearly midnight when 
 the story drew to its close. 
 
 "I saw a hurt and bruised creature, Mac, at first, 
 and I had an urge to help. There aren t many ways 
 for a man to help a woman more s the pity! And 
 I wasn t going to add another blow to the many that 
 that little girl had got already. I m no saint; Mac, 
 there were times and often I ve bowed my head 
 humbly before my God when I recalled them when 
 
2ic UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 I reasoned that if I took what I saw and saved it from 
 the worst, I should be doing a mighty lofty thing 
 and leaving myself a loophole as well! Man has 
 left himself too many loopholes that are not big 
 enough for both him and the woman to crawl through, 
 and so I just blocked mine! I took that little woman 
 the same as if she had had a safe and white past that 
 somehow had got blotted and that not alone by her 
 fault, by a long shot, whatever way you take it. I 
 built on that; and I tell you that what happened was 
 wonderful wonderful! I left her alone I meant 
 always to I m not one to half do a job. I just 
 watched and was within call. I learned more from 
 that little woman than I d learned in all my life be 
 fore! Learned what tenderness and love and sweet 
 ness were. She simply grew! All that had been 
 stunted, afraid, half killed, came out strong. First 
 she learned to trust me; and then she never stopped 
 until, with such a look as I never expect to see on 
 another woman s face, she told me how she loved me ! 
 "I tell you, Mac, God doesn t always give us what 
 we most want in this world but He did give it to 
 me!" 
 
 "And youVe never regretted not reading the letter 
 she left, Arnold?" 
 
 "Never but once; that was when Glenn came to 
 womanhood. And yet, maybe it was best she did 
 not know. We all have to chance such a lot." 
 
 "You re great stuff, Arnold, great stuff!" Grey 
 was deeply touched. 
 
 "Just common stuff, Mac, thank God 1 Only some 
 men never put the best in them to the test. They 
 slump at the critical moment. Why, man, when 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 211 
 
 that little woman of mine loved me, no matter what 
 lay behind, I d have gone on to hell with her, if she d 
 been bent in that direction." 
 
 "As it was," Grey ventured, "you d set her in the 
 opposite direction." 
 
 "Oh! I don t know, Mac. I m leaning to the idea 
 more and more, that it s only when we get to thinking 
 we can do God s work instead of our own, that we 
 ruin things. I sort of let His job alone and waited. 
 But what s the use of passing judgment when you 
 haven t all the facts ? We re all stumbling along and 
 when one tumbles you ought not think it s because 
 he s bad, or even wrong. He may only be weak, 
 and that isn t a crime." 
 
 "No, Arnold, it isn t." Grey spoke with feeling. 
 "There will be rare hours when you and Beverly 
 Train get together." 
 
 "Queer!" observed Arnold, "but I ve had the 
 strangest feeling about Miss Train, since her cabin 
 was begun. I ve been working on it lately, at odd 
 times, and it seems as if she were well, having a 
 say about it. I stop to get my leadings. It makes 
 me laugh. I was going to put the fireplace to one 
 side, but for the life of me I couldn t. It grew on me 
 that Miss Train wanted it facing the door, like a 
 welcome." 
 
 "That would be like her." 
 
 Then the two men arose and parted for the night. 
 At the foot of the stairs Grey paused and said: 
 
 "Arnold, can you not feel the same way about 
 well, about God s work where Glenn is concerned?" 
 
 "I m trying, Mac. I ve been trying ever since 
 her baby came." 
 
212 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 The next morning, as Grey was standing at the 
 door of his own cabin he heard a shrill, glad call: 
 
 "Unker Mac! Unker Mac! here I be!" And 
 there Davey was, coming down the trail. 
 
 Davey had grown tall and strong. He looked 
 like a child of seven. He had a wonderful sort of 
 beauty not spiritual, but rather the human, per 
 fected! He was groping with arms extended, head 
 uplifted; the morning light was on his fine face. Grey 
 ran and clasped him in his arms. He didn t kiss him, 
 but he held him close and then carried him to the 
 porch. 
 
 Sitting beside Grey, Davey poured out his con 
 fidences. 
 
 "Daddy made the mountains hard and and 
 crooked, linker Mac." 
 
 "Shocking! We ll fix that up, right away. Re 
 member about Thor and his hammer, Davey?" 
 
 "Yes, Unker Mac." 
 
 "All right. We ll send a wireless to Thor." 
 Davey chuckled. 
 
 "And Unker Mac, big Daddy Arnold said he didn t 
 know how the far-off girl looked!" Davey meant 
 Glenn s child. 
 
 "I m surprised at Big Daddy. He ought to use 
 your eyes, Davey. Now you tell me how Constance 
 looks, to you!" 
 
 Davey s face grew dreamy. 
 
 "I see her just as tall as me. If we stand close 
 we can see the same things. Her hair is shiny;" [only 
 God knew how Davey was able to see the shine on 
 things] "and so are her eyes. She laughs much 
 and tells funny things." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 213 
 
 "She s a hummer!" ejaculated Grey. 
 
 "Yes; I want her a hummer, Unker Mac." The 
 boy nestled close to Grey. "I never fall on the 
 trail" [he went on clinging closer] "dear Unker 
 Mac, it is so easy! And I can see. Something in 
 me, sees." 
 
 And thus it was that the quiet detached life took 
 up its steady way in, and around, the Lodge. People 
 came and went. Grey guided, or stayed behind to 
 cook and look after the place while Arnold led the 
 way. They shared everything in the old, happy 
 fashion. 
 
 In August a cable came from England: "We re 
 coming home." That was all. A glad note of joy. 
 
 "What does that mean?" asked Arnold, his face 
 twitching " home ? " 
 
 "I think" and Grey had no twinge of conscience 
 "I think it means the Lodge, Arnold!" 
 
 But to Carrington it meant Far Hills which had 
 been made ready, at last, for its mistress. 
 
 In late August Glenn and Constance, with a gov 
 erness and an English nurse, arrived. Carrington 
 watched his wife; he was constantly watching her 
 lately when he was with her. He saw that the 
 sacred precincts of the Carringtons meant to her 
 merely a place in her own country, where at last, 
 she might cease from her journeyings and rest! 
 This hurt him cruelly for he had spared no expense in 
 his efforts, not to please, but to impress her. 
 
 Constance on the other hand, rose to the surface in 
 a most remarkable way. 
 
 "I like this!" she said, actually sniffing the air 
 
214 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 of the rich, old rooms, "I like it better than anything 
 I ve ever seen." The child was absurdly old in ap 
 pearance and thought. 
 
 Carrington flushed. His little daughter did not 
 greatly interest him, but he softened to her now. He 
 had grown to look upon the child as the symbol of 
 unpleasant things. She had meant care, anxiety, 
 expense, but most of all the cause of a certain 
 subtle estrangement between him and Glenn. He 
 could not understand the new relationship. It was 
 as if Glenn were escaping him; lea\mg in his clutch 
 nothing but the outer covering of the woman he be 
 lieved was wholly his own. He decided as he looked 
 at Constance now, to do what he once had contem 
 plated detach the child entirely from her mother, 
 physically. In congenial environment the little 
 girl might safely be left, he considered, to trained 
 care; Glenn at home, rested, and at peace might 
 then become herself once more! 
 
 Carrington had not perceived that Glenn had, at 
 last, really become herself. She was his, he believed. 
 He had watched and tended her. Of course her; ill 
 ness and Constance s care had worn upon her, but 
 she was she must be the same; his! his! 
 
 But, to his discomfort, he soon found that when 
 Glenn was absent, bodily, from Constance, her 
 thoughts were the more determinedly with the child. 
 It was not a passionate mother-love that held Glenn; 
 it was more a sense of trying to be what she did not 
 seem able to be. Little Constance had not a respon 
 sive nature, but she was keen enough to recognize 
 her mother s superior qualities of tender service and 
 she clung to her for that reason. She was a tall, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 215 
 
 reedy child with very definite features and coal-black 
 hair. She carried herself straight and with dignity. 
 She rarely laughed, but she had a strange smile. 
 It suggested that she knew more than she chose to 
 express. A grim menacing sword hung over her of 
 which she, of course, knew nothing, but which made 
 others deeply considerate of her! 
 
 "If she lives until she is twelve," the most famous 
 doctor in England had said, "she may become a 
 healthy woman." 
 
 To Glenn this hope meant struggle, glory. To 
 Carrington it carried a question. He had seen others 
 of his race fade and die. It was not a pleasant sight. 
 He, except for Constance, was the last of his line. 
 His daughter s sex and frail constitution, had been a 
 shock to him. One from which he was slowly evolv 
 ing a stern resolution. He had believed that the 
 introduction of such vitality as Glenn s would coun 
 teract the tendencies of his family but when he 
 reflected what motherhood had done for Glenn, what 
 it had produced in Constance, he recoiled. 
 
 It was not easy, at first, for Carrington to relin 
 quish the idea of family, but he cared not enough for 
 it to pay the price. Having forced himself to accept 
 what he chose to regard as inevitable, he turned all 
 his energy to bringing his wife back to her first rela 
 tions with him. He craved the stimulus she had 
 supplied to his jaded imagination; he missed the 
 amusement that her quaint humour and frank de 
 light in his offerings once gave him. With pleasure 
 he saw, once Glenn was settled at Far Hills, that 
 health and much of the old beauty returned! She 
 became playful too, and often delightfully joyous, 
 
216 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 but he could but acknowledge that Constance, not 
 he, had inspired the change. 
 
 "I must not just because I want to cry; I must 
 not!" Glenn once said. "Constance must have 
 all that she might have had if she had been well and 
 strong. We ve got to make her trail easy, Dickey 
 dear, just as they have made Davey s." Carrington 
 frowned. Then Glenn, with that grave, new look 
 of hers, added; "Dick; our other children may be 
 all that we could desire. I think they will help 
 Constance, too. She must have all the joy possible, 
 and companionship." 
 
 Carrington turned his calm gaze upon his wife and 
 said quietly, but with slow emphasis: 
 
 "There will never be any other children, Glenn. 
 I am the only one of nine children that survived. 
 I had hoped " 
 
 Glenn looked at Carrington, aghast. 
 
 " But, dear, there is often one frail child in a family. 
 The others " 
 
 "People should use their intelligence, Glenn 
 and their conscience in such matters. I had hoped 
 that the taint in my family inheritance had died out. 
 It has not!" 
 
 "But Dick " Glenn could not voice her dismay. 
 
 She only looked helplessly at her husband. 
 
 "When you are older," Carrington said, "you will 
 see the wisdom of my decision. I have consulted 
 the best authority, Glenn. You will agree with me 
 some day." 
 
 "Perhaps; perhaps, Dick." 
 
 Glenn turned away. Somehow she felt as if she 
 were facing life, maimed. It would need all her faith 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 217 
 
 and love and hope to reconstruct things, but she was 
 ready, maimed as she was, to make the effort. 
 Vaguely she felt that she should have known have 
 had choice, before it was too late. "This must mean 
 as much to Dick as to me," she at last, however, con 
 cluded. "I did not know that such a thing could be." 
 Then: "I must find something to do something 
 that will keep me from thinking until I get used to it. 
 And I must make Constance count more than ever." 
 
 But this was no easy matter. There seemed to be 
 nothing that was in crying need of her service. The 
 old family portraits on the wall they had been 
 covered with gauze on her last, brief visit frowned 
 down any suggestion, on her part, of innovation or 
 change. Carrington s mother, especially, seemed to 
 denounce her for wanting what her son deemed un 
 wise. All the little dead Carringtons who had passed 
 away before they could be made immortal on canvas 
 appeared to reinforce their mother s and their older 
 brother s ideas, by shadowy protest. 
 
 The elder Constance Carrington became a terrify 
 ing reflection upon Glenn and with amaze she heard 
 little Constance say one day: 
 
 "I like the face of my grandmother." 
 
 "Do you really, Constance?" Glenn had asked. 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why? Why because she is my grandmother!" 
 There were moments when Constance was abnor 
 mally old; almost shockingly so. 
 
 "Oh!" said Glenn and felt more an outcast than 
 ever. 
 
 Before the grandfather who had gone to Congress 
 Constance oftenest stood. Her father had told her 
 
218 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 that she resembled this austere old gentleman, but, 
 even with her inherent tendencies, the child could not 
 quite accept the honour without compromise. 
 
 Glenn sought to comfort her. 
 
 "Father means just a likeness, Constance, not 
 really that you look like him." 
 
 "But I want to look like him!" The Carrington 
 blood was up. 
 
 "Is that quite true?" Glenn asked. She was dis 
 mayed. 
 
 "Yes, Mother, because well, because he is my 
 grandfather." Occasionally the child was hopefully 
 young. At such moments Glenn wanted to fold her 
 close and weep over her, or laugh with joy; but she 
 never did. 
 
 Suddenly Constance said, quite as if her mother 
 were a mere connection of the Carringtons by mar 
 riage: 
 
 "Have you any grandfathers and grandmothers, 
 Mother?" 
 
 "Why why of course, child; but they did not have 
 their pictures taken!" This to Constance was 
 funny, but she did not smile. 
 
 "That is too bad 1 Then you cannot tell how they 
 looked?" 
 
 "They looked well, they looked like folks, Con 
 stance." Glenn was drifting in the open. 
 
 "Not not like my grandfathers and grand 
 mothers?" 
 
 "Heavens! no, Constance." The outburst escaped 
 Glenn; she hurried to any port in sight. "Wait until 
 you see Granddaddy Arnold, Constance then you ll 
 understand what mother means." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 219 
 
 But Constance had her doubts. Already she had 
 assumed that if her father said that black was white, 
 it was some defect in her own vision that made it look 
 the reverse. But if her mother declared that white 
 was black, she felt rather sorry that her mother 
 couldn t tell fact from fancy. 
 
 A housekeeper of old standing commanded the 
 forces in the Carrington house. She was deferential 
 to Glenn, so long as Glenn observed her limitations. 
 The maids were well drilled and rigidly respect 
 ful, but they left no loophole for admittance into the 
 intimate home life of Far Hills. 
 
 Outside, on the grounds, things were about the 
 same. A hoary gardener with a trained staff man 
 aged to suggest "No thoroughfare", "Do not step on 
 the grass", everywhere, to the lonely young woman 
 pacing the shaded paths and looking yearningly at 
 plants that had been cultivated to the last degree 
 and who longed for the wild things of the hills. 
 
 "I wonder what I am expected to do?" Glenn 
 thought and thought. For with no prospect of be 
 coming a factor in the old place, she fell back, at last, 
 upon something within herself something that had 
 been shut away for many a long day. 
 
 In September a hungry craving for the mountains 
 overcame her. She wanted her father until the 
 want made her almost ill. She wanted Polly and 
 Sam and the beloved Davey; and she wanted Grey! 
 She confessed the last want with quickened pulses. 
 She wanted to be part of something to have love 
 and, yes: recognition! And just at that point she 
 thought of her husband. She believed that she was 
 not loyal. She must go to him and give him an op- 
 
220 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 portunity to understand her present needs. He was 
 busy often worried. Business, that business away 
 off below Far Hills she could see the smoke on 
 clear days from the tall chimneys was very exasper 
 ating, just then. A certain man, named Thompson, 
 was always coming up the hill and bringing disagree 
 able news. He made her husband irritable and often 
 angry. 
 
 Glenn suddenly thought that here was a place for 
 her to enter and become vital. She could not go 
 away while Carrington was so openly worried about 
 things; he needed her. She must make him know his 
 need of her. With this in view she went to Carring- 
 ton s business library. Carrington drew a sharp line 
 between this room and the library proper. He did 
 not go often to his factories, but when the tiresome 
 details of the noisy place demanded his attention 
 he met them in this room, built like an afterthought, 
 on to the old house. It overlooked a broad sweep 
 of lawn a fitting barrier between Far Hills and those 
 tall chimneys that sent curls of black smoke up into 
 the air for so many hours each day. 
 
 There were times when Carrington felt an exquisite 
 thrill as he gazed upon those chimneys. "If they 
 always belched forth smoke, twenty-four hours out 
 of the twenty-four, how much gold would flow into 
 the Carrington coffers!" he estimated. 
 
 And again, he put another conundrum to his Other 
 Self as it sat in the swivel chair by the mahogany 
 desk: 
 
 "How nearly twenty-four out of twenty-four dare 
 Thompson wring and be within safely and surely 
 within the law?" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 221 
 
 And the Other Self, looking virtuous and calm, 
 called his attention to the unfortunate fact that times 
 had changed. The law was not all in all as it had 
 been in his father s time. A very deplorable Some 
 thing had entered in and perhaps he the Real Self 
 had better investigate. But Carrington turned a 
 deaf ear to this. He knew what it meant to show 
 weakness. He might be obliged at times at least 
 Thompson was to back down a bit, but a Carring 
 ton? Never! He d wreak his vengeance in some 
 other way if he were obliged to appear weak. They 
 would know! Would they not? By "they" Car 
 rington meant the people who made the wheels go 
 around and the smoke go up. 
 
 Into such a state of Carrington s mind Glenn en 
 tered one September day. Her sudden resolve and 
 hope made her appear more lovely than she had been 
 for some time. 
 
 "Dickey, have the black butterflies got you?" she 
 asked this being her description of the "blues." 
 
 She came across the room to him and sat on the 
 arm of the chair; it revolved. "Dear me," she cried, 
 "this is no sort of chair to be lovers in, is it, Dick?" 
 
 "No, my darling." Carrington put an arm around 
 her. 
 
 "I declare! There isn t a piece of love-furniture in 
 this room, Dick." She looked about, critically. 
 
 "It s an office Glenn, dear. Business place, you 
 know." 
 
 "I see." And she looked to where the black smoke 
 soiled the blue sky. "Come outside, dear," she 
 pleaded; "let us walk in the sunshine; I have some 
 thing to say to you a big, thumping something." 
 
222 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 " Say it here, dear one ; we ll walk afterward. This 
 is the place of business, you know. We ll be lovers 
 when the business is over. Sit down," he said, much 
 as he might have to Thompson, and Glenn sat where 
 Thompson was wont to sit. She looked very fair 
 and sweet. 
 
 "I wish you d sit squarely on a chair, Glenn" 
 [Carrington was visualizing Thompson s solid ap 
 pearance]; "you always have a transitory manner of 
 sitting on a chair. You don t look as if you had 
 come to stay." 
 
 Then they both laughed. 
 
 "Oh, well, Dick, chairs do not mean to me what 
 they do to many folks. I used to be on my feet a good 
 deal, you know and on horses and rocks and and 
 things " 
 
 Carrington frowned, but did not speak. 
 
 "Dick!" suddenly "what is my particular 
 well, job here in your home?" Glenn could hardly 
 have framed a more annoying question as to form 
 and fact. "What did your mother do to make her 
 life self-respecting?" she added. 
 
 This was a simple insult although innocently 
 projected. 
 
 "Glenn" Carrington rose and paced the room; 
 he was very good to look at, but very much dis 
 turbed "My mother was mistress of her home!" 
 
 "But but did she have Hannah?" 
 
 "She did, Glenn. She trained Hannah." 
 
 "I hope God will forgive her for that!" This 
 frivolity shocked Carrington. "And and all the 
 maids? Did she do that to all the maids, too, 
 Dick?" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 223 
 
 "The maids are Hannah s business. Hannah is 
 
 yours, Glenn. " 
 
 "Oh! Dick my business? Hannah, my busi 
 ness? Why, my dear boy, you do not know what 
 you are talking about." 
 
 Now Carrington was not thinking of Glenn as 
 Glenn, just then. He was considering her as business 
 as he considered Thompson. Suppose Thompson 
 called him "dear boy" and told him he didn t know 
 what he was talking about. What ought he to do? 
 Undoubtedly he would be obliged to bring Thompson 
 to terms ! 
 
 "See here, Glenn," he wheeled about on his heels 
 and faced her. She had, thank fortune! taken 
 root, apparently, in the chair. She seemed fixed. 
 
 "I ve noticed how detached youVe seemed. I 
 have attributed it to the strangeness of your new 
 life. Readjustment was necessary and I have been 
 patient, but I advise you now, my dear, to make 
 yourself a power in my home. You must compel 
 Hannah and all the others to to recognize you and 
 respect you!" 
 
 "Dicky, I I cannot! Won t you do it for me, 
 please?" 
 
 "Glenn; be sensible!" 
 
 "I am, Dick. Deathly sensible. We may as 
 well have it out. Constance isn t mine, really. 
 I m afraid of her nurse and governess and they 
 know it! The house isn t mine in the least, and 
 Hannah and the maids know it. Dick; what is 
 mine?" 
 
 She looked beaten and helpless. Carrington hated 
 a defeated thing! He turned his eyes away and 
 
224 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 sought to his credit to reinstate Glenn, in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 "I see what you mean, child, but all the things 
 you complain of will really be your ablest helps when 
 you get the grip of life. I want Far Hills to be a a 
 social centre." 
 
 Carrington reflected upon the impression his wife 
 had already made upon the "calling" circle that 
 had politely come to pay their compliments. Glenn 
 had startled some, amused others, interested them 
 all. She might, if properly directed, be a real power 
 simply because of her originality and adaptability. 
 Her capacity for adapting herself was little short of 
 genius, but she must always have motive and interest. 
 
 It was this doubt as to what would prove worth 
 while to Glenn, that disturbed Carrington. He 
 realized, at last, that Grey had, to a certain extent 
 been right. There was something intact in Glenn 
 that nothing he had done, or could hope to do, would 
 dislodge; but, he reasoned, he could manipulate that 
 intact characteristic. He must control it! 
 
 "I want my wife later, my daughter to be 
 recognized as social leaders!" Carrington had to 
 turn away. Glenn on the chair, unnerved him; 
 made his ambitions seem so trivial that they might 
 easily become ridiculous. "Hannah, the maids, Con 
 stance s governess, and the nurse, are your your 
 
 machinery to " He looked out of the window; 
 
 so did Glenn. 
 
 "To make smoke black smoke?" She queried. 
 This was most unfortunate. Carrington stiffened 
 and Glenn went on: "I don t want any of those 
 things, Dick." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 225 
 
 Carrington still meant to be just and firm. 
 
 "My darling; have you any idea, really, what you 
 do want?" 
 
 "Yes. I want Constance and you just for my 
 own my own! I want to mean everything to you 
 both; nothing else matters. I ll be very nice to your 
 friends, Dickey, but I ll never care to to lead them. 
 Dick, dear, I wonder if I couldn t get close to you 
 through your business? I m rather good along that 
 line. Daddy used to say that I had a head. Lately, 
 Fve thought, when you were worried and sad after 
 that awful Thompson came and went that if I 
 could know all about it, and tell you that we did not 
 need so much money and things, you d feel happier. 
 Oh! Dick, other things mean so much more than the 
 bought things. Let us go to my mountains for 
 October, Dick go and surprise Daddy for my birth 
 day. We need toning up. We ve a ll got our sea legs 
 on yet. I want" and here Glenn stretched out her 
 hands "I want my folks!" 
 
 Carrington was frightened and angry. Frightened 
 at Glenn s groping toward his business; angry at her 
 craving for what he had been trying, for years, to 
 overcome: her longing [he drew his lips close] for her 
 folks! 
 
 By some sudden enlightenment he seemed to real 
 ize that all his effort, all his years of careful devotion 
 had made no actual impression upon Glenn. She had 
 not caught his true meaning; had not become con 
 vinced of his ideals; in short she had not become what 
 he thought, in his easy confidence, she had become 
 the woman of his making! 
 
 "My dear" he came close and towered over her; 
 
226 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 he seemed to grow a foot as she looked up at him 
 "I must speak plainly to you. The women of my 
 family leave the business of the family to their men. 
 Kindly remember this. As to your wanting to go 
 to your your folks as you term them I suppose 
 that is quite natural; but you must see that now is 
 not the time for such a visit. We have just come 
 home. Until the home is an established and ac 
 complished fact I mean your part in it I feel that 
 it is impossible to to go away. I mean to entertain 
 this winter entertain a great deal. I want you to 
 be the mistress here. Spare no expense in in be 
 coming so. If you love me, Glenn; if you wish to 
 please me to be what my wife should be you will 
 set yourself to your task at once." 
 
 If Carrington had seemed to grow tall, Glenn 
 seemed to grow old as she listened. Her hands 
 tightened around the arms of the chair; her eyes 
 shone dark and hard. 
 
 "I ll try, Dick," she murmured, "and if I am 
 am" she wanted to say "good"; instead she said 
 "successful may we go to the mountains next 
 summer?" She was ready to compromise, but not 
 to abdicate. 
 
 "Perhaps my darling." 
 
 "Oh, Dick, say yes*. Let me have that in view. 
 It will be something to live for." 
 
 "All I can say, Glenn, is: perhaps. I would not 
 like to promise and fail." 
 
 Glenn got up. She did not again suggest going out 
 into the sunshine to walk. She said nothing. But, 
 suddenly, with a flash of joy, she remembered Beverly 
 Train ! 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BEVERLY was in her garden. The tall plants 
 shielded her from the glare of the afternoon 
 sun. There was a little table by the long 
 wheel-chair on which were iced tea and cigarettes. All 
 the small vices that helped to pass the time, Beverly 
 availed herself of. She had been sipping and puffing 
 luxuriously, talking now and then to the little maid 
 who had once started wrong but had been caught 
 in time. 
 
 "Margaret, child, if you want to marry Tom, 
 my gardener, of course marry him." She was 
 saying. 
 
 "But oh, Miss Beverly think what I once was! 
 and Tom does not know." 
 
 "Child, Tom isn t asking to marry what you once 
 were; he s asking to marry what your past has made 
 of you." 
 
 "It was you who who made me, Miss Beverly." 
 
 "Nonsense! Don t be silly, child. What could a 
 crippled, hunched-backed creature like me do for 
 a strapping girl like you except to put you on the 
 way? All that you were, child, made it possible for 
 you to keep on!" 
 
 "But, Miss Beverly, hasn t Tom a right to 
 know?" 
 
 "I don t see why! I declare, I don t, not as a 
 natural right. You might choose to give him your, 
 
 227 
 
228 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 past, my dear. I don t think he has a right to it. 
 Do you know his? 9 
 
 "That s different, Miss Beverly." 
 "I don t admit that. Now listen Margaret. Do 
 you remember what I told you when you came here ? " 
 
 "You told me, Miss Beverly, that I d turned the 
 curve in the road! That I had no right to look back 
 that I couldn t see much any way, and that unless 
 I meant to go back and turn the curve again, I d 
 better forget it!" 
 
 " Precisely. You ve learned your lesson beauti 
 fully. Now, Margaret, you never have gone back 
 to that curve, have you ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, Miss Beverly; no!" 
 
 "Well, girl, I told Tom just what I told you. Just 
 what I tell all who start on the way. I ve forgotten, 
 exactly what Tom s specialty was before he came 
 here. Unless he mentions it, it had best lie back of the 
 curve. He s a mighty good gardener now and you 
 are the cheeriest, best little soul that ever made com 
 fortable a helpless creature in a long chair. I m sel 
 fish, clear through. I would hate to lose Tom s 
 touch in my garden. I d grieve to lose your care, 
 child, when when I am at my worst. If you and 
 Tom can manage to stay on, and still have your own 
 lives, it would mean much to me." Then Beverly 
 turned sharply. 
 
 "Who is that coming across the lawn, Margaret? 
 Have I not told Jane" 
 
 "It s it s Mrs. Carrington, Miss Beverly. You 
 know you said, when she telephoned " 
 
 "Mrs. Carrington!" gasped Beverly Train. "Dear 
 God!" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 229 
 
 Glenn came slowly. Every step was one of pleas 
 ure to her. The scent of the flowers, the peace, the 
 song of birds, all made her happy; and she was going 
 toward Beverly Train ! Advancing, thinking herself 
 unseen, Glenn showed her innate self to the eye 
 watching her from behind the screen of leaves. No 
 longer did the burden of "things" hide the real 
 woman from Beverly s keen, spiritual vision. She 
 saw the disillusioned self of Dick Carrington s wife. 
 A brave, well-meaning self but without one shred 
 of disguise. And how thin the girl was and how 
 strangely calm! Beverly Train felt her eyes dim, 
 but she wiped them quickly. 
 
 "Go," she said to her maid, "go and tell Mrs. 
 Carrington where I am. After an hour no, an 
 hour and a half bring the tea things." 
 
 A moment later Glenn was kneeling beside the long 
 chair. Her cheek rested on the cool, little hand 
 stretched out to her. 
 
 "May I sit on this stool close?" 
 
 "If you are not too big and lofty, my dear." 
 
 "Do I look it, Miss Beverly?" 
 
 "No, you don t, my child." 
 
 Then they were quiet for a while. Beverly knew 
 the girl had come, as others came, because she needed 
 help. She must have time to set her troubles in 
 orderly array before they were inspected. So 
 Beverly waited. 
 
 "Mac used to say, Miss Beverly, that you could see 
 farther and more clearly from your chair than any one 
 else could see with with a telescope." 
 1 They both smiled a little at that. It brought Mac 
 into the sunny arena. 
 
230 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Mac is rather fanciful as to language, isn t he?" 
 
 Beverly nodded. 
 
 "Yes, but he makes things real, too." 
 
 Then another pause, while Beverly smiled into the 
 troubled eyes. 
 
 "I haven t come just to call, dear Miss Beverly." 
 
 "I should hope not. To ride from Far Hills such 
 a warm dusty day, doesn t mean a plain call." 
 
 "No. I am not quite happy, Miss Beverly. I 
 do not want to make mistakes. I know that you 
 have known Dick s people; I want to do all in my 
 power to be be like them, if I can." 
 
 "My dear, I tell you, at the start, that that is im 
 possible. Besides, I think Dick married you because 
 you were unlike them. Do you recall what I told 
 you once about keeping yourself the woman that 
 Dick saw in you?" 
 
 "Yes; but but I ve grown, somehow, since then, 
 Miss Beverly. I cannot make out whether I ve 
 grown worse or " 
 
 "Better, perhaps?" Beverly put in. 
 
 "I do not know. Things are out of joint." Glenn 
 was ready now, as the patient is, to lay her symptoms 
 bare to the practised eye. 
 
 "You are sadly changed, outwardly, my dear." 
 Beverly, too, was ready. "Absence from home; 
 your little girl s illness; it all has told on you." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Beverly, it isn t that. My little girl 
 is better; if she lives to be twelve she may be quite, 
 quite strong. I d love to care for her help her win 
 out but they will not let me!" 
 
 "Not let you care for your child?" 
 
 "No; and I dare not insist, for it might hurt her. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 231 
 
 If she were strong it would be different." Then, 
 without any apparent connection: "Miss Beverly, 
 Constance looks like her grandfather the one that 
 went to Congress !" 
 
 This ought to have made them laugh, but it did 
 not. It threw a lurid light over a wide expanse. 
 
 "Great heavens!" exclaimed Beverly. 
 
 "And and she s proud of it, Miss Beverly proud 
 of it at the age of four. This may show you a little 
 of what I mean." 
 
 The circle of light widened. Beverly Train again 
 said: "Great heavens!" 
 
 "And the house, Miss Beverly; I cannot feel at 
 home there. Do you know Hannah?" 
 
 "I know o/her," temporized Miss Train. 
 
 "And the garden; well, the garden isn t mine, 
 either. I I m rather lonely; I do not know what to 
 do." 
 
 "And Dick I suppose you still own Dick?" 
 
 At this Glenn shook her head. 
 
 "That s it. I don t! I think that only the 
 woman Dick used to think I was, owned him or 
 the part he let her have. Dick is changed; I am 
 changed. Mac used to say that I couldn t keep up 
 with the procession and I cannot!" Then Glenn 
 explained and smiled a little sadly. "I don t think 
 I want to keep up," she added, "but I ll try if it s 
 worth while." 
 
 "Worth while? Why, my dear child, you ve got 
 to keep up. You re honour bound." 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 "Are you not, my dear?" 
 
 They were fencing. Miss Train felt her pulses 
 
232 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 leap. The girl had mettle -she was glad of 
 that. 
 
 "I am honour bound, Miss Beverly, if it is for a 
 good purpose; but if I have to give up all the things 
 that are sacred and best to me for something that 
 isn t best for anybody then I couldn t call it 
 honour." 
 
 "And you think you could trust your own inter 
 pretation of honour, my dear?" 
 
 "I I hope so, Miss Beverly. If it seemed honour 
 to me -then, to me, it would be honour!" Very 
 simply and firmly Glenn said this. "I want Dick 
 and my child. I want to know that they are mine 
 that they know I am theirs! As it is mow, I am 
 just a person representing something." 
 
 "I am afraid you will have to speak more definitely 
 child." 
 
 "Well, Constance prefers me because I give her 
 something besides just service. It s that that she 
 clings to. And Dick; Dick wants me to be something 
 in his life that would not seem quite right to me, 
 Miss Beverly, unless love prompted it. And it isn t 
 love with Dick; it s something that goes with his 
 name and his money and his ideal. It isn t real, 
 dear Miss Beverly. Nothing has been real since I 
 left my mountains. I m the only real thing left 
 and I do not fit in." 
 
 Then Miss Train drew Glenn close. 
 
 "You have come to me, my child, because you 
 trust me?" 
 
 "Yes, dear Miss Beverly." 
 
 "Because you feel that I can help you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 233 
 
 "Then I must not fail you! I could not live if I 
 failed any one to whom I could give help. You 
 want the truth, my dear? You can take it un 
 diluted?" 
 
 "Yes I can." And Glenn did not falter. 
 
 "Then listen; I might withhold what I am about to 
 tell you. I would, from many, because I could not 
 trust everyone. I know you will be just; will give 
 more than you will ever ask to be given to you. But 
 for that very reason you should have all the light, 
 for your guiding, that is possible. 
 
 "The Carringtons, my dear, are a hard line of 
 men; their hardness has made even their love and 
 honour hard. Their women do not last long. Their 
 children, unless they are hard as their line, die early. 
 Dick was the only one, of a large family, who survived. 
 His mother died before she was forty; she had been 
 dying all the years of her married life." 
 
 Glenn s face went white; her eyes widened. 
 
 " Pride of family pride of everything Carrington 
 has been and is the key-note of them all. In 
 women they see the mothers of their children. All 
 that the women can add in the way of charm, health, 
 and subjection to their ideals, is that much gained. 
 Unconsciously the men see in their women a re 
 sponse to all that is in them. The line was growing 
 thin, my dear. Dick had all that was left of it. 
 Something in you drew forth the best that was in 
 him; you were a new ideal. And so I warned you 
 to keep yourself as you were. Oh, my child, if love, 
 or suffering, could break through the crust of Dick 
 Carrington, the justice and good that are there would 
 save his soul alive! Are you big enough, strong 
 
234 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 enough, child? have you love enough to to beat 
 down the barrier?" 
 
 Glenn was breathing hard. 
 
 "I I do not know;" she whispered. 
 
 "If you could only save Dick and your little girl 
 from the Carringtons, child?" urged Beverly. 
 
 "But how?" Glenn s tender nature was reaching 
 out for the vague hope offered. She flung her late 
 depression to the summer winds. 
 
 "You will have to follow your own light, my dear." 
 
 "My own light?" 
 
 Then it was that Glenn remembered her star her 
 mother her father, and the love that saved! If 
 her father, in the name of love, could take her mother 
 and save her from her past, could not she, her father s 
 daughter, in the name of her love, defeat those dead 
 and gone men and women who had handed down 
 their hardness, like a curse? Suddenly the warm 
 blood ran quickly to her face. 
 
 "I see, dear Miss Beverly, I see now what Dick 
 meant. I must do something, myself. Love has 
 given me the big Chance; my love must fight for its 
 own. I will fight for Dick s best self for my little 
 girl; no one shall have them! I will be the sort of 
 woman Dick ought to have and love. I ll be the 
 kind of mother to Constance that can be trusted. 
 But first I must know myself. And Dick was right, 
 there, too, Miss Beverly. This is no time for me to 
 go back to my daddy and the others; this is the time 
 for me to learn to stand alone. Why" and here 
 Glenn threw her head back joyously "do you know 
 I made Sam Morton marry Polly Pitkins because 
 I couldn t bear to have life all darkened; and now 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 235 
 
 there is Davey to prove that I was right. Just think 
 of me letting the dead-and-gone Carringtons con 
 quer when Dick and my Constance are at stake! 
 If I could see clearly, even when things seemed very 
 bad, for Polly and Sam, I can see clearly now! How 
 could I ever have lost heart? I am so ashamed. 
 I m not worthy of what I have. Polly is a better 
 mother than I am, Miss Beverly just through her 
 love. I ve lain down when I should have stood up. 
 I ve been a plaything to Dick, when he should not 
 have playthings. If a woman lets a man have of 
 her what he should not have, then she should not cry 
 out. I think I have always wanted things too easy. 
 Oh! how you have helped me, Miss Beverly. You 
 have let my own light into me." 
 
 Just then, across the lawn came Margaret with 
 the tea wagon. On it was a bowl of exquisite 
 roses. 
 
 "These," said Margaret smiling, "Tom sent, Miss 
 Beverly. They are a surprise." 
 
 "Why, they are old-fashioned bridal roses!" cried 
 Miss Train. "Where did Tom raise this particular 
 kind?" 
 
 "He said that was his secret, Miss Beverly." 
 
 "Very well. Let him keep his secret, if it can pro 
 duce such beauty as this. Come, Glenn, this is your 
 party. Will you pour the tea? Plenty of sugar, my 
 dear, and do not skimp the cream. I take all the 
 riches of life that I can get. I am a selfish woman, 
 first and last. When I see anything worth having 
 I simply appropriate it?" 
 
 "And then pass it on!" added Glenn. She was 
 quite merry now and little Margaret was as full of 
 
236 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 cheer as if no dark and perilous memory lay back of 
 her, around the curve. 
 
 "Do you know," Glenn suddenly said, looking 
 over the brim of her cup at Beverly, "there is some 
 thing very wonderful about this garden? I ve just 
 noticed it. The plants, the flowers are not well, noit 
 such as grow at Far Hills." 
 
 "No. Another fad of mine!" Miss Train was 
 merely sipping her tea for all its wealth of cream and 
 sugar. "When any one says a plant cannot grow in 
 Massachusetts soil, I send Tom, my gardener, for it. 
 He puts it in the ground and it grows ! When they 
 tell me that certain birds will not survive in Mas 
 sachusetts surroundings, I send for the birds; and 
 they stay and sing for me. You see, my dear, since I 
 cannot go to the world, the world comes to me." 
 
 "Dear Miss Beverly! But you are going to my 
 mountains. Dad has your particular little spot, 
 picked out; he and Mac are building the cabin 
 with Sam s help and Davey s. I had a letter from 
 Dad yesterday: he says Davey is choosing the stones 
 for the fireplace. He feels them all over; says that 
 he sees them. How beautiful it will be to have you 
 there, Miss Beverly." 
 
 "How beautiful it will be to be there!" Miss 
 Train s face was radiant. "I will have my chair 
 placed close to Davey s fireplace and then the dear 
 child shall sit by me and let me look through his eyes. 
 And at evening, when the purple and gold are partic 
 ularly fine, I will wheel out to the side porch you 
 see I know all about it, Glenn and watch the face 
 of the Monk!" 
 
 The cup had long since been placed on the table. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 237 
 
 Hypnotized, Glenn sat and listened while her inner 
 vision beheld ! 
 
 "And you will be there, Glenn child, with that little 
 girl of yours and Dick, God willing! It will be a 
 great time for me!" 
 
 "And for me!" The words came like a breath. 
 "Dear Miss Beverly, the mists on my mountains are 
 lifting! I did not know, but really I have not 
 seen them clearly since I left them until now." 
 
 It was nearly six when Glenn rode away. The 
 heat of the day was broken; the swift-moving auto 
 mobile sped over the perfect roads without jar or jolt, 
 and the dignified figure on the deep, back seat, sug 
 gested that at last it had resolved to stay; to be one 
 of the Carringtons with a difference! 
 
 Beverly Train could not see her departing guest, 
 but, with her thin hand shading her eyes, she followed 
 her in thought. 
 
 "God help her!" she prayed; "but what have I 
 done? Pitted that human, loving heart against the 
 smooth hardness of the Carringtons. She has 
 need of divine help. There is nothing to cling to 
 no rough edges to grip nothing, nothing but smooth, 
 polished hardness. The child will fall off! And 
 where then ? Where then ? " 
 
 "Come, Miss Beverly, the sun has set." Margaret 
 knew every shade on Miss Train s face she was 
 brooding over the woman who had given life to her. 
 
 "Has it Margaret, child?" 
 
 "Shall I call Tom, now, Miss Beverly, to wheel 
 you to the house?" 
 
 "Yes. Go for him, Margaret. Bring him here, 
 yourself." 
 
238 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 When she was alone, Miss Train again followed 
 Glenn who seemed, now that she had departed, to be 
 so desperately alone. 
 
 "And that child at four being glad she is like her 
 grandfather! And he was such a terrible old man. 
 Father used to say" here Miss Train smiled, grimly 
 "that it took all his spare time to mend the souls 
 of the men that Judge Carrington had broken on 
 the wheel." 
 
 And then Tom and Margaret drew near; they were 
 laughing softly happily. Tom was big and freckled ; 
 his eyes and mouth were good and kind. He bent 
 over Miss Train as if she were something sacred. 
 
 "Miss Beverly, ma am," he said, "I ve got my 
 girl to say the word at last. Will you give us your 
 blessing and the promise that we may stay along 
 with you?" 
 
 "That I will, Tom! And your girl; is she yours, 
 Tom, really ? " 
 
 "I m thinking she is, ma am." 
 
 "You d rather have her than any other?" 
 
 "Sure!" And Tom beamed at Margaret. 
 
 "You both turned the bend of the road, Tom; 
 neither one of you has ever gone back. Are you 
 willing to look ahead to the end?" 
 
 "We are that, ma am!" Then, with a big laugh: 
 "Back there, is bad dreams, ma am bad dreams 
 that s what they be, and best forgot!" 
 
 "And best forgot!" echoed Miss Train, as her chair 
 was wheeled carefully along. "I want you to marry 
 soon, Tom. I m perishing for some excitement 
 selfish, frivolous creature that I am!" She was mur 
 muring to herself: "It must be an all-right wedding 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 239 
 
 too just to prove now little we care for dreams, when 
 once we are awake/* 
 
 And while Beverly was planning Margaret s and 
 Tom s wedding, Glenn reached Far Hills. She was 
 radiant. Her rich hair was blown from her face; 
 her eyes were seeking seeking their own ! Carring- 
 ton stood on the wide porch his watch in his hand. 
 
 "You are a full half hour late," he said not un 
 kindly, not impatiently he was merely stating a 
 fact. "Where have you been, Glenn ? " 
 
 "To Miss Train s." The look implied that she 
 had been to the Mount of Vision. " She s so wonder 
 ful, Dick!" 
 
 "She s a strange personality, not very well balanced 
 but certainly interesting," Carrington agreed. 
 
 Glenn braced herself. She was about to make 
 her first launch at the Carringtons those dead men 
 and women who still laid their hands on what was 
 hers! 
 
 "What did you and Miss Train talk about, Glenn? 
 Come you may tell me during dinner. But first" 
 he looked at her "hadn t you better tidy your 
 self?" 
 
 "No!" Glenn flung off her hat and gloves. She 
 pranced there is no other word to describe her 
 action down the long, wide hall. "I do not want to 
 be tidy, Dick. I m quite happy and jolly. Let us 
 have our dinner on the porch. Indoors stifles me. 
 Where is Connie?" 
 
 The nickname had never passed Glenn s lips before 
 as applied directly to her child. Carrington was 
 looking on in amazement. 
 
 "Constance has gone to bed, Glenn. You have 
 
2 4 o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 forgotten the time. And dinner on the porch ? Why 
 my dear, the porch is is for breakfast only. Again, 
 you have forgotten time." 
 
 Then Glenn went close to him put her hands on 
 his shoulders in that pretty way she had of drawing 
 people to her. 
 
 "I have forgotten time, Dick, dear. Time and 
 every other unpleasant thing. I ve come home 
 your own, dear, old Glenn come home to my own. 
 My own!" 
 
 Carrington was not listening to the words. He 
 drew Glenn into the privacy of the dim library. He 
 saw surrender and it pleased him. 
 
 "My wife!" he whispered; and he kissed her 
 breeze-touched hair. "You have learned to leave 
 yourself in my hands, at last?" 
 
 "Why, no, Dick dear. I ve learned to take what 
 is my own into my own hands." 
 
 "And what is your own, beloved ?" 
 
 "You and Connie and" Glenn frowned grimly 
 "Hannah, and the gardener, and well, all the rest! 
 Some of the things have got to go, though, Dick! 
 They ve got to be weeded out. My own is your own 
 and Connie s. The rest whoof!" 
 
 Carrington held her close. 
 
 "Beverly Train has excited you, my dear." 
 
 "She has inspired me." 
 
 They did not eat upon the porch; they ate very 
 properly indoors by tall candle-light. The serving 
 maid was too well bred to gaze at her rather ruffled 
 mistress, but she had her own opinion! 
 
 After, the rather disjointed meal, Carrington 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 241 
 
 walked and smoked in the garden, the old-fashioned 
 garden where the tall hollyhocks grew. Glenn paced, 
 happily, beside him. 
 
 "This would be a heavenly place for little children 
 to play in," she said, dreamily; "Connie never really 
 plays. I suppose it is because she has been fussed 
 over so much." > 
 
 "Fussed over?" Carrington recalled the price of the 
 "fussing" and thought that it should be designated 
 by a more dignified name. 
 
 "Yes. She ought to have children and dogs and 
 and things. Just plain things. Things that no 
 one can give her; things she finds. Didn t you have 
 things, Dick?" 
 
 "I cannot remember that I ever had." 
 
 "Poor Dick! Well, we must make it up to you, 
 somehow. I had loads of things that I never told 
 Daddy about. I hid them I don t know why; bits 
 of glass and an old bottle that I dressed up like a doll; 
 a picture I tore from the Bible I liked it better out 
 of the Bible. Dad never discovered the loss- We 
 weren t much for the Bible, Dad and I the old 
 ugly part, anyway." 
 
 This was all rather silly, but amusing. Carrington 
 smoked and revelled in the pretty creature at his side. 
 This was what women should be a man s solace! 
 "She is coming around!" he thought and listened 
 while Glenn prattled on : 
 
 "I want Connie to have things, Dick. I want her 
 to have children to play with. We re keeping her 
 greatest joy from her her childhood ! Nothing can 
 make up for that If" here Glenn s eyes grew dim 
 "if she did not live to be to be twelve, Dick I 
 
242 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 still would want her to know what it means to be a 
 child. I wouldn t like to have her go back to God 
 without that." 
 
 "We can take no risks with a delicate child, Glenn. 
 It would be pure madness. And as for other chil 
 dren, you know my views as to that. I have a deep 
 responsibility there. A man has no right to bring 
 helpless children into the world children like Con 
 stance. We will not refer to this again." 
 
 "But oh! Dick, suppose just suppose, dear 
 that we turned our backs on on all the Carringtons; 
 just let them go! Then suppose we lived a new, 
 better way, very, lovingly, very simply helping 
 other weak things as Miss Beverly and Mac do 
 don t you believe, Dick, that God would bless us? 
 We might adopt children." 
 
 Glenn now stood quite still her sweet face lifted 
 to Carrington. "Just let the Carringtons go!" 
 and "adopt children" was what Carrington snatched 
 from the words. "Adopt children!" He was posi 
 tively shocked. Then he said slowly: 
 
 "Let go all that the Carringtons represent, fought, 
 and died for? Why, my dear girl, you must be mad 
 to talk as you are talking. Has Beverly Train been 
 indulging in her wild notion ? Glenn ; remember this : 
 I do not cast any reflections upon you or yours. 
 Your splendid physique, your courage, your possi 
 bilities are not to be despised. The strain has come 
 down pure, and for that there should be gratitude, 
 of course. But, on my side has been handed down 
 something else something that it is in your power 
 to to add to yourself, even if you must renounce the 
 desire for children." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 243 
 
 "Add to myself, Dick? I could only do that in 
 our children, couldn t I ? " 
 
 "No. You are a Carrington now! And I do 
 not wish you to be too intimate with Beverly 
 Train." This was flung out as an afterthought. 
 
 And so, at the first attack, Glenn had slipped off 
 the srhooth, hard surface! 
 
 Pitifully, she looked up not beaten, but dismayed. 
 
 "Take me in your arms, Dick, dear. So! Hold 
 me close." 
 
 To this appeal Carrington could respond. He held 
 her close shutting, as he believed, all else out. 
 
 "To make me happy, content, proud, would that 
 not be joy enough, to you, dear?" he whispered. 
 
 Carrington would have reeled back had any one 
 suggested to him that he and a famous German 
 philosopher were holding the same views as to women. 
 But they were with this difference: the German 
 had reduced his to practical tests, while Carrington 
 still veiled his in sentimentality. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE days immediately following Glenn s visit 
 to Beverly Train, were filled with sorrow. 
 Constance had one of her bad attacks ! Doc 
 tors came and went; new nurses took the place of the 
 old; a hush fell over the big house. 
 
 Carrington was often absent; business, he said, 
 demanded his attention. Another of the numerous 
 strikes was on ! And, as if that were not enough, an 
 epidemic of fever broke out among the "hands." 
 The hands took this, as one might expect, as another 
 evil deed of their hated Boss the boss who added to 
 his unpopularity by using Thompson as a screen. 
 
 "Why don t he come out like a human?" de 
 manded big Mike O Ryan, the leader among the 
 strikers. " Why don t he come out like a human, and 
 let us all have a fling at him ? Thompson ain t the 
 worst. He don t deserve all the kick, though he s 
 paid for being the buffer. What us all wants is a 
 shy at him on the hill ! " 
 
 At this challenge, Carrington came down from the 
 hill he was no coward. He could afford to pay for 
 a buffer, but if it came to an assault he was ready 
 to take what, legitimately, belonged to him. With 
 proud uplifted head and flashing eyes he walked, 
 actually walked, through the little factory town. He 
 seemed, by every gesture, to point to the handsome 
 factory buildings the stilled machinery, all of the 
 
 244 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 245 
 
 most modern type and demand that justice be 
 done him! 
 
 The wretched homes he did not feel were his con 
 cern. 
 
 "If men and women prefer to live in filth and dis 
 order, they must suffer the penalty of filth and dis 
 order. That is not my business/ he said to Thomp 
 son, with a hard glance of the eye. 
 
 "But they all pretty much work," explained 
 Thompson, "after they are old enough. There isn t 
 as you might say, any one to rightly handle the 
 home-end." 
 
 Thompson was getting tired of strikes. From his 
 watch tower, he saw a new dawning, saw men waking 
 up to the meaning, heard a stirring in the economic 
 tree tops; but he could not arouse Carrington. 
 Where the factories were concerned, he could get a 
 response; but where the human element entered in 
 Richard Carrington was as dead as his ancestors. 
 
 "Somebody will get hurt," Thompson muttered. 
 "It is bad enough when they hit for wages and hours; 
 but when their kids die off like flies they get plug 
 ugly." 
 
 "And whose fault is it?" Carrington thundered; 
 "they re little better than beasts, Thompson, and 
 you know it. Don t they let their children work? I 
 don t go down and haul them in. They lie about 
 their ages, you know that," 
 
 "Yes; I know that/ Thompson admitted. 
 
 "Well, what are you aiming at, anyway, Thomp 
 son? Afraid?" 
 
 "Good heavens! No!" 
 
 "This is the time for a firm hand, Thompson. We 
 
246 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 have weakened and weakened until they think they 
 are riding the horse. If we win out, now get them 
 in harness again make them knuckle down we ll 
 gradually, without their realizing it, work out a 
 scheme for removing some of their dirt, perhaps. 
 But Thompson, in this country, we ve got to get our 
 hands on the rein. It s the duty of every good 
 American, and by God! I m going to do my share!" 
 
 "But they all claim that they are good Americans, 
 Mr. Carrington, that s the devil of it/ 
 
 "All the more reason for showing them what a good 
 American is, then!" 
 
 And Carrington walked about more freely and 
 carried his head higher. The tradition of "blood" 
 and authority is not easily cowed. The very sight 
 of this unafraid man, striding alone among the noisy, 
 unruly mobs, held the mob spirit in check. There 
 was no opportunity to harm him without detection 
 he saw to that! and while they hated; felt, in a dumb 
 way that he was responsible for their misery; they 
 recognized what he stood for. Right and Wrong 
 swayed this way and that on both sides of the ques 
 tion, and the only people who could bring about an 
 understanding kept proudly, defiantly apart. 
 
 At Far Hills, two miles away, the Shadow rested 
 menacingly. The house was so still; so empty. 
 There was nothing for Glenn to do but watch and 
 wait, apart from the trained authority that held 
 sway in the sick room. Carrington s absence was an 
 added hardship; the necessity, Glenn did not under 
 stand. She supposed that Thompson, choosing a 
 difficult time, was making his demands again. 
 
 With nothing else to do, Glenn thought and 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 247 
 
 thought; and if Satan does often find mischief for 
 idle hands, a Higher Power, likewise, finds holy deeds. 
 
 It was a little seamstress from below the hill who 
 caught Glenn s ear. She was mending and darning 
 the linens and laces that, once a year, were given 
 into her hands. She was rather a cheerful little 
 person, but easily moved to tears. She knew about 
 the sickness in the far wing of the big house; she sym 
 pathetically gazed upon Glenn and then ventured a 
 word of good will. 
 
 "Of course, Mrs. Carrington, it is hard, but Miss 
 Constance will get well. The nurse says she is better. 
 
 Now, if it had been the fever " The girl paused, 
 
 her eyes were frightened eyes. 
 
 "What fever?" asked Glenn. She was glad to 
 talk to any one so gentle and kindly as this small 
 sewing person. 
 
 "That which is raging down in Hale Hollow, 
 
 ma am." 
 
 "Hale Hollow? Where is that?" 
 
 "Where the hands live, Mrs. Carrington. You 
 see they are quite ignorant and dirty, though they 
 can t be blamed for the ignorance. But the ignor 
 ance accounts for the dirt and then the fever just 
 naturally comes, as one may say." 
 
 Glenn looked troubled. 
 
 "I hope everything is done for them that can be 
 done," she said. 
 
 The little woman withdrew into herself. It was 
 not for her to point out how really nothing was done. 
 
 But Glenn, walking alone in the garden of the tall 
 hollyhocks, thought and thought of the fever in Hale 
 Hollow. She recalled that once, when she was a very 
 
248 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 little girl, fever had entered Connor s, and her father 
 had ridden down there to make sure that the people 
 were cared for. Glenn had wanted to go with him, 
 but to that he had objected. "You couldn t do any 
 thing but catch it," he had explained "but I ll see 
 that those children down there have a fair show. 
 I couldn t look you in the face, girl, if I didn t." 
 
 Then Glenn thought of Constance; she was slowly 
 emerging from the Shadow. She thought of the 
 nursing, the care, the love that protected her child. 
 
 "I believe," she mused, "that I ll walk down to the 
 Hollow and find out for myself. I d feel a little 
 better when I looked at Connie." 
 
 It was a warm autumn day and Glenn, dressed in 
 her white linen gown and simple white hat, looked 
 immaculate and fresh. Her face was thin and pale. 
 Anxiety, a baffled sense of defeat, where Carrington 
 was concerned, had set their marks upon her. She 
 had lost the vision of Beverly Train s garden, but she 
 still held to her resolve to fight on. 
 
 The Hollow was not difficult to find. The first 
 person she asked, dazedly directed her. Then he 
 carried to groups of muttering men the astounding 
 fact: "The Boss s missis is aiming for the Hollow." 
 
 Now the Hale factories and purlieus were skill 
 fully set apart physically and spiritually from 
 Far Hills. The time is long past when men live close 
 to their business. No one, unless bent on special 
 errands, ever had need to seek the Hollow. If a 
 traveller desired to see a model factory in full play, 
 the Hale factory was What he should see! It had 
 baths, and a tennis court, and several other modern 
 forms of blinders. Surely, after witnessing such per- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 249 
 
 fection, details would be impertinent. The Hollow 
 was a detail. 
 
 Out of the shabby street, as Glenn entered, came 
 two hearses, each bearing two diminutive caskets. 
 They looked absurdly small, those last little beds, to 
 be in those ugly black things. The carriages were 
 too large for the caskets, just as the world had been 
 too large for the tiny bodies shut away forever from 
 sight. 
 
 Glenn s face grew paler, sadder. Then she picked 
 her way down always down the filthy street. "It 
 is horrible for people to live so; they should not be 
 allowed to live so. Someone ought to" she was 
 thinking and just then a frayed and discoloured 
 streamer of white caught her eye, on the open door 
 of a wretched hovel. A man stood on the threshold 
 a hard, ugly-looking man and he was staring 
 rather wildly at Glenn. She was not afraid, but she 
 was strangely awed. This was worse, far worse, than 
 Connor s. Something was very, very wrong here. 
 She went up to the dirty, bearded man. 
 
 "Some one is dead here?" she asked, softly. "I 
 have just heard how much sickness there is in the 
 Hollow. We d like to help, if we can." 
 
 "Help!" he roared the word; it sounded like a clap 
 of thunder; "Help! is it?" 
 
 Glenn drew back. 
 
 "Is it your child who is dead ?" she asked, and with 
 some dignity. 
 
 "Yes; it s jis Maggie. What s that to you?" 
 
 "Any child is something to me. I have a child; 
 a sick child." Glenn trembled. 
 
 "Oh! Yer have, have yer? Well, who is watchin 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 out for it while you are soiling your pretty togs down 
 here, where yer don t belong?" 
 
 Glenn s face flushed. Only deep sympathy, and 
 a belief that the rude fellow was crazed with grief, 
 held her to her desire to help. 
 
 "I want to do what I can," she pleaded, slowly. 
 "I have only just heard how things are. I m rather 
 a stranger here, you know." 
 
 At this the man gave an ugly laugh. 
 
 "And they ve kept all from yer, eh? Lord! how 
 some one will catch it, when they find that you ve 
 escaped." 
 
 "Is there anything I can do?" A strange feeling 
 of impotency was overawing Glenn. Suddenly the 
 man s face grew fierce and crafty. 
 
 "Yes," he hissed; "come in and see what you 
 can do. Maggie, her is past the knowing; you can t 
 help Maggie. But there s Ben and the baby. They re 
 burning up with hell fever. Come in and welcome, 
 and get the lay o the land ! There s plenty to do in 
 the Hollow." 
 
 Glenn took a step forward, but at that instant a 
 woman came from the rear room and stood beside 
 the man. She was the most wretched creature that 
 Glenn had ever seen; her knotted and work-worn 
 hands were clasped across her flat bosom, from which 
 the dying lips of a baby had drawn the last drop of 
 mother-food. 
 
 "What s up, Mike?" she asked. And then her 
 eyes fell on Glenn. 
 
 "Her!" bellowed the man; "she s come to help to 
 help, by God and she s going to get her chance. 
 Come on yer Ladyship come on and welcome!" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 251 
 
 "Mike, you can t do this!" The woman s hands 
 came from her aching breast; they stayed the man. 
 "You can t let her in here, Mike. She has one of 
 her own, you know!" 
 
 "And why, then? Why not let her know to the 
 full? Why not let her carry the evil where it be 
 longs?" 
 
 "Mike, Mike, you are clean mad, man. Tain t 
 her doings, and you know it well." 
 
 "T warn t Maggie s either, you fool, but Maggie 
 had to pay. Come on, my lady, come on! Stand 
 back, Kate where s your manners ? Come in, come 
 in, my lady." 
 
 The man held his wife back, leaving the passage 
 clear for Glenn. She went forward as if something 
 were daring her to prove herself. 
 
 "Stop!" The woman strained at the brutal hold 
 upon her. "In the name of Heaven, ma am, don t 
 come in. It s catching it s catching!" 
 
 "Curse you!" and with that the man flung the 
 woman from him. "That s why we re as we are 
 shielding them as shouldn t be shielded." 
 
 And then through the moment of doubt and fear a 
 sound came a long, strange sound full of voices with 
 a word now and then. It came nearer and nearer; a 
 mob of excited men and boys, guided by the man who 
 had directed Glenn to the Hollow, came in sight. 
 
 "There she is! there she is! The Missis!" 
 
 They came close stood still that body of hu 
 man beings with anger, fear, laughter, and hate on 
 their faces. 
 
 Glenn looked at them, her back against the house. 
 The man in the doorway was cursing her, cursing 
 
25 2 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 everyone, but the woman was beside her. Somehow 
 the dirty little white streamer had been caught in 
 Glenn s hand. 
 
 And then, down the narrow street came Carrington 
 and Thompson! The sight brought back the blood 
 to Glenn s cheeks; she breathed once more. 
 
 Carrington came through the mob with long, strid 
 ing gait Thompson was close behind. The crowd 
 parted was deadly still now. Carrington took 
 Glenn by the arm. 
 
 "How did you get here?" 
 
 "I I walked here, Dick. I only just heard. I 
 wanted to help." 
 
 "She wanted to come and help!" The man in the 
 doorway broke in. His eyes were flashing; his mouth 
 curled back from his teeth. "She s welcome; she s 
 welcome to share what we have. I gave her free of 
 the house." 
 
 Carrington thought Glenn had been inside his 
 face grew hard and cruel. 
 
 "O Ryan," he said in a half whisper, "you shall 
 pay for this. "I ll send you to the penitentiary, so 
 help me God!" 
 
 And then O Ryan laughed. The sound was hor 
 rible in that place of death and fear. 
 
 "But the woman, Dick; she would not let me go. 
 She kept me back!" 
 
 Carrington did not hear this. He was deaf to 
 anything but vengeance. 
 
 "Thompson," he commanded, "go for the police; 
 take that scoundrel " 
 
 He got no further. A pistol shot rang clear and 
 sharp in the pause and Thompson fell! 
 
" How did you get here? 
 <"II walked here, Dick 
 
 I wanted to help " 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 253 
 
 "Damn it!" yelled O Ryan from his place; "you ve 
 got the wrong man!" 
 
 Glenn had never fainted in her life, she did not 
 faint now, but her brain refused to record further. 
 She remembered going away. She recalled that, in 
 going, she pulled the little white streamer from the 
 door; it was clutched in her hand. Some one 
 it was probably she, herself said; "I am sorry" 
 And another voice a woman s replied: "Oh! my 
 God; my God!" 
 
 And then, there was the warm sunlight as Glenn 
 and Carrington mounted the hill to the big house. 
 They did not speak. There was nothing to say. 
 They had only to go up and up ! 
 
 A nurse met them at the door a calm-faced, white- 
 capped girl. 
 
 "Miss Constance is much better," she said in a cool, 
 even voice; "she wants her mother." 
 
 "Mrs. Carrington is ill Constance must wait." 
 It was Carrington who spoke, and his voice, too, 
 was cool and even. 
 
 "Can I do anything?" the girl asked. 
 
 Then Glenn recovered herself. 
 
 " Dick; if Constance wants me has asked for me 
 I must go to her!" she asserted, in a new and firm 
 tone. "I will change my clothes, bathe, make my 
 self safe; but if she wants me I must go to her." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 GLENN stayed with Constance all night. 
 Through her own suffering there glinted a ray 
 of brightness; for her child s demands seemed 
 to hold a new, a finer note. The little thin arms 
 pressed her weakly but they held her close. 
 
 "Are you tired, Mother?" the feverish voice whis 
 pered. 
 
 "No, darling!" Glenn was not conscious of weari 
 ness. 
 
 "Then, please hold me on your lap. Don t nurses 
 ever have laps, Mother?" 
 
 "Why yes, dear, of course." 
 
 "They say laps are not for little sick girls, but, 
 Mother, your lap is so so resting." 
 
 Glenn took the child defiantly; held her even when 
 her own body ached from the new, but beloved bur 
 den, laid upon it. She did not sleep except as she 
 lost consciousness now and then, her head bending 
 over her child s but she thought, thought, thought. 
 That hour, beginning with her vague idea of giving 
 help in the Hollow and ending with the pistol shot, 
 seemed to be the wedge that drove apart her ignor 
 ance and opened to her all the misery and injustice 
 of the world. 
 
 That is how it seemed to her. She wondered, now 
 that she had looked, why she had not, at least, heard 
 the call of all the suffering and wrong. Abstractedly 
 
 254 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 255 
 
 she knew that it existed. Here and there it had 
 flashed upon her as she was being carried on by the 
 Force that had uprooted and blinded her. But that 
 it lay at her doors; that it rose, as the black smoke 
 did, against her fair sky; that she, and hers profited 
 by it ! there was the shame and the grief. 
 
 Day after day, year after year, while she and her 
 dearest had lived in freedom and happiness, these 
 others these wretched ones in the Hollow had 
 made life easy for her, meanwhile cursing her and 
 that which she represented. 
 
 v No! I do not represent the evil!" That is 
 what Glenn kept repeating. "I do not represent the 
 evil. But I must prove it prove it!" She pressed 
 Constance close. Had her child come to her with her 
 awakening? Was she bringing promise into the new 
 day? 
 
 And then, as morning broke, Glenn saw her way! 
 Not alone would she go out of the dark; she would 
 go with her husband and child! 
 
 "You have shot the wrong man!" At first those 
 words had stunned her. The wrong man! Thomp 
 son had fallen. She had not heard whether he was 
 dead or not. And the curse was hurled against the 
 shot which had missed its mark. There was no doubt 
 in Glenn s mind; her husband hers was the one 
 man whom the mob wanted! 
 
 Horror followed insensibility. Nothing pleaded 
 for Carrington nothing! In that blinding awaken 
 ing Glenn took no middle course; knew no mercy. 
 That misery in the Hollow had been permitted; that 
 men, women, and children should have been forgot 
 ten left to death and suffering and hate while every 
 
256 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 one, with help at hand, had stood apart; that was 
 enough for her. Spiritually she was with them in the 
 Hollow, though every impulse of her superficial self 
 revolted from them. 
 
 But, little Constance, in her new and strange ap 
 peal, softened Glenn. By some magic the child 
 pleaded for the father. Relinquishing her own char 
 acteristics she seemed to offer hope of him. The 
 dead Carringtons had made the hard, cruel wrong 
 possible. Little by little the crust had formed until 
 the cry of suffering could not penetrate; but love, if 
 it were strong enough, surely love could triumph. 
 Beverly Train had said that it could; and, now that 
 little Constance had proved it, why, why should there 
 be despair? 
 
 And with this new courage Glenn faced the 
 day. 
 
 "Can you spare mother, Connie?" she asked when 
 the child, rested and refreshed, lay back among her 
 pillows. 
 
 "Do I have to, Mother?" 
 
 "Mother has something important to do. Don t 
 you want to help me do it, by sparing me ? " 
 
 "I don t want you to go, Mother, but I can make 
 myself spare you. Don t be long." 
 
 "No; mother promises. Kiss me, dear heart." 
 And Constance complied rather stiffly, to be sure, 
 but readily. 
 
 "I m going to get well fast, Mother, and when I 
 am quite, quite well, I want " 
 
 "What, dear Connie?" 
 
 "I I don t know but it seemed in the night as if 
 I did want something." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 257 
 
 "When mother comes back, you may remember, 
 dear." 
 
 And then Glenn went to her room. She bathed 
 and dressed carefully. The marks of suffering and 
 sleeplessness disappeared under the touch of love 
 and hope; still, all the pitiful devices that the toilet 
 could add were resorted to. 
 
 Glenn would have spurned such artifice, had she 
 been going to win anything for herself but now! 
 Why now, she was going into mortal conflict against 
 Wrong. She was going to save her husband from 
 the curse of hardness. Together, in the name of 
 their love and their little child, they would go on 
 together! 
 
 And so Glenn went to her husband. 
 
 He was in the business library. It did not matter; 
 she wished that they could have been in the open; 
 out under the lovely autumn sky. But places, she 
 insisted, were what people made them. The door 
 leading to the library was of heavy oak; there was a 
 curious knocker on it; one that she and Carrington 
 had bought abroad because of its quaint carvings; 
 it was a cross of iron, black and ancient. Glenn held 
 it in her hand and paused. She had yet something 
 to answer her soul. Her eyes deepened; her mouth 
 grew stern. "And if he will not go on with you 
 what then?" Something questioned. "Then I 
 must go alone! I cannot, I will not be party to the 
 wrong!" Again something questioned: "You are 
 prepared to make the sacrifice? With only what 
 you know, you are prepared to take your stand? 
 And her soul answered: "I must!" 
 
 Then Glenn knocked! The sound was not loud, 
 
258 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 but it had power to make the woman outside the door, 
 and the man in the room beyond, start nervously. 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 Carrington was standing at the window but he 
 turned sharply as his wife entered. He had been 
 looking at the unstained sky. The factories were 
 still empty which meant not merely money loss, but 
 defiance. 
 
 Just for the moment, Glenn, by the door, wondered 
 why her husband had not sought her during the 
 night? It had not occurred to her before but it 
 was strange. Had she known of the anger and re 
 venge that had held Carrington captive during the 
 black hours, she would not have wondered. 
 
 His hate and sense of outrage had blotted her out. 
 Now that she was within his home, he could give his 
 undivided attention to the shocking occurrences of 
 the hour when she had wandered forth bent on 
 folly. "Folly!" he termed it adding a cruel ad 
 jective. With all else that he was enduring he must 
 combat the impression, on Glenn, that her folly had 
 evolved. 
 
 Carrington had read the writing on Glenn s face. 
 He could not ignore it. Of course he could soon 
 make her see things his way, but he hated explaining 
 and defending his position. He had tried to set his 
 private affairs definitely apart from his business, yet, 
 with all his care, his wife had blundered in where she 
 had no right to be and had caused untold mischief. 
 
 The only gleam of light in the darkness was the 
 belief that yesterday s happenings would hasten the 
 breaking of the strike. That shot would turn public 
 opinion; an explosion of any sort generally did turn 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 259 
 
 public sentiment, which drew the line at violence. 
 Thompson was not dead; he would live, they said; 
 and so, after all, Glenn s part in the unpleasant 
 episode was the next to take up. And here she was, 
 ready to listen to reason! 
 
 Carrington gazed upon the slight, girlish form in 
 its pretty white; his face grew calmer as he noted how 
 fresh and sweet she looked. 
 
 "My darling!" he said, crossing over to her, "to 
 think that you should have witnessed that horror 
 you!" 
 
 Now that he was near Glenn, Carrington felt re 
 lief. She might have been made ill by the excite 
 ment. The knowledge that she was not going to 
 complicate the situation by scenes, softened his 
 attitude toward her. Her youth and beauty touched 
 the only emotion that he had ever permitted to 
 escape his control. 
 
 "My beloved!" he whispered and almost drew her 
 within his arms but not quite! 
 
 At that moment Glenn shrank back. It was a 
 recoil and it startled Carrington. 
 
 "I m glad that I saw," Glenn said. "You see, 
 I might never have known if I hadn t gone. I think 
 God took the only way with me to make me know!" 
 
 "You are overwrought, my dear. Do not let us 
 talk about it now as soon as Constance can be 
 moved we will go away and forget it all." 
 
 "Go away! Forget it! No, no! We will stay 
 right here and remember it until it is all wiped out! 
 Why, Dick; think, dear, think. They are our peo 
 ple, ours! They give us all we have, and they ask 
 so little; and yet we have let them become like 
 
2 6o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 that!" With a tragic gesture Glenn pointed out of 
 the window and down, down ! 
 
 Carrington s jaws set as they always did when sen 
 timent invaded business. He did not know how to 
 approach that small, white thing near him. Thomp 
 son and other meddlers were different. 
 
 "Of course, child," he said, presently, "you do not 
 know what you are talking about; the shock has, very 
 naturally, swung you into into space. You must 
 trust me. Why, little girl, you make me laugh. 
 Do you know what you are up against? You are 
 beating your poor little heart and brain against a 
 very unpleasant, but an age-old condition." 
 
 "Perhaps" and Glenn s eyes darkened "per 
 haps I am; but if I can make only a little dent, it s 
 worth trying for. Besides, I ve got to and I want 
 you to help me, Dick. I want you to help me to 
 understand, of course; but in the end we must do 
 something." 
 
 "Help you to understand? Help you to do 
 something?" No wonder Glenn made Carrington 
 stare. He thought she was mentally unbalanced.? 
 
 "Yes; we must clean up that Hollow; take hate 
 out of those men s hearts; make the women bless you, 
 
 instead of of cursing you; save the children " 
 
 She got no further. Carrington raised his hand. 
 
 "If you are ill, you must have attention. If not, 
 I forbid you to talk even to think as you are now 
 doing." 
 
 "I am not ill," Glenn said, slowly; and she sat 
 down in Thompson s chair with a finality that was 
 alarming. There was no transitory suggestion about 
 her now. She implied a definite state of affairs that 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 261 
 
 defied opposition. "And you may forbid me talking, 
 Dick, but you cannot forbid me thinking. Perhaps 
 it would be best for you to know what I think be 
 fore " 
 
 "Before what?" demanded Carrington, who sat 
 on the edge of the desk. 
 
 "Before we go any further." 
 
 Then was Carrington s opportunity his one, and 
 last, great chance. Could he have reasoned with the 
 quivering, hurt brain of the girl; could he have told 
 her that, in another way, the weary world was awak 
 ening to the truth that had stuck her so violently 
 that it was reaching out, slowly, cautiously, to read 
 justment all would have been well. She would 
 have recognized his need of her, her need of him; and, 
 though she might have had to abdicate the absolute 
 stand, she could have gone with him on his slower, 
 saner way. 
 
 But Carrington could not avail himself of his op 
 portunity. First, because to admit that would have 
 been to admit that he was not in the line of progress. 
 Only superficially, legally, was he falling into step 
 all his instincts were against it. And again, he did 
 not would not admit a woman, his wife least of 
 all, into that kingdom over which he, and them like 
 him, must rule supreme! 
 
 All the subtle dangers of the age seemed to be rep 
 resented by that little, defiant creature in the swivel 
 chair; but most of all Sex was menaced. Sex and 
 all it stood for, in Carrington s code. Such situa 
 tions are not new. They are the blaze marks along 
 the trail of time. Man and woman contesting the 
 right of way over what belongs to both! 
 
262 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 4 
 
 "Glenn; we must now, and for all time, under 
 stand each other!" 
 
 "Yes, Dick; that is why I am here." 
 
 "What you ask is is impossible! It would be the 
 greatest wrong we could do those people in the Hol 
 low, even if we attempted it." Carrington sought 
 to be just; believed that he was. "They must hew 
 their way up; no one can do that for them. The 
 more you do for them the more you brutalize them. 
 You saw that yesterday. Thompson with a bullet 
 in his hip is proof of it. Thompson was their friend; 
 see how they appreciate him!" 
 
 "They they did not mean to shoot Thompson; 
 they meant to shoot you. You; are you their friend, 
 Dick?" Glenn s eyes were growing dark. 
 
 "Their friend?" Carrington sneered. The idea 
 was revolting. "Glenn; we will not discuss such a 
 question." 
 
 "We must, Dick; or I must draw my own conclu 
 sions. I want to be their friend, Dick. I can under 
 stand them. You see" she said this simply but 
 with proud dignity "I come from the common peo 
 ple just plain folks. You come from the other 
 kind. Oh! Dick, in the night I thought that perhaps 
 God had let us love each other, so that, together, 
 we might find a way to help those poor creatures in 
 the Hollow." 
 
 Carrington was not listening, but when there was 
 a pause, he spoke aloud his own thoughts. 
 
 "Why even if your ridiculous ideas could sway me, 
 child, I would have to remember the greater duty I 
 owe to my fellow-men; men of wealth and brains,, 
 who have made this country what it is!" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 263 
 
 "What is it?" Glenn suddenly interjected. The 
 question had an ugly effect upon Carrington. It 
 forced him to recognize the rebel in the chair. 
 
 "What is it?" he repeated. "What is it? It is 
 your country and mine. The greatest on earth. 
 Have you anything to compain of? You? And do 
 you think I am going to permit my wife" Carring 
 ton was dissociating the strange being in his swivel 
 chair from the wife of his making "to make a laugh 
 ing stock, a disgrace of herself and me? Do you 
 think I am going to permit you to to act the fool? 
 I will not argue this thing further. I am shocked 
 beyond words at your attitude. I would not have 
 believed it possible!" 
 
 Then as such moods sometimes come in the most 
 troubled hours, Carrington softened. 
 
 "You love me, Glenn, do you not?" he asked, and 
 his lips actually trembled. 
 
 Glenn gazed up at him. The sudden change took 
 her unaware; appealed to her mercy her old belief 
 in him. She was so mentally tired, too so near the 
 end of her endurance that she was tempted, as 
 women often are, in the name of love. How easy 
 it would be to let go! to fall into his arms ^accept 
 all the kingdoms of the earth from him fling all 
 responsibility upon him! She was his wife; bore his 
 name; held his honour in her hands. To defy him 
 would mean to abandon him leave him alone to 
 face the disgrace he most dreaded. She owed him 
 so much so much; the beautiful things of life, the 
 ease, the luxury. No one would blame her; she was 
 his wife; her duty 
 
 And then, with yearning and soul weariness tempt- 
 
264 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ing her, Glenn bent her head! Carrington sprang 
 to her: 
 
 "Beloved!" he whispered, passionately. 
 
 "No!" Glenn stood up. She warded Carrington 
 off. "I see, now, what it all means; what you mean; 
 what I mean. Those people in the Hollow mean 
 only money to you, Dick. They mean something 
 else, to me. Something I dare not forget. And I 
 up here, Dick I mean pleasure to you; a thing to 
 come to and play with when there is time! I 
 mean I must mean something else or I could not 
 love you and I would despise myself! I know that I 
 am ignorant, but what I saw yesterday is a wrong. 
 I may not be able to help much, but IVe got to try. 
 I cannot forget. You owe more to those people 
 than you owe to to the thing you call business. 
 They are yours, no matter what you say. We can 
 help, in our own little place, even if the big world 
 cannot understand at first; it will by-and-bye. Dick, 
 Dick let me keep you and my honour!" 
 
 Carrington was white with rage. 
 
 "How dare you profane all that is holy?" is what 
 he said in words; but his expression disowned her! 
 
 "Because it is the truth, that is why I say it!" 
 Glenn was like marble now. 
 
 "It is a lie. Some one, Beverly Train probably, 
 has put these monstrous ideas in your brain. You 
 could never have got them by yourself. You do not 
 realize what you have said, but I tell you, Glenn, you 
 have uttered words, in the last few moments, of which 
 any decent woman would be ashamed. Now you 
 must listen to me. I have rights, thank God, that 
 you must respect. In the eyes of the law you are 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 265 
 
 mine! And since you are, I shall protect what is 
 mine defend it from your mad and ignorant as 
 sault. I do not overlook that you are overwrought 
 and have been played upon by some one madder 
 than yourself. I am going away on business. You 
 will have time to get control of yourself and come to 
 reason, but for your guidance, while I am gone, I 
 must insist upon certain things. You are to remain 
 quietly here. You are not to see, nor communicate 
 with Beverly Train. I do not intend to have my 
 family honour tampered with by any one and the 
 sooner we all recognize that the better!" 
 
 Glenn was deadly calm. 
 
 "All right, Dick," she said, slowly, "Good-bye." 
 
 The telephone rang just then and Carrington 
 turned to it. That message had power to drive 
 lesser things from sight. 
 
 "This must be good-bye," he said with annoyance; 
 "I must leave at once." 
 
 Then, from force of habit and because he believed 
 that he had disposed, finally, of all nonsense, he came 
 to Glenn in quite the old way. 
 
 "Good-bye. Be a good little girl. Remember 
 you are " He was about to kiss her! 
 
 "Don t touch me, please," Glenn said; and she 
 pushed Carrington away. 
 
 "I didn t know that you had such a surly streak 
 in you, Glenn. I m surprised and a bit ashamed, 
 child!" he said, majestically. "You are going to 
 let me go away go to the doing of a very difficult 
 and hard thing without a kiss?" 
 
 "Yes. Good-bye." As she spoke Glenn passed 
 from the room. 
 
266 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 An hour later Carrington went to give his evidence 
 against the strikers. 
 
 Glenn went to Constance. She was quiet and 
 smiling. Her eyes gladdened when the child turned 
 to her eagerly. 
 
 "Miss Constance is much, much better," said the 
 nurse. "Temperature and pulse normal. She has 
 eaten a good breakfast, too." 
 
 "She ought to be able to to travel before long?" 
 Glenn looked eager, but controlled. 
 
 "Oh! yes. Mr. Carrington said he wanted her to 
 have a change as soon as it was safe. The doctor 
 says in ten days at the farthest she may go. Chil 
 dren respond so soon." 
 
 "I I don t want to go away!" whined Con 
 stance. "I like it here. I haven t got enough of 
 it yet." 
 
 "But if you went with with mother, Connie?" 
 
 Then Constance said one of those things that make 
 children often seem so weirdly uncanny. She beck 
 oned Glenn to her, pushed her hair back from her ear, 
 and whispered: 
 
 "With you alone, Mother? Not even father or 
 or these?" She looked quickly toward the nurses 
 who were comparing charts. 
 
 "Just mother alone!" Glenn s heart beat fast. 
 
 "I d like" here Constance whispered softly 
 "I d like to see your folks, Mother. The ones that 
 
 didn t have their pictures taken. Once father told 
 
 ~, " 
 me 
 
 "What, Connie?" 
 "It was a secret." 
 "Very well, then." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 267 
 
 "But maybe some day it will not be a secret. Then 
 I ll tell you. 
 
 "But can this, this going away be a secret, 
 Mother?" 
 
 "Yes, oh! yes, Connie a sure one." 
 
 During the next week Glenn longed for Beverly 
 Train but she did not go to her, nor did she write. 
 
 "It must be a sure secret," she said to herself. 
 And her eyes grew sad and weary. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THERE had been a mountain storm. One of 
 those sudden downpourings of water that are 
 so unlike the ordinary rain of the lowlands. 
 Then had come the wonderful clearness. The moun 
 tain peak stood out sharp against the blue and seemed 
 to draw near and become friendly. 
 
 The Monk was in high glee. His white plume 
 stretched in waving grandeur behind him; The 
 Twins and the Lily shone in the late afternoon sun 
 and even the Giant s Tooth was less unlovely than 
 usual. 
 
 "Soon" Arnold said, "comes my girl s birthday. 
 God ! Mac, I don t seem to be able, this year, to do 
 without her." 
 
 Grey had eaten his evening meal at the Lodge. 
 Arnold, at times, worried him. There was a new, a 
 thin line about the mouth. The hair at the temples 
 was quite white. 
 
 "Perhaps we d better send word for her to come," 
 Grey suggested. 
 
 "Lord! Mac, she might think I was sick. I m 
 not sick; I never was better. Glenn has enough to 
 stand as it is. It doesn t seem right, for such as she, 
 to have an ailing child." 
 
 "The Carringtons have always had a lot of weak 
 children." Grey said this as if it ought to be a com 
 fort. 
 
 268 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 269 
 
 "It s a thing we ought to have known long ago," 
 muttered Arnold, with a vague groping that he could 
 not put into explicit words. "When Carrington told 
 me of all his belongings, he should have included 
 this." 
 
 Grey drew his brows into a pucker and sought to 
 be just. 
 
 "Many of them, the Carrington youngsters, just 
 flicker out; the families are rarely large. Dick man 
 aged to put up a stiff fight, and he won out. He cut 
 loose from the fussing and puttering; he just wouldn t 
 be held down; he survived. At school and college 
 he put up the bravest sort of face. He was pure 
 pluck." 
 
 "Umph!" muttered Arnold. He did not want to 
 be unjust to his son-in-law, but it irritated him to 
 hear anything in his favour. He disliked being 
 obliged to consider him in any sense. "We haven t 
 had a letter for a couple of weeks, Mac." Arnold 
 referred to Glenn. Carrington, of course, never 
 wrote. 
 
 "No, we haven t. But Sam s due to-morrow. 
 Unless the rain has cut the trail up too much, he ll 
 be here." 
 
 "We ll see what the mail brings," Arnold pulled 
 out his pipe; "after that we ll have another pow 
 wow." 
 
 "I ll sleep over here, if you say so, Arnold." Grey 
 wanted to write in his cabin, but Arnold tugged at 
 his friendliness. 
 
 "No, no! Shucks, Mac; I m all right. Go and 
 spin out your yarns. I m just getting old, I reckon. 
 Had my own way too much. Always someone stand- 
 
270 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ing handy to pass out the sweet stuff when I cry. 
 Good Lord! boy, if the worst comes to the worst, 
 I can get down to my girl! If Mr. Carrington s 
 house isn t big enough for me, I have the price of a 
 hotel bill. Come spring, I don t know but what 
 I ll travel down with you, Mac, and sniff the low 
 lands. We might bring. the whole shooting match 
 up with us for the summer. Miss Train s cabin is 
 ready for her. She ought to come." 
 
 "Big idea, Arnold; big scheme. We ll do it! And 
 now, old man, turn in early." 
 
 "Maybe, maybe, Mac; but if I don t, I ll be sitting 
 here smoking and thinking." 
 
 Grey went to his cabin. The evening dropped 
 down early over the peaks. It was a starry evening; 
 the heavens were full of the light of the stars, and a 
 hush had followed the storm. 
 
 The fire upon the hearth was bright and the living 
 room was, at last, to Grey s taste. Books, papers, 
 and a few good pictures, caught the eye at once. 
 Couches, chairs, and rugs added to the comfort of the 
 home-like place. The long, narrow table near the 
 south window was littered with the fruits of Grey s 
 recent labours. Among the drifts of paper was a 
 photograph of Glenn, taken before her child s birth, 
 and while life seemed still a dream to her. 
 
 Grey sat down to his table. For a few minutes he 
 indulged himself; he gazed upon the face of the 
 woman for whom he had learned control. She 
 would always be the one big thing to him; and, be 
 cause of that, she came first. He had never got in 
 her way; he never meant to. But he meant and 
 here he muttered the oath: "So help me God" 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 271 
 
 to be ready should she need him! He had a strange 
 impression that she needed him now needed him so 
 that she dared not write. 
 
 It was eight o clock when Grey began his work. 
 He was not conscious of time after that until some 
 thing startled him. He glanced at the small time 
 piece on the table it was eleven o clock! 
 
 He had left his door, as always, open to the night 
 he had meant to keep an eye on Arnold s bedroom 
 window. He turned suddenly, and there, close to 
 the door way but just outside, stood Glenn! 
 
 Her clothing was mud-splashed; her face very 
 white; her hands were pressed over her mouth as if 
 to hold back all the surging words that might express 
 her emotions. The eyes told the story, though ! 
 
 "Come in!" Grey simply gasped the words. 
 Then he went forward and took her hands into his 
 and led her to the hearth. The shock had given him 
 alertness; it had not dulled a single sense. 
 
 "Glenn; I m not not mad, am I?" 
 
 "No, no Mac! You re the blessedest, safest thing 
 I ve seen " 
 
 "Now, then, child, that s settled! Keep quiet. 
 Your father mustn t see you, just as you are now. 
 You re rather well, startling, my dear! See, I ll 
 shake you up an eggnog and here are some bis 
 cuits. Lord! Glenn, but it s great to have you 
 back." Getting into action steadied Grey. He was 
 so alarmed that he dared not take time to think. 
 
 Glenn sank into the easy chair by the hearth and 
 shivered. 
 
 "Don t close the door!" she suddenly cried when 
 Grey went toward it; "don t, don t!" 
 
272 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Want air? What in Who brought you up 
 
 from Connor s ? " 
 
 "Sam. He didn t want to I made him. He 
 was going to wait until to-morrow, but I made him 
 come to-day." 
 
 "Where is he?" Grey feared he had gone to the 
 Lodge. 
 
 "He s gone up to Polly and Davey. He will bring 
 the mail to-morrow. It can t matter about the 
 mail." 
 
 "No, of course not now that you are here!" 
 
 The mail seemed to be something tangible to talk 
 about. 
 
 "There wasn t much anyway, Sam said." 
 
 "It will keep!" Grey was shaking the cup des 
 perately and watching Glenn in a dazed way that 
 bewildered her. "See, Glenn, drink this!" Grey 
 held the rich, foamy drink to her lips. "It will set 
 you up, child." 
 
 She leaned back against his arm; she let him hold 
 the glass and as she looked at him the tears rolled 
 down her pale, thin face. Then as the blood began 
 to course warmly in her veins, she half sobbed : 
 
 "It s all over, Mac, dear the dream!" 
 
 "Don t talk now, Glenn." 
 
 "I must, Mac. I must tell you. Then I ll go to 
 Daddy. You ll go with me to him won t you ? " 
 
 "Yes, of course. Now be quiet until you can 
 think straight, Glenn." 
 
 "Why, Mac, dear, I am thinking straight. It 
 took me years to do it, but I can do it now." Then, 
 after a pause : " Suddenly I saw that I did not love 
 Dick! The thing in me that had loved him died; 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 273 
 
 or else, he never was what I thought he was. All at 
 once he stood out clear clear as the peaks. After 
 that I had to come. I would have died, Mac, or 
 gone mad, if I had stayed. It is over! Quite over!" 
 
 Grey saw and felt that it was. On this meagre 
 evidence he was convinced. He assumed a new at 
 titude. He no longer sought to soothe the weary 
 woman on his arm. He was not conscious even of his 
 old love for her he was merely standing beside her; 
 saving her, protecting her, not permitting her to 
 be her lesser self. 
 
 "Glenn, dear girl, I see that something big has 
 happened to you; but you are not fit to decide now. 
 A rest up here, time to get an all-round view; that s 
 what you need. But good Lord ! Glenn, you re not 
 the woman to desert your child, no matter what Dick 
 has been ass enough to do." 
 
 "No oh! no! I couldn t ever do that, Mac. 
 Why I m just beginning to get Connie. I couldn t 
 of course desert her!" Glenn smiled bravely. 
 
 "Of course not!" said Grey, drawing a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "I I brought Connie with me!" 
 
 "What? what did you say, Glenn?" Grey with 
 drew his arm, gently. Glenn looked up at him. 
 
 "I brought Connie with me. She s on the porch. 
 She was so tired; I wrapped her close she s sleeping. 
 I had to come alone to you, Mac just at first and 
 Connie is safely sleeping." 
 
 "My God!" The words escaped the tightening 
 lips. This juggling with the mighty things of life, 
 in such crude fashion, almost took away Grey s 
 breath. 
 
274 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Did Dick know?" he gasped. 
 
 "He was away. I just came. I had to, Mac 
 before he got back. You know when you ve come 
 to the end have finished and there is nothing more 
 to say it s useless to to go all over it again." 
 
 Against this elemental regard of all that was 
 deemed holy and accomplished, Grey could not 
 prevail. 
 
 "Let us get Constance," he urged, in quite as 
 simple and primitive a way as Glenn had spoken. 
 
 He put out his hand to steady Glenn as she rose 
 to her feet. It all seemed like a nightmare, but it 
 must be got through, somehow. 
 
 There was a deep, wide couch on the porch; often 
 Grey slept out of doors. The pillows and blankets 
 were still left ready; and among them, sat Constance. 
 She had awakened from her sleep of exhaustion and 
 was rigidly inspecting her surroundings with deep, 
 silent awe. This trip with her mother, had upset all 
 the ideals and ideas of her life. Nothing now sur 
 prised her. 
 
 "Connie, this is Uncle Mac. Look, dear! And 
 and this is mother s home, at last." 
 
 Constance turned her great, dark eyes on Grey. 
 She gave the impression of curtseying. She would 
 have done so had she been on her feet. 
 
 "Say: Uncle Mac, dear." 
 
 "Uncle Mac," the thin, tired voice repeated. 
 Then: "I m very hungry." 
 
 Grey took the little child in his arms, and followed 
 Glenn into the house. He closed the door after him 
 there was no reason for leaving it open now! 
 
 "What can we give her to eat?" Grey asked, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 275 
 
 after depositing his frail burden in the chair by the 
 hearth. 
 
 "What do they give Davey?" Glenn had felt 
 the responsibility of Constance s food more than any 
 thing else, on the trip. 
 
 "Milk and eggs" Grey recalled Davey s simple 
 fare with relief "and toast." 
 
 And then he set to work, eagerly, to prepare the 
 meal; action helped to clear his mind. Presently 
 he was able to laugh, as he saw the child in the chair, 
 watching his every move. 
 
 Constance ate what was put before her, solemnly 
 and daintily, then she thanked Grey for what he had 
 done, with the grace of a woman. Later, she fell 
 asleep. Grey laid her upon his bed in the inner room. 
 Then he went to the window; dimly he saw Arnold 
 still sitting by his own fireside and smoking. 
 
 "Glenn" Grey turned to her; "I think we must 
 go to your father." 
 
 "I m ready, Mac." 
 
 They passed silently across the dividing space be 
 tween the houses. They went in unannounced to 
 Arnold. He turned when he heard the steps; he was 
 standing in the middle of the room when they entered. 
 The lamp was still burning; the fire was dying down. 
 
 Glenn did not speak. She only stood and looked 
 hungrily, thirstingly at her father; and he looked 
 at her as if seeing her in his sleep. 
 
 All the change in her, the broken look of her, 
 rushed forward and met his aching love for her, 
 sharpening it until like a blade, it flashed into speech. 
 
 "May God Almighty deal with him and his as he 
 has dealt with mine!" 
 
276 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 The sorrow, the passion, the agony of Arnold called 
 to something in his girl that had been all but killed. 
 His want of her, his fear for her, were the first needs 
 of her strength and tenderness that had reached 
 her since she left him. 
 
 The pallor softened in her cheeks; her dull eyes 
 grew bright and compassionate. She rushed to him 
 and clung to him as though saving him from a devas 
 tating blow. 
 
 "Daddy darling! Don t, don t take me so hard. 
 It s all, all right now. I had to find my trail, dear, just 
 as I did on the Twins, so long ago. You remember, 
 Daddy? I left you; you could not see me. I found 
 my own trail but I came back! I came back!" 
 
 Then Arnold folded her close. Folded her and 
 himself away from the cursed thing that had harmed 
 her. He crooned over her disregarding Grey. He 
 whispered words of love over her, but would not let 
 her speak a word of explanation. No thought of law 
 or conventions entered his mind. His girl, he knew 
 full well, would not desert a duty while hope lived 
 in her. If hope had been killed then she had done 
 the right thing; she had found her way back! 
 
 "And the child?" he asked at last. "The child, 
 my girl ? " 
 
 Then it was that Grey turned and left the room. 
 He came back presently with the sleeping Constance. 
 
 Arnold looked at the small, refined, dark face. He 
 tried, Heaven knew, to find one trace of Glenn 
 of anything of his in it, but failed. He saw, as 
 very few others ever had seen Richard Carrington! 
 
 "God help her!" he exclaimed. Then: "She s 
 young, Glenn, very young." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 277 
 
 The following days were weighted with emotions 
 too deep for words. 
 
 Arnold simple, direct had no confusion as to 
 results. Glenn had come home. Later he meant to 
 know all, but at first he would not let her talk. 
 
 "It s a mighty good thing," he said, gently and 
 oh! how gentle he was in those days "after a storm, 
 to calm down a bit until you can tell it without 
 getting excited." 
 
 Glenn looked adoringly at him. 
 
 But with Grey, the matter was not so unhampered. 
 For a woman to walk out of her husband s home with 
 their child, during his absence, was a grave matter, 
 especially when the child was painfully delicate. 
 And the break appeared to be definite, on Glenn s 
 part. Carrington was hardly the man to have his 
 private possessions wrenched from him without 
 getting them back! In this matter, and justly, he 
 had serious grounds for indignation and resentment. 
 
 The whole affair, in the aftermath of calm reason, 
 had all the appearance of grave danger. Grey cer 
 tainly could not be accused of sympathizing with 
 Carrington on general principle, but he saw his point 
 of view, now. If the thing were not so tragic, it 
 would be comic. 
 
 Little by little Grey had got from Glenn a pretty 
 comprehensive idea of the trouble. There had, un 
 doubtedly, been rather an illuminating scene after 
 the Hollow episode, but when all was said and done, 
 it could not justify what followed. On the other 
 hand, Grey saw, with ever-growing conviction, that 
 the episode was the climax of years. It was the 
 blinding, shuddering Conclusion. Looking at it from 
 
278 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 every point of view it remained the invincible proof 
 of final understanding between two strong natures. 
 Thus argued the practical mind of Grey, while his love, 
 well under control, made its plea to his sympathy. 
 
 Then, when justice presently began to grow dim, 
 Grey was frightened. It was no time to desert 
 justice, Heaven knew! And yet, no mere going 
 back to Carrington would settle this ugly business. 
 Grey realized that, eventually, and he recalled 
 Beverly Train s prophecies. 
 
 The Lines had drawn close the Line of Law; the 
 Line of Love. What would follow ? 
 
 "A letter will come," thought Grey; "a command 
 ing ultimatum." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "The lines never merge," Beverly had said. "In 
 the end the Law will cast Love to the mob ! " 
 
 With the thought Grey s mouth grew firm and 
 his eyes deep. 
 
 Perhaps Carrington would come, personally, to 
 collect his property; that was a later fear. At such 
 a prospect Grey shuddered, for he pictured Arnold s 
 part in the scene Arnold with his plain, unadorned 
 code and his passion for his girl! 
 
 Perhaps and here Grey threw his shoulders back 
 perhaps, in a grand and majestic manner, Carring 
 ton would push Glenn legally from his life. In that 
 case and then Grey s mouth tightened again. It 
 was, after all, a vicious circle. 
 
 But the child? Through her, Carrington at the 
 last, might seek to crush Glenn. There, he had the 
 lash well in hand. In the sickly, unprepossessing 
 little girl, lay the darkest danger of all. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 279 
 
 But in those first days Grey alone, apparently, 
 was tortured by these fears and doubts. 
 
 At first Constance was seriously affected by every 
 thing. Her journey; her fear of the strange place; 
 the altitude and her homesickness. It gave cause 
 for worry to them all. 
 
 "She s not sick," Glenn said; "she has had attacks 
 ever since her birth but this is not one." 
 
 And while they hung over her little Davey felt 
 his way down the trail and came to the rescue. 
 
 His beauty and appeal helped to lessen Glenn s 
 tortured anxiety for Constance. The little boy 
 reached out and touched the sick girl s face and she 
 aroused to interest. Presently she grew stronger; 
 watched for Davey; went to meet him on the trail 
 and then took a new lease of life! 
 
 Davey clungto his preconceived ideal of Constance. 
 He stood beside her and found that they were of 
 nearly the same height! She fell short of his hope 
 in her manner. She was not jolly and she never said 
 funny things, but Davey concluded that that was 
 because she was ill. 
 
 "You are a hummer!" he insisted. 
 
 "A what?" asked Constance. 
 
 "A hummer!" 
 
 "What s that?" 
 
 "It s it s something I made you!" 
 
 "You re a funny boy!" and then Constance 
 laughed. So rare a thing was this that everyone was 
 touched by it; all but Arnold! 
 
 "I don t like her laugh," he confided to Grey; 
 "it has no joy in it; it is just a a sound." 
 
 From the first his aversion to the small, dark child 
 
2 8o UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 was deeply painful. He struggled with it hid it, 
 for the most part but could not conquer it. Had 
 Constance belonged to any one else but Glenn, she 
 would have awakened his pity and sympathy, but 
 that she was part of his girl, seemed monstrous; 
 abnormal. 
 
 "I don t like her eye," he further confided to Grey. 
 "She means mischief." 
 
 At this Grey actually turned upon Arnold. His 
 fear of results made him more emphatic. 
 
 "It s not like you, Arnold," he said, "to wrong 
 anything so helpless and young. Besides, man, she s 
 yours your blood runs in her veins. You re not 
 decent." 
 
 "What little blood the child has," Arnold rejoined, 
 "isn t mine; take that from me, Mac. And if I feel 
 at odds with her, what of her feeling toward me? 
 She told me not to touch her the other day; she 
 smiled at me as if she were a thousand years old." 
 
 "She is more or less, Arnold. That s the trouble 
 with her. It s up to us to make her forget it and 
 start her afresh." Then they spoke* of Carrington. 
 
 "A blessed scamp he is!" thundered Arnold. 
 "Letting his wife and child slip through his hands and 
 never peeping. A cad, Mac, a cursed cad." Arnold 
 was getting, little by little, the story of the past. 
 
 "Arnold," Grey looked grave, "Carrington will 
 peep, never fear. He ll reach out, too, take my word 
 for it; but he ll do neither until he is sure. We 
 might as well be ready." 
 
 " I m ready," Arnold rejoined, grimly. " I ve 
 been ready from the moment I first looked at Glenn ; 
 he cannot come too soon for me." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 281 
 
 When Glenn s birthday drew near, Sam, Polly, 
 and Davey went to the Lodge. 
 
 "We must celebrate, Daddy dear. Let us have a 
 party for Constance. Think! she has never had one." 
 
 Then it was that Glenn conceived the idea of giving 
 her own old toys to her little girl. For some un 
 known reason she had not taken Constance to the 
 little room under the eaves. Arnold had kept the 
 door locked and she had not wanted to ask him for 
 the key; but now she did. Arnold handed it to her 
 but made no comment. Taking Constance by the 
 hand, early in the morning of the birthday, she led 
 her upstairs and to the pretty room. 
 
 "This is mother s old room, dear, and mother s 
 blessed old toys; I give them all to you, darling 
 because it is my birthday!" 
 
 The surrender was very touching. Glenn gave 
 the impression of youth; the little figure beside her, 
 of antiquity. 
 
 "This is Susan Ann, Connie" Glenn took the doll 
 made of the tree root; "she taught me how to love 
 real babies." 
 
 "Did she?" Constance drew back; "I think she s 
 very ugly, Mother. I I don t like her." 
 
 "Oh! Connie." Glenn showed her hurt. 
 
 "And the other things" Constance swept them 
 with her keen eyes "they they make me afraid, 
 Mother. Come out and shut the door! I don t 
 want these things." 
 
 "Why, my dear little girl!" Glenn was almost cry 
 ing but she saw that Constance was seriously dis 
 turbed. She was trembling, pitifully. 
 
 "I I don t like the mountains, either, the child 
 
282 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 was saying; "they will fall on me some day. I 
 am afraid of of things. When are we going 
 home?" 
 
 All the light died in Glenn s face. 
 
 "Why, darling, this is home!" 
 
 "It it isn t my home!" The defiant flash in the 
 child s eyes daunted Glenn. She did not speak. 
 
 "I I do not like grandfather Arnold, either!" 
 Constance, now that she was at bay, observed no 
 obstructions. "I m not his his folks!" The last 
 word held a world of meaning. 
 
 "Constance; you mustn t talk like this." Glenn 
 tried to be severe. 
 
 "Why not?" This was put simply. A mere de 
 sire for information. 
 
 "Come, dear," Glenn led the child from the room, 
 locking the door after her. She did not reply to 
 Constance and, like one stricken, she went down 
 stairs. 
 
 "Daddy," she said to Arnold, handing him back 
 the key; "Connie doesn t want the toys not just 
 now. We ll have to have our party without 
 them." 
 
 Arnold did not speak, but he turned from Con 
 stance with added aversion. 
 
 They had their little party on the piazza of Beverly 
 Train s cabin. That was Grey s idea. 
 
 "If any one could straighten all this mess out, 
 Glenn," he said, "it would be Beverly." 
 
 "Yes, I think she could, Mac. Any way she would 
 love to have us play near her cabin." 
 
 So they played, as best they could, through the 
 golden autumn afternoon. Davey had never been 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 283 
 
 more whimsical nor delightful than he was then. 
 He gleefully told them what he "saw." He was 
 roguish and fanciful. But, best of all, he made 
 Constance laugh that strange laugh of hers, which 
 disclosed so little, and held so much. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 MAC," said Arnold one day to Grey, "that 
 child" he glanced over to where Con 
 stance was sitting by Davey on the piazza 
 of the Lodge "means mischief. There is something 
 awful in anything so small and weak having the 
 power she has." 
 
 "I cannot understand you, Arnold, where Con 
 stance is concerned," Grey replied. He had a wor 
 ried, an alert look at times; Carrington s silence had 
 the hanging-sword effect upon him. "I wonder if 
 you are not dealing to the child what is really not 
 her due? It s not like you, Arnold, to hold a grudge 
 against any one, least of all against, as you say, any 
 thing so small and weak." 
 
 "I know, Mac. That s the way I talk to myself. 
 There are times when I keep away from my own bed 
 room I don t feel fit to enter. I would be ashamed 
 to face Glenn s mother, but you don t suppose, do 
 you Mac, that I wouldn t right myself, if I could?" 
 
 "I repeat, Arnold, I cannot understand it." Grey 
 was annoyed. 
 
 "Just fancy that youngster" Arnold contem 
 plated the offending Constance as once he had con 
 templated his sprained ankle; something apart from 
 himself "just fancy her being able to fill whole 
 hours of my time, wondering about what s she up 
 to!" 
 
 284 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 285 
 
 "Why not leave her alone, Arnold, until she springs 
 something? She s quiet and tractable enough, 
 Heaven knows! I wish she would flare up once in 
 a while." 
 
 "Exactly! So do I. If she did, we d get a line 
 on her temperature and, by the light of the flare, 
 be able to see a bit more plainly." Arnold laughed. 
 "The fact is, Mac, I don t feel easy when my eye 
 isn t on her. The whole thing in a nutshell is: 
 she s like her damned father!" Arnold let his emo 
 tions escape him, his face grew stern and white. 
 "Mac, what does that scoundrel mean by letting a 
 situation like this exist and not mutter a word?" 
 
 Grey was chopping wood he paused now and went 
 over to Arnold by the big saw. 
 
 "I wish that I knew, Arnold," he said, sympathetic 
 ally; "the thing is wearing me out, guessing! There 
 are times when I take the best view of it that I can. 
 I know Carrington could not acknowledge a wrong 
 easily; he is too cast-iron. But he may know that 
 he is wrong, and is waiting for the first move on 
 Glenn s part. If that s his attitude it s at least half 
 way decent for him to leave the way perfectly open 
 to her. And after all, on the surface looked at as 
 the world looks at such things what has he done 
 to deserve what Glenn has done?" 
 
 "I don t believe you hold to the belief you ve just 
 aired, Mac; you re trying to make the best of a bad 
 bargain. 
 
 " On the surface! Good Lord, boy! What do 
 you mean by on the surface ? You and I knew my 
 girl; we saw her go away with that man; we saw her 
 come home! I haven t let her talk long, about the 
 
286 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 past. When Carrington shows his hand she ll have 
 to talk and once will be enough. But I saw her come 
 back! I saw the marks of what he did to her, and 
 by the eternal God, Mac, he s got to set her free! 
 I don t care how the World thinks about such things! 
 There s another guess coming to the World when 
 women tell what they think about the blows that 
 hit them hardest. Glenn has got to get free of that 
 man who twisted her soul out of shape! If there 
 isn t a law to cut her free, then by Heaven! she s 
 got to smash the law. There s only one cause for 
 divorce under heaven! Only one Mac and it isn t 
 the one we talk about! A woman might love a man 
 who beat her, or who was untrue to her. She could 
 cling to him and be a good wife to him and a happy 
 one, too. A man could I know what I m talking 
 about a man could hold holy a woman that others 
 had tossed aside. But if a man or a woman don t 
 want to live with wife or with husband because of 
 things the world couldn t understand if it tried 
 the soul-twisting kind of things that is enough!" 
 
 "I I don t know, Arnold!" Grey s eyes were 
 troubled. He did know; but he was clinging to the 
 old raft, while Arnold was struggling in the open. 
 "I don t know. It would be a dangerous law that 
 left folks such a wide gate to get out of." 
 
 "What do you gain by shutting them in, Mac? 
 Look at Glenn look at her! I tell you most of the 
 marriage and divorce laws were made for people 
 who do not need them. They who do, either kick 
 over the traces or drop in the shafts. My girl 
 meant well toward life; she did her part. I know 
 that, without word of hers. If she hadn t she would 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 287 
 
 never look the way she does and her man has, under 
 the law, got a strangle hold on her! He s got to set 
 her free, Mac, or " 
 
 "None of that, Arnold!" Grey sprang to the de 
 fense of that which they all held most dear. "You re 
 the last man to do anything so so cheap as that," 
 he continued, for there was murder in Arnold s eyes. 
 The primitive in the man was rising dangerously. 
 
 "Maybe, Mac, maybe, but I was never one to 
 bear strain easy; nor is my girl; and her man and his 
 child are master-hands at putting on the screws." 
 
 After this talk things ran along rather more 
 smoothly at the Lodge for some days. Nothing 
 was said of Carrington, but the silence that held him, 
 while weighted with apprehension, held also a new 
 force determined to combat any move from out of 
 the dark. 
 
 Little Constance rallied. She refrained from 
 further reference to her home, but she gave the im 
 pression always of being a visitor. She had moods 
 when she would sit staring at Arnold as if he puzzled 
 her. He would grow impatient and he often asked : 
 
 "What you thinking about, child?" 
 
 "You," she would return calmly. 
 
 "Well, what do you think?" 
 
 "A great many things." 
 
 "Such as?" Arnold made a noble effort to be 
 genial. 
 
 "Do you want me to tell you?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "I think you don t like me because I am not 
 your" [Constance paused in order to impress her 
 amazed listener] "folks! Davey is your folks 
 
288 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 and Mother, and Uncle Mac but I m not. And I 
 think it is very mean for I cannot help not being 
 your folks ! " 
 
 Arnold was so dumfounded that he could not 
 reply to the small accusing creature sitting opposite 
 him, her elbows on the table, her elfish face held in 
 the palms of her little, thin hands. 
 
 "I felt," Arnold later explained to Grey, "as if 
 I were a guilty wretch. I wanted to take the child 
 in my arms and cry over her but I couldn t!" 
 
 What Arnold did say, once he could speak, was: 
 
 "Why why don t you try to be my folks, Con 
 stance?" 
 
 "I don t know. Maybe I do not want to be; 
 maybe I cannot be," the child had replied and then 
 she gave her peculiar laugh that sounded as if it 
 came from the concentrated and embittered indiffer 
 ence of ages. 
 
 "Run out and play!" Arnold commanded, im 
 patiently; "there s Davey over on your Uncle Mac s 
 porch. Hustle away and try to be a good little girl." 
 
 This sounded so puerile when directed toward the 
 dignified little soul deliberately making her exit, 
 that Arnold found it possible to laugh and dismiss 
 her from his thoughts for the time being. 
 
 Grey had gone to Connor s on business. He had 
 gone with Sam, two days before, and Glenn was call 
 ing on Polly the afternoon of Constance s confes 
 sion to her grandfather. 
 
 Arnold, making sure that the little girl had gone to 
 Davey, returned to his reading. An hour passed; 
 then two hours. Arnold found that the room was 
 growing chilly. He arose and put several logs on the 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 289 
 
 fire and glanced at the clock. It was half past four. 
 "Where are those children?" he wondered. He 
 went to the door and called. There was no reply. 
 "Queer!" he muttered. He went outside; there was 
 no trace of either Davey or Constance. 
 
 A few minutes later Glenn came down the trail. 
 Almost at the same time, Sam and Grey were seen 
 mounting the hill, their horses loaded, and taking 
 the last stages of the trip easy. 
 
 Arnold showed his anxiety over the children and 
 the others shared it. After a little deliberation they 
 started, in different directions, to search. They 
 were all, however, still within hailing distance when 
 the two runaways came into sight from the woods 
 behind Beverly Train s Cottage. 
 
 Arnold called: "Here they are!" and soon the 
 three were at the Lodge where Davey white, hag 
 gard, and silent sat apart and Constance, her lips 
 in a straight line, her dark eyes flashing, confronted 
 her grandfather. 
 
 "I I cannot get them to speak," Arnold said. 
 "I wager she has" he did not say "they have" 
 "been up to mischief." 
 
 "Where have you been, Connie?" asked Glenn, 
 kneeling beside her little girl. "Tell mother." 
 
 "Walking." 
 
 "Where, dear?" 
 
 "In the woods." 
 
 "What were you doing there?" 
 
 "Walking!" The little dark face grew hard. 
 Glenn knew the signs. 
 
 Then into the confused silence, a great sob of suf 
 fering broke from Davey. He was sitting with his 
 
290 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 small hands gripped close, his fair face hung upon his 
 swelling chest. 
 
 Constance looked at him with contempt and sud 
 denly commanded: 
 
 "Tell! I don t care." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Davey sobbed: 
 
 "She s taken my my mountains away; and the - 
 the stars and and everything! She says every 
 thing is all lies!" 
 
 From her seat, where she sat crouched like a gnome, 
 Constance spoke: 
 
 "And so it is! It s wicked, just because he s blind, 
 to tell him things that are not true. I told him how 
 mountains look, and how his father and mother look, 
 and stars, and my mother, and everyone!" 
 
 "Oh! Constance, how could you?" cried Glenn. 
 Davey s white face smote her heart; but her own 
 child s hardness hurt her soul! 
 
 "And now," poor Davey sobbed, "I don t know 
 what to do." 
 
 Arnold without a word left the room, Sam leaned 
 over his boy his helpless passion seeking to shield, 
 but not seeing any way to do so. Grey felt a strong 
 desire to lay his hands on the defiant child beside 
 whom Glenn stood grieving. The savage instinct, 
 however, left him at once and again, as he had often 
 felt before he was up in arms to defend Glenn 
 from suffering or loss; defend her against her 
 child! 
 
 "Come, come!" he exclaimed in a tone that broke 
 the abnormal by its healthy note of normality; 
 "are you going to let a little girl who doesn t know 
 what she s talking about, take your mountains and 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 291 
 
 stars from you, Davey? Shame on you, man, to 
 believe anything against us who love you!" 
 
 Davey stifled his sobs this was a new side-light. 
 
 "She said " began Davey, but there was hope 
 
 on his little stained face. . . . 
 
 "They are lies!" shouted Constance, her eyes 
 blazing. 
 
 "Come here!" When Grey commanded he did 
 not often do it people attended. "Come here, 
 Constance!" 
 
 The child walked deliberately to him. 
 
 "It s a pretty mean thing to say what you ve 
 said unless you are sure." Grey spoke calmly to 
 her. 
 
 "Insure, Uncle Mac!" 
 
 "Have you looked with Davey s eyes?" 
 
 "He he hasn t any! that s another " 
 
 "Quiet!" Grey laid firm hands on the thin shoul 
 ders; "Davey has eyes and you know it. You 
 are not speaking the truth. He has beautiful, clear 
 blue eyes." 
 
 Constance stared. 
 
 "Well he hasn t he cannot " 
 
 "Constance; suppose you look with Davey s eyes." 
 Grey still held her. "Now, close your lids down, 
 so! What do you see?" 
 
 "Nothing!"" 
 
 Nor did she, poor child ! 
 
 The word brought a stifled cry from Glenn. 
 Constance s empty childhood held no visions or 
 fancies with which to people the long, dark hours 
 when pain kept sleep away. 
 
 "Try again, Connie. I will hold your hand." 
 
292 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Grey was in deadly earnest. He knew that much 
 much was at stake. 
 
 And then in the stillness Constance tried again. 
 Having nothing of her own she fell back upon 
 Davey s visions and they seemed to materialize back 
 of her lids. Presently her lips quivered. 
 
 "You re not so sure, are you, Connie?" Grey 
 drew her closer. 
 
 "No. Uncle Mac!" Constance meant to be just. 
 
 "All right! If you re not sure, you d better 
 wait until you are." 
 
 And then Grey turned to Sam. 
 
 "Let me have Davey for a day or so," he said; 
 "he and I have some business together." 
 
 The danger was averted Glenn took her little 
 girl away to her bedroom and Davey went to Grey s 
 cabin where, as man to man, they talked it over. 
 
 The days that followed almost blotted out the 
 anxiety concerning Carrington s silence, so weighted 
 were they with the effort to restore to poor Davey 
 his faith and joy, and to bring to Constance a glimpse 
 into the garden of her own bleak and unknown child 
 hood. Glenn watched the working of Grey s magic 
 imagination. Never had he given to his most serious 
 work, the concentration that he put, now, upon the 
 task he had undertaken. 
 
 Davey responded sooner for he had love and health 
 to build upon; poor Constance was a different prob 
 lem. What had she? But presently her own lack 
 touched her; her "difference" and that cut deep. 
 She closed her eyes; she clenched her hands; she tried 
 to see with Davey s eyes ! 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 293 
 
 When she was with Grey or the boy, she could see 
 a little and it quickened her pulses. 
 
 "It s like something hiding!" she confided to 
 Grey. She was excited and pathetic. Even Arnold 
 was touched by the unexpected turn things had taken. 
 
 And then it was that little Constance Carrington s 
 childhood began. She no longer laughed in her 
 vague way at Davey; sometimes she laughed with 
 him when he praised her for some little success in her 
 upward course. What they confided to each other, 
 no one questioned for presently Grey relinquished 
 his authority, and watched the working of the divine 
 in both children. 
 
 Davey had his blessed visions back tenfold, and 
 with them a new and manly courage; a determination 
 to "show the stuff that was in him," as Grey put it. 
 And Constance, with her imagination lighted, saw 
 far and still farther. She asked, by-and-bye, to have 
 her mother s toys; she touched them with strangely 
 yearning hands. She looked questioningly up at her 
 mother and whispered: 
 
 "You do have to have Davey s eyes and then! 
 why, Mothet, you see little babies in Susan Anns, 
 don t you?" 
 
 And after that, Constance never spoke of going 
 home. She played gravely almost shyly. She 
 followed Grey about as if, when with him, she felt 
 safe. She watched for Davey s coming and often 
 met him half way on the path known as Davey s 
 Trail. Sometimes, in the night, she crept from her 
 bed, which was in her mother s room, and nestled in 
 Glenn s arms. Once, she whispered the secret that 
 Carrington had unwisely entrusted to her. 
 
294 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Father said," she whispered, "that your your 
 folks were different; but they aren t, Mother; they 
 only seem so, until you know. It isn t a secret any 
 more, because it isn t so! Sometimes I think Father 
 doesn t know everything!" 
 
 This was not said bitterly or harshly, but with a 
 touch of compassion. 
 
 "Mother s own little girl!" cried Glenn; and she 
 drew the child closer, resenting fiercely the intention 
 Carrington had when he put the thought in Con 
 stance s mind. 
 
 "Poor Father doesn t know everything, Connie; 
 none of us do. But did Father say that that was 
 a secret?" 
 
 "No but I knew that it was. Something makes 
 you know secrets." 
 
 "Yes darling; something does." 
 
 And they fell asleep with their arms about each 
 other. The secret had lost its sting. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CARRINGTON S fortnight had stretched into 
 a month. He had not written to Glenn at first 
 because he considered that she had acted in a 
 most silly and childish fashion he d forgotten pre 
 cisely what it was all about and had best be left to 
 herself for a few days. His own days certainly were 
 difficult enough! With his high sense of honour it 
 was extremely hard for him to tell what he knew 
 about the strike and the shooting of Thompson and, 
 at the same time, keep well within the bounds of 
 actual facts. 
 
 He expected a letter from Glenn at the end of the 
 first week one of those queer, little letters of hers 
 that always gave the impression that she had slipped 
 in bearing the letter in her hands. But no letter 
 came. 
 
 Then Carrington set his jaws. Of course he could 
 not write first. What had he done? And she had 
 refused to kiss him good-bye had looked at him as 
 no good and tender woman should ever look at a 
 man. What could the girl be thinking of to dare 
 so much? 
 
 Next he reverted to Glenn s beginnings, from which 
 he had brought her into the wide Place that was his. 
 What had he not showered upon her? How little 
 she seemed to realize her great uplift. There had 
 been times when Carrington had liked that about 
 
 295 
 
296 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 his wife he could never have stood a cringer. But 
 nevertheless he would like her to show some apprecia 
 tion. 
 
 But what a comical, sweet thing she was, take it 
 all in all! That was funny, her wanting to clean up 
 the Hollow! The shock had frightened her. She 
 was sentimental, but warm hearted. That was right 
 for a woman! Some day, Carrington decided, he 
 would let Glenn play Lady Bountiful. It would 
 ease her conscience and add to his glory. He 
 couldn t show any weakness himself, but he d let 
 Glenn have a certain sum to spend and show herself 
 to the "hands." 
 
 The second week brought no letter and then Car 
 rington put sentiment aside. He hurried his busi 
 ness. Just before he left he received a telegram 
 from Glenn: 
 
 I am taking Constance away. She is all right. 
 
 Carrington s face turned ashy not with fear but 
 with anger. He calmly finished all that he had to do 
 and went back to Far Hills, giving no intimation 
 that his wife s whereabouts were unknown to him. 
 
 He listened to all the housekeeper had to say and 
 she said a good deal! He went quietly, when not 
 observed, through the empty rooms, hoping to find 
 some trace or message. He noted how little had 
 been taken from closet or drawers and he came 
 presently to the conclusion that Glenn had gone to 
 Beverly Train s. This was not pleasing he had 
 commanded her to the contrary but it was better 
 than some other things. 
 
 Having reached a definite idea, Carrington com- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 297 
 
 posed himself and called on Thompson who was in 
 the hospital. Here he got something new to think 
 about. Thompson informed him that unless, after 
 his recovery, he were allowed to run things on a 
 fairer basis, he d quit and have done with it. 
 
 "Got a bad scare, Thompson?" Carrington was 
 annoyed, but he meant to be reasonable. 
 
 "No; but I got an argument, all right. Fm not 
 going to stand in front of another man s bullet. I m 
 willing to take what s coming to me, but nothing 
 
 more." 
 
 Carrington did not like the tone. 
 
 "It was a devilish bad shot, Thompson, but you 
 must do me the credit of feeling that I wasn t slinking. 
 I was there." 
 
 "You were there, then, yes. But I m not going 
 to be so close to you again, Mr. Carrington. It 
 doesn t pay! Lying here, I ve done some thinking 
 on my own account. There are dirty doings among 
 the men, no doubt all sorts of mischief and the 
 rest but the wrong isn t all there, by a long shot. 
 And there isn t ever going to be any understanding 
 until we all get into the thing together." 
 
 "You know my ideas on this line, Thompson, I m 
 not likely to change them. You ll think better of 
 this when you get out. Bread and butter is a good 
 argument, too, old man. Wait until your wife has 
 her say." Carrington tried to be light and pleasant 
 as was proper in a sick room. 
 
 "My wife is the one who has put me clear on 
 this," Thompson rejoined; "women think differ- 
 ently from us, Mr. Carrington, but that doesn t 
 mean that they re wrong, always." 
 
298 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Thompson said this with a certain timidity. His 
 recent accident and illness, his confinement and time 
 for thought had given him the new slant that per 
 plexed and annoyed the man who listened. Car- 
 rington was tolerant, but disgusted with it all. 
 
 "After all, I see no reason for bringing women into 
 this, Thompson; such ideas as they have are med 
 dlesome. You and I realize that it takes more than 
 a surface glance and book-reading to tackle this prob 
 lem." 
 
 Then Thompson raised himself, propped on his 
 elbow. He was a big, red-headed man with a firm 
 jaw and steady eyes. He d come up from the 
 ranks had been a boy in the older Carrington s 
 reign. 
 
 "See here, Mr. Richard," he said with a rough 
 kind of impressiveness, and reverting to the name he 
 used to call his present employer; "boy and man 
 I ve hung to your business. What I am, it has made 
 me. Your father saw something in me at times 
 I think it was the worst in me to build on, and to 
 day I m on both feet, with something in the bank! 
 I m not ungrateful. I want to hang to you; I want 
 to see you, sir, at the head of the lines; but for some 
 years past I ve seen what you haven t seen, being 
 close, as you might say, and listening, as one has to. 
 The world is tackling this big, ugly wrong that some 
 how has got wedged between the the men who have 
 got and the men who helped them get and want to 
 share! I don t know just where the wrong is; neither 
 do the under men; we re all fighting in the dark and 
 doing bad work. But there are men, Mr. Richard 
 men as big as you and richer, too who are flinging 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 299 
 
 themselves into the fight, meaning to to find out; 
 and if the Lord lets me live, so help me, I m going to 
 join up with them! Maybe, having risen from 
 nothing, I have something to tell them, and then I 
 can carry back to the men such men as O Ryan 
 and the poor devil who shot at you and hit me a 
 word that may help." 
 
 Thompson sank back, pale and trembling. He 
 had given out all that his days of lonely pain and 
 isolation had evolved. Carrington s face hardened, 
 until it looked like a mask. 
 
 "Having made your pile," he said slowly, hurt- 
 ingly "having got all you can out of us, you are 
 ready to to what shall I say, Thompson, that 
 will show what I mean and no more? well, turn 
 your knowledge over to them who will pay you bet 
 ter? All right! You know me, Thompson. I go 
 just so far and then nothing can wring another cent 
 out of me. YouVe reached your limit with me, 
 unless you become worth more! Think it over. 
 I never try to change a man s final decision, but I m 
 not going to take advantage of a sick man, either." 
 
 Then Carrington stiffly bowed to his manager 
 his late manager and strode from the little white 
 room, where Life and Death had had their conflict. - 
 
 The autumn day was unheeded by Carrington. 
 A sense of injustice filled him and blinded him. He 
 could see nothing but ranting in all that Thompson 
 had said. He deplored the fact that certain men, 
 of whom Thompson had spoken before, were showing 
 the white feather and openly proclaiming that they 
 meant to test new methods; "experiments" they 
 termed it. 
 
3 oo UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Of course it is rot!" Carrington thought as he 
 angrily got into his automobile. " Brains and money 
 must rule. The sooner the rabble realize that the 
 sooner we ll get somewhere." 
 
 No more weary and heart-sick man ever lived than 
 Carrington as he drove, home. The stately old 
 house the evidence of years of culture and refine 
 ment stood empty, for him. The rare furniture 
 and works of art were dead things hardly ever 
 noticed except that they gave " atmosphere." Some 
 thing that he had bought and paid for had eluded 
 his hold: Thompson, Glenn, his hope of family. 
 What was it that money could not buy? What was 
 the One Big Thing? 
 
 At that moment Carrington longed for Glenn as 
 he never had before. He wanted the woman of her . 
 The subtle sweetness and grace that were untouched 
 by the sordid things that meant Business with its 
 worries and perplexities. Why couldn t women see 
 the high place that men had toiled to secure for them? 
 Why could they not be content? Carrington could 
 not even then, in his softened moment realize 
 that, while there was the Hollow, w r omen, some 
 women the best, thank God! would find it 
 sooner or later. It was not that they did not see 
 and love the high place for which men had struggled, 
 but they must have their men worthy to share that 
 place with them or, they could not, would not, pay 
 the price. 
 
 Alone, in his library, sitting in the gloaming, the 
 telephone at his elbow, Carrington that evening al 
 most called up "On The Way." He, now, had no 
 doubt but what Glenn and Constance were there. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 301 
 
 His pride went down before his heart-longing for 
 Glenn, and then he understood. It came to him 
 sharply, clearly. He wanted Glenn, as he wanted 
 his business : on his own terms. He was never doubt 
 ful as to what he wanted; he selected carefully, 
 thoughtfully. His life would always be empty and 
 aching, unless he had what his nature required. He 
 did not mean to have two heads at the factories; he did 
 not mean to have two active personalities in his house. 
 There must be a Final Authority everywhere; 
 there could be no peace without it. For that, the 
 whole struggle tended : he must be Master first. After 
 that he could give lavishly but first he meant to 
 be understood, once and for all! He decided to 
 go the next day, in person, to Beverly Train s. 
 
 He went. The day was fair and warm, but Beverly, 
 however, was indoors. No one knew it but Margaret, 
 and she dared not mention it, but Beverly was ill! 
 
 Now when Miss Train was ill there were no symp 
 toms except that she could not sleep. Those long, 
 wakeful hours were quiet ones; the tiny creature on 
 the big bed, in the big room, in the big house, simply 
 lay open-eyed, waiting for the morning. What she 
 saw who can tell? What voices came to cheer and 
 comfort who could know? But she was not afraid 
 or restless. Her fair past, the past she had made rich 
 from her long wheeled-chair, pressed close to her in 
 those darkened hours. Little Margaret always was 
 near. Beverly could not refuse the sweet desire to 
 help. 
 
 " But child, there is nothing to do," she would say. 
 
 "But Miss Beverly, dear, if I could just know that, 
 then I would feel all right." 
 
302 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 So Margaret had a couch by the window in Bev 
 erly s room and it was over her, through her, that Miss 
 Train found her way to the people she had helped on 
 the way. 
 
 The morning of Carrington s call, Beverly had 
 been wheeled down by her gardener, Tom, to the 
 library. The room was a bower of bloom. When 
 Miss Train could not sleep, poor Tom expressed his 
 sympathy with his rarest and choicest flowers. 
 
 Beverly was writing letters. She had just finished 
 a long one to MacDonald Grey. It had made her 
 tremble a little, had left her starry-eyed. She loved 
 Grey as mothers love their sons as women love 
 their true mates. She loved him in all ways that 
 had been denied their rightful expression. 
 
 "And now," she was thinking, "I must get that 
 child Glenn here. She s stayed away too long. 
 Something is the matter." 
 
 Just then, Jane, the warder of the front door, 
 stood in front of her mistress. Jane was tall 
 and gaunt and fierce looking. "All the better to 
 hide the golden heart of her!" Beverly always 
 insisted. 
 
 "Mr. Richard Carrington, Miss Beverly; wants 
 to get in." Jane spoke as if Carrington were pound 
 ing on the portals. 
 
 "Very badly, Jane?" 
 
 "Yes m. I m wondering if you can stand him?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I d rather enjoy him." Beverly smiled 
 into the grim face. 
 
 "You had a poor night, Miss Beverly." Jane 
 somehow gave the impression of gathering the frail 
 creature to her bosom. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 303 
 
 " All the more reason for a rich day, Jane. Show 
 Mr. Richard Carrington in." 
 
 A minute later Carrington was sitting close to the 
 long chair. Even he, in that quiet place, cast off 
 non essentials; they were too puerile for that presence. 
 
 "Well, Dick; you honour me by a call during busi 
 ness hours. How well you look and your clothes 
 are beautiful." 
 
 "Beverly; Glenn and Constance are here." Car 
 rington affirmed this. It startled Beverly, but she 
 did not betray herself. 
 
 "Are they?" she asked, "why didn t you bring 
 them in?" 
 
 Carrington drew his brows together. 
 
 "I hope, Beverly, you ve talked some reason into 
 Glenn. The child is still what shall I say? un 
 trammelled by conventions." 
 
 "Is she? The last time I saw her some months 
 ago she seemed trammelled to the earth by them. 
 I ve been hoping that she d either cut loose, or got 
 the conventions by the throat. You and I, Dick, 
 know well enough that conventions are only to 
 scare people with just bugaboos. Glenn had an 
 idea they were flesh and blood." 
 
 " She and Constance are not here ? " Dick brushed 
 the mere talk aside. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 "I haven t the least idea." Beverly s eyes were 
 growing deep and searching. She meant to get more 
 than her companion meant her to have, and she was 
 ready with more than Carrington would want to 
 hear if her surmises were well founded. 
 
304 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "I ve been away a month important business. 
 When I came home I found Glenn gone." Carring- 
 ton vouchsafed. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "She sent a telegram, simply stating that she was 
 going away." 
 
 "How like her!" Beverly laughed. "But her 
 letters must have told more." 
 
 "She wrote none." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "Nor did I." 
 
 "Oh!" mused Beverly, and her eyes bored into 
 Carrington s reserve. 
 
 " If you do not care to talk to me of personal things, 
 Dick, suppose we find another subject. Look at my 
 flowers. Tom is a wizard." 
 
 "I have not come to talk of flowers, Beverly. I 
 thought Glenn was here." 
 
 "Well, she isn t; and I do not know where she is. 
 She probably did not want me to know or she would 
 have written." 
 
 "May I speak quite openly to you, Beverly?" 
 
 "Yes, Dick." Even as she spoke, a tightening of 
 the mouth muscles was evident. 
 
 "It s it s rather repulsive to be obliged to, but 
 you are the one person possible." 
 
 "Thank you, Dick." 
 
 Then Carrington gave a modified, but true, ver 
 sion of the Hollow incident and Glenn s "absurd" 
 conversation the following morning. Beverly kept 
 her eyes lowered ; she never took an unfair advantage 
 of a confessional. 
 
 "The trouble is, Beverly, Glenn and I have never 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 305 
 
 rightly understood our relations. Our future happi 
 ness depends upon a clear acceptance. When I first 
 saw her, her beauty, her superb health and native 
 fascination, bewildered me " 
 
 "You bought her more or less on a chance." 
 Beverly spoke so low that Carrington was not sure 
 that he had heard aright. What he thought he 
 heard, made him flush angrily. 
 
 "I mean," Beverly went on, "that your senses 
 saw something very rare; you had to have it! You 
 trusted that, afterward, you could do the rest make 
 a nice little soul and conscience for the girl, just the 
 kind you approve; put her where you wanted her 
 and always be sure of finding her there! Poor Dick! 
 Why God had given her a beautiful soul before you 
 ever saw her, and she d grown a conscience as stiff 
 and unbreakable as your own. All that was left for 
 you to do, my boy, was to love her enough to let 
 her find her way to God or whatever you choose to 
 call this scramble of life with you near enough to 
 guide her by the touch of sympathy." 
 
 "Sympathy?" That was all that Carrington 
 could snatch from the low-spoken words. 
 
 "Good Lord, Beverly! I couldn t sympathize 
 with her notions. They were unformed and vague, 
 at the best, and utterly wrong at the worst. That 
 was natural, of course. I expected her love and 
 sympathy to appreciate me and mine." 
 
 "Perhaps they might not have suited her, Dick. 
 Her own, upon development, might have been more 
 to her liking. Besides there might have been more 
 goodness and wisdom in hers than you could possibly 
 know, unless you took time to investigate." 
 
3 o6 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Beverly, we are beating about the bush; getting 
 nowhere. It is a waste of time. My life, my in 
 heritance, must count against Glenn s inexperience 
 and limitations, without explanations. What does 
 it all mean unless it counts ?" 
 
 "Nothing." The word was a mere breath. All 
 the disapproval of the Trains for the Carringtons, 
 was rising. 
 
 "She is my wife! She must learn the meaning of 
 that, from now on." Carrington looked deter 
 mined youth seemed to pass from his face. 
 
 "Wherever she is, she shall come back and learn 
 that lesson!" he added. 
 
 "Probably what you bought, may be got back, 
 Dick; though I doubt even that. The child is as 
 simple and true as a savage and undoubtedly as 
 fierce, when roused. But suppose you got her body 
 back, my boy, what would you do with it if all the 
 rest was left behind ?" 
 
 "Her body might teach the rest the lesson!" 
 
 "You re not so low as that, Dick. No Carrington 
 could stand for that sort of brutality." Beverly 
 gave all quarter due the race that Carrington repre 
 sented. 
 
 "She is not going to bring disgrace upon my 
 name!" Dick glowered. 
 
 "Be careful that you do not do that yourself, 
 Dick!" 
 
 The two were ready for conflict now. The fencing 
 was over. 
 
 "What do you mean, Beverly?" 
 
 "See here, Dick, you ve got to hear it just as I see 
 it. You ve come to me ; not I to you. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 307 
 
 "I ve seen your wife just twice. The first time 
 I saw her she made me love her as I might love a 
 wild thing capable of being cultivated but not 
 changed into something different. She was yours 
 then yours! The next time I saw her, soon after 
 her return from abroad, she was her own, again. Her 
 own, but seeking you, seeking but not being able to 
 find you. She had no place the real she in your 
 heart, your life, or your home. She knew it; I knew 
 it. You wanted her for one thing only. She, pro 
 videntially didn t recognize that, but I did. She 
 wasn t willing to pay for what she in no wise sensed; 
 she wanted something in you, in her child, in the 
 garden even, that needed the best in her. She wanted 
 to be used for for something worth while. That 
 scene in the Hollow oh ! can you not see it, Dick ? 
 was her last hope. She had penetrated to your busi 
 ness, touched your people, saw you revealed by that 
 pistol shot! She did not turn from you; she rushed 
 toward you. She saw a chance of service saw a 
 golden opportunity for the best that she felt was in 
 you. Oh! Dick, it is not too late; do not fail her! 
 Do not bring her back. Go to her! Go humbly 
 as none of your people has ever gone to anything. 
 Be bigger than they. If anything should count to 
 you from the past, it is their failure. Oh! my boy, 
 there are visions of the valley as well as of the mount. 
 If you would know the meaning of things, get close to 
 that little girl of yours." 
 
 Under this assault, Carrington had sat rigid and 
 white. Beverly had taken small heed of him or she 
 Would have seen the utter fruitlessness of her en 
 deavour. 
 
308 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Failure!" was all that Carrington uttered. Then: 
 "So that is the way you see it. You! Perhaps you 
 have so interpreted it to my wife ? " 
 
 1 You know better than that, Dick. Don t juggle." 
 
 "I never do that as you will soon see." 
 
 At this Beverly raised her eyes and calmly sur 
 veyed him. 
 
 "If only something suffering, love, even a great 
 sin could get through your crust, Dick Carrington, 
 I believe you would be a good man." 
 
 This was too much. Carrington laughed. 
 
 "Oh! I know/ Beverly went quietly on, "I 
 know your interpretation of good ! Your forbears 
 held the same idea. They were so good, that they 
 made evil appear beautiful. They were so good 
 that they felt qualified to take justice and mercy out 
 of God s keeping and twist souls into shapes that 
 fitted their own ideas. What other men and women 
 did the poor, human, bungling creatures, trying 
 to get close together, learning through suffering and 
 disappointment your ancestors called that sin. 
 Why, they were so good that they did not know the 
 need of God! Oh! if there is a commandment about 
 bearing false witness against men, what can be said 
 of bearing false witness against God ? making Him 
 out to his children, what He is not? And that is 
 what your forbears did!" 
 
 Carrington wanted to get up, to go away, but he 
 was too stunned to move. 
 
 "Dick Carrington; find God somewhere, some 
 how. Learn what goodness really means; and then 
 go and tell your wife, your child, your people in the 
 Hollow! They ll listen quick enough. Foolish, 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 309 
 
 weak, and sinful though they may be, they ll know 
 the truth. But I warn you against using any kind 
 of force. That has failed the whole system proves 
 it. There s something else, Dick; find it!" 
 
 Carrington had come for his wife. Failing in this, 
 he had sought sympathy, advice. Instead, he had 
 been flayed, until every emotion of his mind and body 
 flinched under the outrage. Outrage! that was 
 what it was, nothing less. 
 
 "I can hardly be expected to make a reply to your 
 tirade, Beverly," he said, presently, controlling him 
 self creditably. "Your family and mine have run 
 along the same level for so long, that it hardly be 
 hooves us to fly ofF at a tangent now. Let us forget 
 what has just passed. I can only suppose that you 
 are too ill to be accountable for the words spoken 
 under excitement. There are certain aspects of the 
 matter I came to see you about, however, that you 
 have touched upon with some wisdom. I do not 
 want my wife back unless she comes of her own ac 
 cord. It may be that she has gone to Grey" the 
 brute was writhing in Carrington "I ve suspected 
 that. He s been hanging around rather suspiciously. 
 Well! she shall learn all there is to know of him and 
 then she shall choose! In the meantime I will not 
 give her her freedom. What hold I have upon her, 
 legally, I shall avail myself of. And I mean to get 
 my child!" 
 
 And no\v it was Beverly s turn to shrink as others 
 had before the Carrington ideals of justice, mercy, 
 and goodness/ She did not appeal to the man before 
 her she knew, now, the futility of that but she said 
 wearily: 
 
3 io UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Glenn has not gone to Mac; you may be sure of 
 that. You have hurt her too deeply, I fear, to permit 
 of her seeking help there. And as for what you know 
 about Mac what do you know?" 
 
 "Poor Kathleen Maurey might be enough." Car- 
 rington s eyes flashed virtuously. Pale and trem 
 bling, Beverly turned to her desk and from a drawer 
 took some loose sheets of paper. 
 
 "Read this," she said, quietly; "it is a copy of the 
 letter you took to Mac years ago. You thought that 
 Kathleen simply died. Now read the truth!" 
 
 Carrington read, conscientiously reread a part 
 of it. Then his lip curled. 
 
 "No blameless man ever gets into just this sort of 
 trouble," he said, slowly, and with a curious look of 
 perplexity rising in his eyes. "The appearance of 
 evil has weight; there must be some fire where there 
 is so much smoke." The platitudes slipped out 
 easily and Beverly smiled an almost sad smile. 
 "What does it all mean, anyway?" Carrington 
 blurted out impatiently. 
 
 "If I should tell you the truth, Dick" 
 Beverly said quietly "you would not understand. 
 It would be as easy then, as now, for you to 
 push the facts aside because they would not 
 fit into your code. Besides" here Beverly sighed 
 "I did not show you that letter in Mac s interest. 
 His conscience is clear. I merely desire you to have 
 the opportunity of making no further, o r more cruel 
 mistakes with your wife. / 
 
 "And now we come to your child," r ,he went on, 
 " Yours! You have Glenn there, Dick and you know 
 it! You do not want Constance. What can you 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 311 
 
 hope to do, for or with, that delicate creature whose 
 only chance of life and happiness lies with the mother 
 she has never been permitted really to know? But 
 if, in your goodness and justice" [contempt rang in 
 the words] "you drag her back, you will and again 
 you know it drag the body, only, of the mother after 
 her! In that case, I trust that Almighty God will, 
 at last, have his will with you, Dick Carrington! . . . 
 And now I must ask you to go. We have no need of 
 each other no need." 
 
 Carrington rose, bowed, and left the room. When 
 he was gone, Beverly covered her face with her trem 
 bling hands and wept as she had never wept in her 
 life before. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 X^ARRINGTON, even after his call upon Bev- 
 I erly Train, took no action. That was his way ; 
 
 X^_>* the way of his forefathers. He would strike 
 in his own good time; perhaps when his victims least 
 expected it. They might even breathe freely, think 
 ing themselves safe and then the blow would fall. 
 
 Carrington, first of all, had to smooth his own 
 ruffled feathers which Beverly had so unpardonably 
 disarranged. It did not take him very long to do 
 that. A brief survey of his ancestral honours, a 
 classification of Glenn s absurd position and really 
 laughable display of ignorance, brought him to a 
 comfortable state of mind. 
 
 "A fine condition," he thought, "when a wife can 
 leave her husband s home, taking his child with her, 
 with no greater cause than that she does not approve 
 his way of conducting his business!" This was 
 humorous. Then: "A nice exhibition she would 
 make of me, if I gave her rein, poor child!" A 
 stealthy plea for Glenn entered just then: "Poor, 
 warm-hearted, uncontrolled child!" Carrington 
 thought on his emotions swaying him. And finally 
 the overpowering belief in power came to his support. 
 
 "She ll soon tire of her wilderness. After all that 
 I gave her she will not be able to settle down to that 
 from which I took her!" 
 
 At this point Carrington was quite himself. He 
 
 312 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 313 
 
 made sure, by private correspondence with a lawyer 
 in the West, that his wife had gone to her old home. 
 That fact being established, he proclaimed it, 
 wherever it might carry weight; only he added a bit 
 of fiction: "I could not go with Mrs. Carrington, 
 but I felt that the quiet and rest might benefit her 
 and Constance. I expect to go to them in the 
 spring." 
 
 Having set his stage, Carrington turned to nearer 
 matters: the still-unsettled strike, the replacing of 
 Thompson. For, upon recovery, the manager re 
 signed from his position and had the effrontery to 
 accept a new one with a firm which and Carrington 
 really believed this had chosen the advertising 
 scheme of Reform. "He ll get all that s coming to 
 him!" thought Carrington, fiercely. Outwardly 
 though, he schemed to overthrow any opposition that 
 threatened his business supremacy. 
 
 But, in spite of everything "the shade from his 
 own soul upthrown," darkened Carrington s days 
 and lonely nights. 
 
 Beverly Train was right. There was something 
 hidden in him which, could it have been set free, 
 would have made of him a good and lovable man. 
 But there was no struggle of Right and Wrong in 
 him; how could there be struggle, when one force 
 was not even admitted as having existence ? 
 
 It was merely the "shade upthrown" that dark 
 ened the waiting time not the soul itself. The 
 soul was steeped in content. Carrington was in 
 constant touch with his family lawyer. He had two 
 legal advisers. One for business; one for private 
 affairs. 
 
3 i4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Of course Glenn had nothing whatever on her side 
 to support her outrageous behaviour legally speak 
 ing. 
 
 "The thing for you to do, Carrington," the lawyer 
 said, "is to demand the return of the little girl. 
 There is a twofold reason for doing this. Undoubt 
 edly the mother will return with her! Besides, your 
 plea for the child we can make it very convincing, 
 not in the least harsh will reach Mrs. Carrington s 
 sense of justice. She will be glad to know that you 
 need the child, and her!" This seemed most plausi 
 ble and the letter was framed; first in the lawyer s 
 office; then, in more intimate form, in Carrington s 
 library. 
 
 "I will wait until after Christmas, before sending 
 it," thought Carrington, and decided to go, himself, 
 to Florida for a breathing spell. The strike had 
 been temporarily settled; a new manager, with con 
 venient conceptions of business, was in control; 
 and the smoke of the tall chimneys once more stained 
 the blue sky. 
 
 To show his good intentions, Carrington sent Bev 
 erly Train, who was reported as too ill to see any one, 
 a most expensive basket of fruit. 
 
 "I ll make it up to Glenn and Constance next 
 Christmas," Carrington said to his shaded con 
 science; "I could not, consistently, break into the 
 breach just now." 
 
 And so the silence grew longer and denser and while 
 Arnold fretted and Grey feared, Glenn thanked God 
 for the rest and calm that held no finality, but still 
 insured her peace. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 315 
 
 " Do you suppose the scamp means to simply to 
 drop Glenn?" Arnold asked Grey. 
 
 "No, I do not!" Grey, replied quickly; "he ll 
 take some definite course, Arnold. He probably 
 has it already planned but he ll choose his own 
 time; he ll make everything sure before he shows his 
 hand." Grey no longer put up a defence for Car- 
 rington. 
 
 "He s a damned, cold-blooded cur!" Arnold re 
 torted, and the look came to his eyes that Grey 
 dreaded. 
 
 But Glenn, as the days ran on, fell into a dangerous 
 state. With every reason for unrest, she rested 
 body and soul. With legitimate duty and calls un 
 heeded, she listened to others that, legally, she had 
 foresworn. The snow came in November that 
 white stillness that had so affected Grey when he 
 first saw it. It shut disturbing things away; it held 
 them all close in a perilous intimacy. 
 
 Again Grey wrote and read aloud what he had 
 written though the east chamber knew him no 
 more! Alone, in his cabin, separated from the Lodge 
 by its well-worn path, he fought the fight of lonely 
 but loving men. His love was of the quality that 
 could renounce and still survive, but, with conditions 
 as they were, it fed upon manna which fell from 
 a perilous source. From the outer chamber of his 
 brain, thoughts unfathered by his true self, stole in, 
 unsolicited. They would wander for a time with fate 
 ful lure, and then the stern righteousness of the man 
 throttled them. 
 
 "A cursed sort of love to offer a woman who has 
 been fed on stones," he reasoned; "if she ever does 
 
316 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 know love again, it s got to be the right sort so 
 help me God!" 
 
 And God helped him. 
 
 Grey wrote fiercely. He turned his conquered foes 
 to good account; he showed them for what they were, 
 and called them by their right names. He erected 
 what seemed to him an altar of the True Love 
 and he laid himself upon it as his first offering. He 
 revelled in fantastic bouts for Davey and Constance. 
 With the little girl s success in recovering her child 
 hood, he was put to a big test. There were no half 
 way measures with Constance. Her starved nature 
 drank in the glories that could only be fully seen 
 through "Davey s eyes." 
 
 Davey, himself, with faith in God and man once 
 more restored, throve mightily. He caused Grey 
 to prepare Sam and Polly for the time, not far ahead, 
 when the boy must be sent to learn all that science 
 had achieved for such as he. Sam looked grim but 
 nodded approval. Polly s eyes dimmed her arms 
 reached out impulsively, already feeling the empti 
 ness. 
 
 "The boy has a wonderful mind," Grey com 
 forted "it would be a crime to withhold anything 
 from him." 
 
 But while the white silence held them close, stifling 
 presentiment, blurring the future something that 
 all felt but dared not name bided with them. It 
 was Fear; fear for Constance. She grew thinner and 
 more colourless; her voice took on a thready, quiver 
 ing note, quite new to it, and it called out for Davey 
 constantly. Only when Davey was present was the 
 little girl happy. Davey s "eyes" and Grey s im- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 317 
 
 agination hypnotized all that heredity had done for 
 the child. The baffled coldness and hardness 
 shrivelled and, in their place, grew a most appealing 
 gentleness and sweetness; but the frail body did not 
 seem capable of responding to the new demands 
 made upon it. The warmth of love did not nourish 
 it; rather, it weakened it. The effort to undo what 
 had been done was too great a strain, and those who 
 looked on grew to accept what no one voiced the 
 early passing of little Constance. 
 
 "Davey," Constance would often say when alone 
 with the boy, "you do like me, don t you? I am 
 a hummer am I not, Davey ?" 
 
 "You re getting hummier every day!" Davey 
 replied. The fear that held the others, was as 
 wings to the boy s new feeling toward his little play 
 mate. 
 
 "It s beautiful to be what you want, me to be, 
 Davey. Once" here the thin voice trailed mourn 
 fully "I wanted to be like something inside of me, 
 but now I feel that I am inside of things all warm 
 and cosy. And at nights, Davey, when it is dark 
 and still, the mountains seem taking care of me 
 instead of wanting to fall on me. And while they 
 watch, the loveliest things come into the dark be 
 tween the high peaks!" 
 
 "Yes," Davey nodded, sagely, "I told big Thor 
 about you, and Thor told Uncle Mac that he would 
 crack a crevice right through the mountains so that 
 special things, straight from Wonderland could get 
 through just for you and me." 
 
 "Oh! Davey, how kind. Last night while it was 
 dark and still, Things came. They were such funny 
 
3 i8 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 things. Don t tell, Davey, but they were my grand 
 mothers and grandfathers all dressed up in jolly 
 clothes, and they said that they wished they d 
 never had their pictures taken!" 
 
 "That was funny," Davey admitted, for his rela 
 tions with pictures had always been pleasant. "What 
 did you tell your grandfathers and grandmothers?" 
 
 Constance laughed softly and replied: "I told 
 them Fd try and forget the pictures. And then, 
 Davey, they danced about really they did even 
 the one who went to Congress." 
 
 "Glenn could not, for all her sense of peace, leave 
 for long her plain duty. 
 
 "Mac," she confided to him one day, "Constance 
 frightens me." 
 
 "She frightens me, too." Grey dared no longer 
 hide the fact. "I think we d better get the best doc 
 tor we can, Glenn." 
 
 "Yes; but Mac, she ought to have her father. I 
 can see my own way clear; I have no doubts, but 
 Constance complicates things. Dick is her father!" 
 
 "For that, Glenn" Grey s jaws set "let us 
 wait until after Christmas." 
 
 "All right, Mac, but I want to tell you; I must tell 
 Daddy, too, that if if Dick takes Constance I 
 must go, too. It is the child that counts. I am only 
 beginning really to see Constance." 
 
 "Glenn; you have your own rights." The possi 
 bility of a reversion to the old regime made Grey 
 wince. 
 
 "I know, Mac. I know this is my place, but I 
 could follow my baby if needs were! I couldn t, 
 Mac I hope God will forgive me but I just couldn t 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 319 
 
 let Dick get control over Connie now that I have won 
 her from from the Carringtons." 
 
 Grey understood; he made no reply but he turned 
 his eyes away. He had recently had a letter from 
 Beverly Train of which he had said nothing. And 
 as he recalled it he heard Glenn s voice softly saying: 
 
 "Dick is punishing us, Mac; or he thinks he is. He 
 isn t. That s the sad part about Dick he misses 
 so much and doesn t even know it. He has a code 
 and he follows it even when he is all alone and 
 somehow he gets the idea that the results desired are 
 bound to come. Poor Dick." Then, quite suddenly, 
 and with a quick look about: "Mac; I d rather that 
 Connie would not live to be twelve if she had to be 
 like her father s people!" 
 
 "There, there! Glenn. You ve had a bad time 
 of it in your own way, and you are not equal to fair 
 dealing. Now after Christmas " 
 
 And then they all devoted themselves to Christ 
 mas. 
 
 The Mortons and the Pitkinses and some lonely 
 chaps from an isolated camp, and two or three be 
 wildered homesteaders were corralled for the celebra 
 tion. Arnold took the children into the forest to 
 choose a tree. 
 
 "Is there one as high as the highest peak?" asked 
 Davey. Constance looked about. 
 
 "Yes, just one, Davey. It s here. Come and 
 see it with your eyes." 
 
 Davey touched, with his sensitive finger tips, the 
 stately fir and then, with a laugh, he "saw" saw 
 stars hanging on it and Davey s stars were very 
 different from the stars of ordinary folk. They had 
 
320 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 a quality of shine that was almost breath-taking. 
 He saw strange and marvellous toys toys, that by 
 a mere trick, were transformed into breathing, think 
 ing creatures with opinions of their own. This al 
 ways made Constance laugh. Nothing was ever so 
 funny as Davey s wild cats that the fat bear cubs 
 made ashamed of being wild! 
 
 Toys came, as if by magic, from Beverly Train. 
 She had a positive genius for interpreting Davey s 
 ideas. She even managed the reformed wild cats 
 and the revivalistic cubs. There were toys that 
 squeaked and toys that were acrobatic; there were 
 toys in embryo-awaiting for the magic of little fingers 
 to give them form; and there were toys fashioned by 
 the rough hands of mountain men and women. 
 These last-named were given place by Beverly s 
 wonderful things near the tree, on Christmas 
 Eve. 
 
 So much stronger had Constance seemed, under the 
 excitement, that Glenn and Grey felt safe in sending 
 word to a Denver doctor to wait until after the holi 
 days for his visit to the Lodge, but late on the night 
 of the wonderful tree, Constance alarmed Glenn by a 
 quick, hot touch upon her face. 
 
 "Mother dear," she whispered, "the crevice in the 
 mountain is closed ! Things do not get through." 
 
 Glenn knew Grey s story, so she folded the child 
 close and said: 
 
 "Mother is here, Connie; Mother will try to wake 
 Thorup." 
 
 "Never mind, Mother, you will do. I just didn t 
 want to be all alone." 
 
 "All right, dear heart!" Then, to herself: "God 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 321 
 
 forgive me if I ve taken any chance. We ll send, to 
 morrow, for the doctor." 
 
 "Can any one hear me, Mother?" Constance 
 was murmuring her feverish lips close to her moth 
 er s ear. 
 
 "No, dear little Connie!" 
 
 "Mother; it tires me so to to try and see things 
 all the time." 
 
 "Well, do not try, childie, just look at things as 
 they are." 
 
 "When I do that Mother, it hurts! I see my old 
 grandmothers and my old grandfathers and and 
 Mother, I never did want to be like them, but I 
 thought I had to be. And and Mother, I didn t 
 love my father most but it seemed that it was right. 
 I always loved you most Mother!" 
 
 "Don t talk any more, dear." Glenn s face was 
 wet with her own tears. 
 
 "We re all quite happy now, aren t we, Mother?" 
 
 "Are you happy, little girl?" 
 
 " Well almost. I wish my big grandfather Arnold 
 thought I was his folks! I told him that that I 
 didn t know that I wanted to be but I do, Mother." 
 
 "Why, my darling, you are his folks!" 
 
 "But Davey is isfolksier, Mother, dear." 
 
 "Connie, dear, Davey is not grandfather s folks 
 at all." Glenn felt that she must make this clear if 
 she could. The thought troubled her. 
 
 "I think he is, Mother. Uncle Mac could make 
 you know what I mean. 
 
 "Next to you, Mother, I like Uncle Mac." 
 
 Glenn thought the child was growing calmer, so 
 she humoured her: 
 
322 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Do you, lambie?" 
 
 "I wish" then with abandon "I wish he were 
 my father!" 
 
 "Oh! Connie; hush!" 
 
 " But you said no one could hear, Mother except 
 you." 
 
 " But I do not want to hear, Connie." 
 
 "Why not, Mother?" 
 
 "Because well, after me and Uncle Mac, who 
 comes next in your love, little girl ? " Glenn breathed 
 quickly as if she were running from some unseen 
 peril. The black, shining eyes were growing sleepily 
 misty. 
 
 "Davey; then all the others; then my big grand 
 father Arnold and and" the lids drooped 
 "and my father ! " Glenn drew the child closer with 
 a passion of awakened suffering. 
 
 "Oh!" she murmured," if only she had not put him 
 last. I dare not, I dare not cheat him of Connie 
 and I know now that, if I want to, I can! I have 
 got her away from the Carringtons but her father 
 her father! I dare not keep her from him." 
 
 The doctor came, after Christmas. He was the 
 specialist of whom Arnold had such a high opinion, 
 Davis by name. He looked and listened. He stayed 
 three days, then said, with that infinite gentleness 
 that seeks to soften a deadly hurt: 
 
 "She isn t going to live to be twelve, Mrs. Carring- 
 
 ton." 
 
 Glenn shivered. She was alone with the doctor 
 she had bared the past to him, in her effort to help 
 her child. 
 
 "And will it be soon?" she quivered. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 323 
 
 "I am afraid so." 
 
 " Could could anything be done? Would she be 
 better in her home? her father s home?" 
 
 "No. And the journey, now, would be impossible 
 for her." 
 
 "Oh! doctor, have I done wrong?" 
 
 "Emphatically no y Mrs. Carrington." 
 
 "I will write to her father, to-night." 
 
 "That is only right. I ll take the letter with me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The letter went. It passed one from Carrington, 
 on the way up. Carrington had decided, just before 
 starting for Florida, not to wait until spring for his 
 ultimatum, but to put it squarely up to his wife at 
 once. 
 
 Constance, however, was to evade them all. She 
 did not get up after Christmas. She was tired. Her 
 old attack did not appear; instead, it was a new de 
 velopment. The child lay quite still, for hours 
 looking, looking beyond them all, at something that 
 they could not see. After a few days the "some 
 thing" absorbed all that was left of her. She grew 
 fretful uneasy. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" Glenn whispered. 
 
 "I I cannot find the way!" This came on a 
 half sob. 
 
 "What way, beloved?" 
 
 "I I don t know." 
 
 Then Grey tried his magic, but it failed. Davey 
 came; but his "eyes" could not discover the hidden 
 trail; nor could all Glenn s love and anguish. 
 
 "Daddy; you try!" she pleaded. They had car- 
 
3 2 4 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ried Constance into Arnold s old bedroom because 
 that was on the ground floor. 
 
 So Arnold came, rather clumsily; he could not even 
 then hide his feeling toward the child, but he bundled 
 her slight form in a blanket and took her to the win 
 dow. He sat in the deep, old rocker where Glenn s 
 mother had once sat and dreamed of her coming 
 baby. 
 
 The shade was raised and the night was a white 
 and wonderful one. It had soft, flying clouds and 
 a star! Arnold felt his heart beat quicker as memory 
 stirred him. 
 
 "What do you want, child?" he whispered. Con 
 stance lay quiet her eyes fixed on Arnold. 
 
 "I I want to be your your folks ! " The weak 
 voice trailed pitifully. 
 
 "You you are my folks, little girl." 
 
 "Really? truly? You re not seeing me with Da- 
 vey s eyes?" 
 
 "No with my own!" Then Arnold found that 
 he could not see the child at all, his sight was dim 
 med. He looked away looked out into the night. 
 Through the mist, that star, just over the youngish 
 clump of pines, seemed to detach itself get free! 
 Long rays stretched down from it. It was like a trail 
 that led up and out! Mechanically, Arnold got 
 upon his feet and held the frail body outward as 
 if offering it to unseen arms. 
 
 "Our girl s little one!" he muttered; "our Mary 
 Glenn s baby!" 
 
 Then the room became very quiet. Arnold still 
 held the light form, outward. Glenn, with aching 
 eyes, stood close but could not speak. She saw her 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 325 
 
 child s eyes close peacefully; the firm, little mouth 
 relax, as it never had done in life. Then the face on 
 Arnold s breast became young and tender! 
 
 And thus Infinite Love took the little girl the last 
 of the Carrington race! 
 
 Just then Grey came into the room and went to 
 Glenn. For a moment he did not sense what had 
 happened. It was always so with him in Glenn s 
 presence; she absorbed him. 
 
 "I have a letter for you," he said. 
 
 "From Dick?" Glenn did not turn her head. 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "It has come too late!" 
 
 "What!" Then Grey looked at Arnold and the 
 child. 
 
 The small, dark face, lovely in its peaceful rest, 
 had undergone a marvellous change. Arnold watched 
 it fascinated. Then he spoke, as from a distance: 
 
 "Glenn, Mac, come here!" he commanded. They 
 came close. 
 
 "Look! Never forget. God s ways are mysteri 
 ous; beyond finding out. The child is like your 
 mother, Glenn. There was never a trace before, but 
 it is here now from brow to chin. She, your 
 mother, has been near us has left her touch " 
 
 The strong voice broke, the arms trembled. 
 
 " Mary ! " Arnold whispered, reverently. And then 
 he turned to lay the little burden upon the bed. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A TELEGRAM followed the letter to Carring- 
 ton. Both were forwarded to Florida where, 
 in gloomy detachment, the lonely man got 
 through the long days and nights as best he could. 
 He was bitter and morose. He dwelt much upon the 
 ingratitude of men, and the one woman upon whom 
 he had lavished so much ! He put the emphasis al 
 ways upon the high points, eliminating all other 
 aspects. 
 
 He thought of Thompson who had been permitted 
 to rise from obscure poverty to success. He did 
 not admit that Thompson s success was due to his 
 own powers, aided by the older Carrington s recogni 
 tion of them and utilization of them for his own, not 
 Thompson s, advancement. 
 
 "In this country any man worth his salt, can 
 rise!" muttered Carrington. With well-trained mod 
 esty, he ignored the factor that had helped and 
 guided Thompson. Then the common horde re 
 ceived their share of Carrington s scorn. 
 
 "Damn the scoundrels who have been permitted 
 to get the bit in their teeth! We must have com 
 mand again; we must do the driving." 
 
 Finally Carrington brought his wife before the 
 Judgment Seat of his stern code. With his flare of 
 passion gone, he regarded her, perhaps, more clearly 
 then he had ever done before. Now that the convic- 
 
 326 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 327 
 
 tion was surely gripping him, that she meant to be as 
 stubborn as he, he set his jaw and clinched his hands. 
 He saw her as Woman, just as he saw his work people 
 as hands. Both were flying in the face of God and 
 man and must be controlled. What had the world 
 come to when the lower classes dared to stop the 
 wheels of commerce and women walked out of their 
 husbands homes taking the children without 
 cause or grievance? For by that time Carrington 
 had almost forgotten the scene in the library; he had 
 never grasped its meaning. He only remembered 
 his years of devotion yes, he called them that, and 
 believed it! his generous showering of wealth and 
 luxury upon Glenn. "Base ingratitude!" he mut 
 tered and before the bar, Thompson and Glenn stood 
 side by side, with the common horde! 
 
 Suddenly, Grey came into focus. Through all the 
 years of early manhood, Grey had managed to wedge 
 himself in between Carrington s creed and his creed- 
 less philosophy. In school and college it had always 
 been the same. But now he had grown to hate and 
 fear Grey. While he had believed him a dreamer of 
 dreams a man outside the pale of real men he 
 could tolerate him; but that interview with Beverly 
 Train; that letter she had shown him, had, somehow, 
 unsettled him about Grey. 
 
 "The fellow casts a shadow where there is no 
 substance!" thought Carrington. "And then sneaks 
 off, refusing to play the game. Let him roll up his 
 sleeves and work, instead of writing fairy stories and 
 defending helpless women!" Here Carrington 
 
 sneered. "Let him find what business means in 
 stead of passing around the hat!" 
 
328 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Still, against this onslaught, Grey s image stood 
 firm and menacing. So would it always stand, the 
 harassed man knew. From boy to man, Grey had 
 been a strange opposing force to Carrington. With 
 out money, without effort, he had obtained what 
 Carrington could not secure and now he had become 
 a menace. 
 
 In this mood Carrington received Glenn s letter 
 concerning Constance and her willingness to bring 
 the child home, should Carrington command her to 
 do so. 
 
 "I have no right to keep Connie from you, Dick/ 
 so the words ran; "you are her father." 
 
 This made Carrington smile, and his smile was not 
 good to look upon. "Coming to terms!" he thought; 
 "getting tired of the simple life. I thought this 
 would be the outcome!" And he felt how wise he 
 had been to wait, in patience, holding all curiosity in 
 check. 
 
 "Very well!" he thought on; "we ll work through 
 Constance," and Carrington reflected upon the far 
 sightedness of his personal lawyer. 
 
 But while Carrington was taking a long breath, 
 congratulating himself upon his masterly handling 
 of a delicate matter, the telegram came from Grey. 
 
 Constance died last night. What are your wishes ? GREY. 
 
 It was like hurling an added insult for Grey to put 
 that question. "His wishes!" How dared they 
 permit Grey to ask that? At that moment Carring 
 ton had no wishes, except for revenge. He felt 
 defeat unjust, unmerited defeat but still, defeat. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 329 
 
 In his loneliness and impotency he recalled Beverly 
 Train s words: "I trust that Almighty God will, at 
 last, have His way with you." Carrington was above 
 superstition and he had never felt the need of divine 
 help in his affairs nor had he ever recognized divine 
 interference, but he recalled the words! They 
 haunted him angered him made him more defiant 
 than ever. 
 
 He got into immediate communication with his 
 lawyer, and Grey received a telegram : 
 
 Mr. Carrington desires that the body of his child be sent to his 
 home at once. It will be buried in the family plot. 
 
 Grey read the message to Glenn as she sat alone 
 beside the bed on which rested the straight, quiet 
 form of her little girl. 
 
 "Her body!" she said, looking pitifully up at 
 Grey "her poor little body! Just the dust, Mac, 
 that is all; just the dust is all Dick can take. The 
 rest her spirit, her real self they will stay here al 
 ways, free and happy." 
 
 "And you, Glenn what will you do? go too?" 
 
 "No, Mac. I mean to stay right here, and keep 
 the beautiful memory of my little girl safe. I have 
 done all that I could do for Connie!" 
 
 With this she bent over the waxen form. Grey 
 turned away. 
 
 A day later the body of little Constance Carrington 
 was sent to its father just the quiet body. 
 
 Then there followed another blank time of waiting. 
 Surely Carrington would write or come. 
 
 He wrote. He had been shocked beyond expres- 
 
330 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 sion at Glenn s barbarity in refusing to accompany 
 the body of her child. He certainly had not an 
 ticipated such an act and it drove him to the wall. 
 When the horrors of the private funeral were over; 
 when he could somewhat control his outraged feel 
 ings he wrote. 
 
 With all the law of the Medes and the Persians - 
 and the Latter-Day Saints he assailed his wife. 
 She had gone, he informed her, beyond the bounds 
 where a man could, with any degree of self-respect, 
 cooperate. That being granted, Carrington drew his 
 sword, striking at every foe in sight. Until Glenn 
 returned to his rightful authority, he refused support. 
 His door stood open to her upon his terms; those 
 terms to be discussed in Massachusetts! 
 
 He would never grant a divorce. There was ab 
 solutely no ground and he would stand firmly upon 
 his rights and uphold the decencies of American 
 ideals. 
 
 Glenn read the letter two or three times. She 
 could not think very clearly. Since Constance s 
 little body had gone upon its lonely journey, it took 
 all Glenn s strength to keep the living memory of the 
 child clear. 
 
 " Daddy," she said, wearily, at last; "Daddy, here 
 is a letter from Dick. I wish you and Mac would 
 read it. Somehow I do not seem able to take it in." 
 
 Arnold "took it in"; and so did Grey. "It s our 
 turn to keep silence and let him do the guessing," 
 grimly muttered Grey. 
 
 "Mac," Arnold s eyes blazed, "if that scoundrel 
 thinks that his living-dead hand is going to crush the 
 life out of my girl, he s got several guesses coming." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 331 
 
 "What are you going to do, Arnold?" 
 
 "First: wait till Glenn comes to herself. Second: 
 I m going to get her free!" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "It s the waiting spell, now, Mac. We can afford 
 to wait. He won t give a divorce, eh? What if 
 she demands one outside Massachusetts? There 
 are other states besides Massachusetts, though he 
 doesn t seem to know it." 
 
 "But will she, Arnold?" 
 
 "We must wait and see!" 
 
 And so they waited. Winter is the waiting time 
 of the year. Under the deep snows, life most abund 
 ant stirs and grows. The sap creeps upward, as the 
 spring draws near, and often from the longest silence 
 and shadow issues the rarest Fulfilment. 
 
 And so it was at the Lodge. Everyone had 
 some one else to consider and so each grew stronger, 
 more reliant. Everyone was looking forward to 
 a definite something that seemed near, though un 
 seen. 
 
 Polly and Sam felt that Davey must soon go to 
 that mystic shrine of which Grey had spoken, and 
 which bore Davey s own name. 
 
 "And the breaking would be too hard to bear," 
 Polly confided to Sam, "if we hadn t seen the good 
 a child can do Davey, and how lonely he is with the 
 child gone from his life." 
 
 "It sure is wonderful," Sam replied, "how we get 
 trained for what is to be. And I m thinking, Polly, 
 that when we stop trying to run our own ideas, bigger 
 ones run us. Just suppose " 
 
 And then sitting in their cosy room, which Beverly 
 
332 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Train had made lovely, they supposed, and supposed, 
 while their eyes grew wide and deep and till their 
 hands at last reached out toward each other! 
 
 "Davey will never be held back by us, Sam." 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 "And Sam, the baby that is coming, it will come 
 in summer just as Davey did. This new little baby 
 will keep Davey s place warm and welcome and our 
 hearts loving and thankful." 
 
 "It s wonderful the ways of life. Wonderful! 
 And, Polly, there s a sad little slip of a thing down at 
 Connor s that oughtn t to be there. She s doing 
 kitchen work now but she s too good-looking for 
 the kitchen and " 
 
 "Sam fetch her away! As God is good to us, 
 fetch her away!" Polly pleaded. 
 
 "I thought you d say that, Polly. And the girl 
 will help you when you need help. Some won t 
 come from Connor s, but this girl is afraid of the 
 place already!" 
 
 "Bring her, Sam, while she is afraid!" 
 
 "Done!" cried Sam, and he flung his head back 
 bravely. 
 
 "And I m hoping," Polly wandered on, "that this 
 new baby of ours, Sam, will be a girl. Glenn and I 
 were talking it over, and Glenn said she s terrible 
 deep-thinking these days, Sam she says that if it is 
 a girl we must name it Constance, and that maybe 
 God will let her Constance have a bit of a part in 
 her and live a little child on earth which she 
 never rightly did on her own account." 
 
 "Curious!" muttered Sam, "curious; but I had 
 the same idea only I was afraid to speak it out. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 333 
 
 That poor little creature of Glenn s ought to have 
 reached out a mite farther than what she did, before 
 she was ended." 
 
 At the Lodge Glenn spoke seldom of her child. 
 Once she said to Grey: 
 
 "If I cried at all, Mac, it would be because I ought 
 not to cry. She was so little to be so old; so weak to 
 have been so terribly strong. Just think, Mac, of a 
 little child knowing childhood for so short a time that 
 it tired her. Mac, dear, what does it all mean?" 
 
 Grey could not answer he was busy on his own 
 problems. He wrote day after day; he exercised out 
 of doors; he dug deep into the unseen corners of his 
 nature and applied all the sternest methods known 
 to him in stiffening his moral fibre. He knew that 
 he was going to act, presently, and he meant to have 
 done with all pros and cons before he entered the 
 fray. 
 
 Glenn and Arnold, side by side, reached out now 
 and again to touch each other, but both were tread 
 ing their own trails. It was almost laughable at 
 times to find that they had been running parallel 
 and close, in the silence. 
 
 "I m coming to the conclusion", Arnold said one 
 day, looking toward Glenn, "that it would be a 
 mighty good thing for me to spend some of the year 
 down among my fellow creatures. I m considerably 
 more young than I am old, and I may not take this 
 cut through life again. It s common sense to see 
 all you can, on a trip that you pay so high for." 
 
 "Oh, Daddy!" and Glenn smiled up at him "I 
 have been thinking that, too. I m considerably more 
 old than I am young, I guess. You get that way, 
 
334 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Daddy, after Hollows and and things like that. 
 Since Connie went, I understand what those little 
 frayed, white ribbons on doors mean! I d like to 
 help a little if you were near, Daddy dear." 
 
 "And we might get some of those Hollowites up 
 where the air is better," nodded Arnold. 
 
 "Yes, Dad; and we could make the air better 
 down there; Miss Beverly Train does." 
 
 "That s right," Arnold nodded again. "If some 
 folks mess the work the Lord gave us to do that 
 means just so much more work for others!" he said, 
 grimly. Both he and Glenn were thinking of Carring- 
 ton, though they never spoke his name. 
 
 And then in late March, Sam brought the mail one 
 afternoon and jogged along up the trail saying as he 
 rode off: 
 
 "I ve got company, on ahead. A small young 
 person from Connor s, Peggy Shaw by name. She s 
 riding the pack pony. Polly needs some one and 
 this youngster was outgrowing Connor s and " 
 
 Glenn came close to him and reached up her hands. 
 
 "Sam!" she said Polly had told her of the small, 
 young person "you make me believe in God s love." 
 
 When Glenn returned to her father and Grey she 
 found Grey s face white and drawn. 
 
 "Beverly Train is dead!" Arnold explained; he 
 was standing, hat in hand, beside Grey. 
 
 "Dead? Beverly Train? Why- Glenn s 
 eyes filled "why, Mac, how empty the world 
 seems already without her! In one minute we 
 know it." 
 
 And indeed, standing there with the first real 
 touch of spring on their faces, the world did, sud- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 335 
 
 denly, feel a sad lack; felt as if the sun had gone 
 under a cloud. 
 
 "Here s the letter from Margaret," Grey said, 
 slowly and with an effort; "read it. There is another 
 from Beverly to me. I must take time for that, 
 later. The shock has rather used me up." 
 
 And yet Margaret s few words were gentle and 
 calm the mere fact was the shock. The realiza 
 tion that they must do without something rare and 
 fine. Poor Margaret s scrawling letter said : 
 
 She told me not to write till twas too late for you to come to 
 the funeral. She wanted you to remember her as she was. 
 
 She wasn t sick, Mr. Mac, she was feeling better and that day, 
 it was a real warmish day, she asked Tom to wheel her down to 
 the shelter where the first flowers are. Tom had a real feast for 
 her. She laughed and clapped her hands just like a kid and then 
 she said she had a fancy to take a nap among the flowers. I 
 covered her up warm and then while I worked around with Tom, 
 I kept my eye on her. 
 
 It was like she was dreaming something awful pleasant, Mr. 
 Mac. She kinder smiled and once she laughed outright and both 
 me and Tom got up at that and stood close by her. Sudden she 
 opened her eyes and looked straight at us but she saw more 
 than us! She looked surprised and glad and she said as soft as 
 could be "Well!" Just that one word and she laughed again and 
 that s all, Mr. Mac, except she looked beautiful as a baby in her 
 coffin and the minister, as once didn t take to her, came and 
 cried over her and said wonderful things and her people came, 
 people like me and Tom and some neighbours and since then 
 we ve been fearful lonely but trying to keep on, just as if she 
 was looking. 
 
 The sheets dropped from Glenn s hands. She 
 reached out to Grey. 
 
 "Mac," she whispered, "we must all keep on 
 just as if she were looking." 
 
336 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "Yes, Glenn, we owe her that." And Grey clung 
 to the hand in his. 
 
 By his own fireside, late that night, Grey opened 
 the envelope that had been enclosed in Margaret s 
 letter. He found that it contained slips of paper; 
 detached thoughts written, now and then, as they 
 had occurred to Beverly and jotted down carelessly, 
 as if more for reference than for permanent data. 
 They had evidently run over years; some were in 
 pencil and difficult to decipher. Grey read: 
 
 My brain, my emotions were not stunted, Mac, nor my de 
 sires. That was the hard part. I wanted all that other women 
 want, but I knew from the beginning that I could not have it. 
 I used to wonder why God didn t drug my soul while the body 
 went through the furnace. People do not think always how such 
 as I can be, inwardly, what more fortunate women are. 
 
 I think my father understood. He made the most of what 
 I had. He trained my mind; taught me his ideals and hopes; 
 made of me the machine to work them out after he vras gone. 
 That was better than nothing. I learned to bless him for it. He 
 taught me the love for people; he taught me the laws of things 
 and people. He used to laugh and say: "Beverly, you will never 
 be able to plead before a wordly court, but God will listen to 
 your brief." I have done the best that I could, Mac, and I ve 
 had some pleasure out of it, too. It became a game to me the 
 snatching of men and women from their own laws. 
 
 I learned, as my father learned, that fallen men and women 
 were but poor souls going in the wrong direction but going! 
 Once you helped them up, they generally got their bearings. 
 Sometimes it took a good many tumbles, but that meant faith 
 and patience on our parts. 
 
 How afraid people are of their stupid laws. Afraid to mend 
 them; afraid to smash them. 
 
 Well, Father and I took folks as we found them, and did the 
 best. We were always more afraid of the ones who never tum 
 bled, who never thanked God that they had been saved the worst! 
 Generally, those who walked too straight failed to see what was 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 337 
 
 i 
 
 on their way. Sometimes they crushed what they should have 
 stepped aside for. 
 
 Grey read on and on. The rambling thoughts, 
 on the scraps of paper, were the guide-posts along the 
 crippled woman s painful way. 
 
 At last came the one dated but a few weeks before 
 Beverly Train died. 
 
 Mac, with the exception of my father, you have been the only 
 man in my life who really needed me knew how I needed him. 
 
 I have played with you with my love for you; I have been in 
 fancy, your sweetheart, your wife, the mother of your children. 
 Then your mother; fighting your battles, glorying in your victor 
 ies, for oh! you have been such a bungling, human creature, you 
 poor dear! 
 
 And lastly Mac, I became your friend. The highest, finest 
 thing a woman can be to a man. 
 
 And so, since I must soon go and I hope it will be from my 
 garden when the flowers are there, and Tom and Margaret, those 
 dear, faithful comforts, near me I want to tell you, less cold 
 bloodedly than my lawyer will, that I leave everything to you as 
 I warned you that I would! You will think, at first, that it is a 
 heavy burden that I have laid upon you; but, dear boy, it is not. 
 Once you put your hand on the wheel you will find that every 
 thing will glide easily over the tracks. God has seen to the 
 tracks! He is a good God, Mac; always remember that it will 
 guide you when you seem most lost. Man may try to deceive 
 you about God but God is good ! 
 
 This dear old, stopping place "On the Way," keep it as it is! 
 Margaret and Tom will stay. I ve made it possible for them to 
 go, but they will remain, I feel sure. 
 
 You will find to your surprise, no doubt that I have many 
 such places north, east, south, and west as that cabin of mine 
 on your heights. I always wanted to go and see them but I al 
 ways knew that I could not on wheels. But with wings! ah! 
 Mac, what may not happen ? I want people, always, as guests in 
 my little homes, and I ve rather chuckled over the thought that, 
 
338 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 when they least imagined it, I would run, or fly in, to tell them 
 how glad I am about it all. They will not hear or see me, but 
 all the same I believe that they will feel me there and be the hap 
 pier for it. 
 
 And now, just as I bid you good-bye and ask Heaven to bless 
 you, I am going to fly in the face of all the laws of man and 
 those that man says are God s. 
 
 I do not think you can do my work alone, Mac. It was never 
 done so well after Father went. It needs both man and woman, 
 and I want you, somehow, to get Glenn to help you! No man 
 has a right to strangle a woman by his clutch on her. If he tries 
 to, his clutch must be pried open I mean Dick s clutch. I once 
 told you that the worker did not count against the work; he 
 doesn t, either, in the best sense. Some day, use this argument 
 to Glenn if all else should fail. And, Mac you must tell Glenn 
 about Kathleen, you owe her that owe it to Kathleen; to your 
 work. 
 
 Grey folded the scraps with reverent hands and 
 put them in his desk. Then he went to the door, 
 opened it and flung it wide to the still, fragrant night. 
 He looked over to the knoll on which Beverly s cabin 
 stood; a white, filmy mist floated over it as a spirit 
 might in passing. The place did not seem empty 
 or bereaved; Beverly seemed to have come at last 
 where most she longed to be near the only man, 
 besides her father, who had known her need, had 
 voiced his need of her. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A I INCIDENT, slight in itself, can often set 
 the world to singing fill it with golden sun 
 light. MacDonald Grey s return to the 
 Lodge, after an absence of three weeks, had accom 
 plished this. He had gone away to attend to the 
 affairs of Beverly Train and he had taken Davey 
 with him. 
 
 Davey was to enter upon his life work, also, and 
 like a gallant and faithful adventurer he had hidden 
 his fears and doubts, as children do and had de 
 parted sitting on the horse in front of his father, for 
 Sam had gone with them as far as he could. 
 
 Grey, upon setting forth, had said: "I cannot 
 tell how long I shall be away. It all depends." 
 
 "Of course," Arnold had replied. 
 
 "Of course," Glenn repeated. But the Lodge 
 seemed unutterably lonely even before Grey was 
 gone. 
 
 And then, without announcing his return, Grey 
 had appeared. 
 
 "Glad to see you, Mac," Arnold cried. And his 
 joy was obvious. 
 
 "Oh! I m so glad!" gasped Glenn. Then she 
 added, calmly: "There was not much to do?" 
 
 "Enough to fill the rest of my life but I I had 
 to come back!" With this Grey drew his brows 
 together and hurriedly talked of Davev. 
 
 339 
 
340 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "I think," he began, "that the pathetic bravery of 
 very old people, and of children, is about the most 
 tragic thing on earth. I can remember my grand 
 mother making her big effort to keep up with life, 
 and poor little Davey did his best to catch up with 
 it. Never a tear unless at night; always a smile. 
 Always seeing* things, rinding the lights and shades 
 where I saw only the substance. I went to see him 
 every day at the school. He s going to get love and 
 comradeship there; they took to him at the start. 
 Gradually he let go of the past and touched the 
 future. When he did that I knew that he was all 
 right." 
 
 They talked a little longer of Davey, and of Bev 
 erly Train s orderly legacy. 
 
 "It s like a place left ready." Grey concluded. 
 Then he got up abruptly and started for his cabin. 
 
 "I haven t slept much lately," he explained; "that 
 always knocks me out." 
 
 After he had closed the door, Arnold remarked: 
 "Queer how some folks just naturally belong!" 
 
 "Yes," Glenn replied, "but I wonder if others 
 always think of the the cost ? " 
 
 Arnold made no answer. He was simply glad to 
 get Grey back and he went whistling from the room. 
 
 Then it was that Glenn noticed the glad, golden 
 quality of the day and also her desire to sing! The 
 realization frightened her and all the danger of the 
 situation came upon her as it had during Grey s 
 absence. 
 
 "The cost to everybody!" she thought, and 
 trembled. While she could accept Grey believing 
 that her growing love for him was alone to be con- 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 341 
 
 sidered she had clung to the dear safety of his pre 
 sence, had leaned upon his strength but his words: 
 "I had to come back" the weariness of his face 
 caused her own need to shrink and fade. She saw 
 Grey! Saw him suddenly, as if Beverly Train were 
 talking of him as she had, long ago, in her garden. 
 
 "You see," Beverly had explained, "he had suf 
 fered so much himself that no call of any human kind 
 could escape him. He was often taken advantage of 
 for that very reason, often miserably misunderstood. 
 What he gave impersonally, he gave so joyously 
 and fully, that people sometimes took it personally. 
 That made trouble and he was too simple and direct to 
 protect himself. You should have seen him when 
 he first came to live with his grandmother!" At 
 that point Glenn found herself smiling at the picture 
 Beverly had drawn. "His grandmother had never 
 forgiven his mother s marriage. Mac s father was 
 the sort that it was hard to forgive, I grant. A mis 
 erable wretch, but after all his mother suffered the 
 most and the old lady s hate should not have ex 
 tended to poor Mac. But she was afraid to get in 
 touch with the man she loathed and so she never saw 
 Mac until after his father died. He had been living 
 on a farm ill-used, overworked, and tragically lonely. 
 How he ever kept his splendid courage, his dreams, 
 and his hopes, I never could tell; but he did. He 
 got some education too: did the work of other 
 boys in return for books and instruction. With 
 this equipment he confronted his grandmother. 
 Ragged, dirty, frightened but carrying himself as 
 proudly as she he came to town. He had a perfect 
 genius for making friends and he conquered his 
 
342 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 grandmother at once. She let herself go where he 
 was concerned; tried to spoil him, but couldn t. He 
 was head on for making the best of his new life just 
 as he had made of his old. He was bound to learn, 
 and he is still at it!" 
 
 Standing by the window, looking toward Grey s 
 cabin, Glenn at last saw only him! She drew her 
 father, the Mortons, herself, away from him. She 
 looked at him and thought of him and knew that he 
 loved her! Her eyes dimmed. She wondered how 
 long he had loved her loved her as she loved him? 
 
 "I know now that I ve always loved him," she 
 thought. "It was something else, before, and now 
 it is too late!" 
 
 With that the hold that Carrington had upon her 
 tightened; it pressed all the inherited beliefs and 
 prejudices into evidence. The shrinking of a good, 
 pure woman made a coward of her she could not 
 see Right because of the cloud of witnesses for Wrong. 
 She dared not take the courage of her own heart s 
 knowledge into account because what seemed right 
 and just in her case, was the easiest, sweetest thing 
 the thing she wanted to do! She battled with her 
 knowledge of Carrington her convictions. She set 
 them against her love, her desire for service, her be 
 lief that beside Grey, she could best do her life work. 
 But in the end the ugly truth remained that she 
 wanted freedom from Carrington in order to give 
 herself to Grey. Grey was near: he obliterated Car 
 rington. "If Mac had only cared back in the 
 beginning! Oh, if he only had!" 
 
 And yet with all this sudden pain and doubt the 
 day still was golden, and Glenn s heart wanted to 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 343 
 
 sing. He was there just across the little space! 
 There lay the well-trodden path over which he had 
 wearily gone! 
 
 And then quite without any definite thought as to 
 why she was going, Glenn went out and walked 
 quietly to Grey s cabin door. He must have been 
 weary to the verge of exhaustion for he had sat in the 
 chair by his desk and bowed his head upon his out 
 stretched arms ! His hat had fallen off this brought 
 back to Glenn the memory of him as she had first 
 seen him and the appeal made her heart beat faster. 
 Grey was evidently sleeping for he was motionless. 
 
 There was no fire lighted upon the hearth, though 
 the wood lay ready. The autumn day was warm 
 out of doors in the sunlight but inside the house a 
 chill lingered. The door was ajar. Noiselessly 
 Glenn went in and struck a match. She thought 
 this would rouse Grey, but it did not. She set the 
 flame to the shavings and watched the quiet man, 
 undisturbed by the crackling. 
 
 Then a sudden fear shot though her heart! Sup 
 pose that he was not sleeping! Such things did hap 
 pen! She ran to his side, she bent and listened. He 
 was breathing evenly, deeply. He was still in the 
 bright world where the sun was the blessed songs 
 the world in which she was! 
 
 And then Glenn noticed that a sheet of paper, 
 dropped from the relaxed fingers, lay spread open 
 as if for her to read. She did not mean to read it, 
 but her own name caught her eye. Then, she knew! 
 
 And, Mac, you must tell Glenn about Kathleen. You owe 
 her that owe it to Kathleen; to your work. 
 
344 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 For a moment Glenn felt as she had felt in her 
 long-ago dream in the half-way house when she had 
 expected to look upon Grey s face at her feet and 
 had seen a stranger s! In all her thought of Grey 
 her belief that she knew him no woman had ever 
 entered in to confuse her ideal. She had never even 
 considered it and the shock she experienced, now, in 
 stead of driving Grey from her brought him nearer. 
 This, had her experience done for her ! Almost she laid 
 her hand upon his bent shoulder! Then she quietly 
 sat down on the opposite side of the desk and waited ! 
 
 Grey s dog stole in; looked about and gravely 
 stretched himself beside his master s chair. He, too 
 waited. The fire crackled cheerfully. The sun crept 
 around to the west window and there was a path of 
 light between it and Beverly Train s cabin. Over 
 the bright way Memory led Thought and big things 
 became pitifully small and worthless, while little 
 things grew massive and compelling. In the silence, 
 merely emphasized by the slight sounds, the creating 
 forces of life, unimpeded, held sway and suddenly 
 Glenn, spiritually, stood guard over Grey. Already, 
 before she knew she understood and believed in 
 him. 
 
 Then, slowly, Grey raised his head; and his eyes 
 rested upon Glenn. She smiled, and so did he, 
 though his was a puzzled, dream-racked smile while 
 hers was divinely clear and serene. 
 
 Grey did a mad thing. He spoke as if he were 
 continuing his explanation as to his return: 
 
 "Because I love you! I had to come." 
 
 "Yes, Mac dear. And now tell me about 
 Kathleen." 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 345 
 
 Instantly Grey s fingers clutched the sheet of pa 
 per. 
 
 "I I was going to," he said, quite simply and 
 not evincing any surprise. He and the woman near 
 him, were in the grip of the inevitable. "I meant 
 to tell you long ago right after she died. Dick 
 brought me word of her death, when he first came. 
 It well, it rather shocked me and before I got my 
 breath you see, Dick had got you!" 
 
 "Yes, Mac dear, I understand. I wish that you 
 had told me!" 
 
 "I couldn t." 
 
 " Perhaps not. I suppose I had to to go my way. 
 But Mac, please tell me now." 
 
 "Kathleen s husband divorced her. I was the 
 co-respondent!" 
 
 It was like Grey since later he must take a dif 
 ferent position to hurl the ugliest fact at himself 
 first. It gave him a sense of decency and self- 
 respect and he faced the flicker in Glenn s eyes with 
 positive relief. He wanted to be hurt a little even 
 if he did not deserve it. 
 
 "I m listening, Mac." 
 
 And so she was listening and looking over to 
 ward Beverly s cabin where love and faith hovered 
 and gave confidence! 
 
 "It was such a lying, dirty mess, Glenn that there 
 was no outlet I had to go through it. Kathleen 
 was a friend of Dick s she and her husband. They 
 had the sort of house that people went to young 
 people. Maurey, the husband, was jolly and all 
 that but he was a beast. He treated his wife in 
 fernally and my contempt for him was I m afraid 
 
346 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 I cannot make you understand this but it was mis 
 understood by her, by Kathleen." 
 
 Glenn was listening to Beverly Train as well as to 
 Grey. Beverly seemed to draw close, determined 
 that no creeping doubt should hold part. 
 
 "Yes, Mac, dear," was all she said. 
 
 "I stayed away, and she could not comprehend 
 why I did so. I hated to seem a cad and I was sorry 
 for her. Suddenly Maurey took a new turn; he 
 became decent to his wife; seemed to well, like me 
 better. I was fool enough to hope that I had helped 
 her; that he was not such a scoundrel as I had be 
 lieved. 
 
 "After my grandmother s death and that hap 
 pened just then I took rooms in town near Beverly 
 Train s place. I was working hard and feeling rather 
 lonely. Thinking everything was safe at the Mau- 
 rey s I kept going there, on and off. Maurey was 
 full of life and Kathleen sang well. It all helped 
 pass a time that was rather rough. Then I began 
 to sense something that I couldn t understand. I 
 did what I should have done long before I packed 
 ctp my work and took myself to the mountains with 
 out telling any one of my going. I left the key of my 
 rooms with a poor chap who used to go there to study. 
 Then"[at this Grey straightened himself and his eyes 
 hardened] "then the devil took a hand in the game! 
 I suppose a scoundrel, a weak little woman, and 
 a young ass were too good a combination to toss 
 aside without playing a trick with them." Grey 
 laughed. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn t laugh like that, Mac, dear," 
 Glenn said. The sound hurt her It had a defiant 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 347 
 
 tone as if to confront mistrust on her part and oh ! 
 how she was trusting him; brooding over him. 
 
 "Forgive me!" Grey said and leaned toward her. 
 
 "You see, Maurey wanted to get rid of his wife 
 and I was the best tool at hand. The poor girl had 
 written some letters to me that she had never sent 
 just wrote them, and put them in her desk. She 
 sent others quite blameless ones but Maurey got 
 the secret ones. The ones that I received could 
 hardly count against her; besides I had never kept 
 them. There was a scene. Of course Maurey had 
 his plot well developed. He accused his wife of all 
 the vile things he could think of; laughed to scorn 
 her denials; said he would bring suit. Then he left 
 the house, taking enough baggage with him to con 
 vince Kathleen that he meant all that he had said. 
 This all came out at the secret hearings of the case. 
 
 "In despair, after the brute had gone, poor Kath 
 leen thought only of me. She was nearly mad with 
 fear, remorse, and grief she did the one fatal thing 
 and every evil power seemed to help her along. She 
 came to town they were living at their summer 
 place. She had little money and she explained to 
 me later that she had meant to have dinner with me, 
 warn me, and then stand the brunt of things herself. 
 But you see, I was in the mountains. She tele 
 phoned and was simply told that I was out. She 
 then went to Beverly Train s only to find her 
 house locked and empty. By that time cab fare had 
 about eaten up what little money she had and des 
 perately, she rushed to my place and, seeing a light in 
 my windows, dismissed the cab, told the man in the 
 office that she was expected, and came upstairs. 
 
348 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 The boy who was using my books was there! He 
 was about to go out. He knew Kathleen and when 
 she told him that, not knowing that I was away, she 
 had asked her husband to meet her in my rooms, he 
 left the key with her she arranged to give it to the 
 office man and went off quite satisfied. 
 
 "To add to the infernal plot a big thunderstorm 
 was raging one of those terrific crashing kinds that 
 unnerve the hardiest. I knew I was out in it. A 
 telegram had summoned me home that day, and I 
 was drenched to the skin when I reached my place. 
 I saw a light in my bedroom window I thought 
 Clarkson had decided to remain over night. I had 
 an extra key. I went in, tearing my soaking coat 
 off as I crossed the darkened living room. I called 
 out that one of us could take the couch and then" 
 [Grey s face twitched] "Kathleen and I faced each 
 other at the bedroom door! She, thinking she was 
 safe for an hour having decided to return home on 
 the last train and face whatever there was to face 
 desperate and worn to the edge had taken off her 
 heavy gown, poor child, and lain down upon the 
 couch !" 
 
 "Yes: yes!" Glenn spoke as if she were running 
 hard, her eyes were dilated "and then?" 
 
 Grey bent still further forward. 
 
 "A knock! Maurey had followed her, of course. I 
 turned up the lights and opened the door. There 
 was nothing else to do." 
 
 "No of course not," Glenn panted. "And then, 
 Mac?" 
 
 "Oh! not much more. There was a man in the 
 hall. Maurey came in; the fellow, outside, waited. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 349 
 
 I told Maurey to get out or I d kick him downstairs. 
 He went, after giving warning. 
 
 "In due course there was the trial it doesn t mat 
 ter about that. Maurey got what he wanted. 
 
 "I saw things clearly enough then saw every 
 thing! Poor Kathleen went to Beverly Train 
 and then it was that I came up here. I was so 
 utterly done up by the whole wretched business that 
 the easiest way out seemed to be to offer what protec 
 tion I could to Kathleen. Nothing really mattered 
 and the poor child was at the end of things. But 
 Beverly struck a new note just there. She" [Grey 
 smiled, wanly] "she demanded, as she put it, justice 
 from myself to myself. She made me promise to 
 wait a year. I promised. 
 
 "Then" Grey s eyes now were wretched "then 
 three big things happened : My sickness, you, and 
 and Kathleen s death!" 
 
 "She she died, Mac?" 
 
 "Yes; she couldn t stand it she died." 
 
 Glenn was crying, softly. 
 
 "I had meant" Grey went on "to go to Kathleen 
 at the year s end and make a clean statement. I 
 wanted to give her the opportunity of seeing things. 
 I wanted Oh! Glenn I wanted her to know you, so 
 that I might offer you the sort of love you deserved, 
 and which I was able to offer if only truth were 
 known. But Kathleen died. And Dick came. 
 
 "That s all, Glenn except that I love you. 
 Beverly s work needs us both " 
 
 Grey waited; his eyes clung to Glenn s; she 
 reached out and took his hands that were stretched 
 toward her. 
 
350 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "And Beverly s work is God s work, Mac," she 
 said, tenderly devoutly. "Just as you wanted to 
 bring your best and dearest to me so I want to bring 
 my best and and safest to you and this big work. 
 Oh! Mac; it would be so easy to just take; but I 
 cannot make another mistake I must see and see 
 and know. In the end we must be fit for the work, 
 either apart or together." 
 
 "Child; is there anything greater than love?" 
 Grey breathed hard. 
 
 "Yes, Mac, I think there is. One must be worthy 
 of it or else Can you not see, dear ? " 
 
 "Yes I see. But what can we do?" 
 
 "Dear; you must rest and then go away! I 
 must be alone not even Daddy can help. I must 
 be sure; and I never can be while while I see you, 
 Mac." 
 
 "Child, the thing that entered into your life is a 
 
 waste/ 
 
 "Mac; I must be sure!" 
 
 They drew closer; tried to smile and Grey said, 
 gently: 
 
 "You are right. I will go away. But you must 
 make yourself just to yourself." 
 
 Grey spoke a little longer, bravely put the man- 
 view forth knowing full well it would not overpower 
 Glenn, but trusting that it would help her in her 
 struggle. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A~TER all the years, Arnold and Glenn, with 
 Rajah following close, had undertaken the 
 Monk climb. 
 
 They had taken three days in the doing of it; they 
 had brought food and fuel; they had made of the trip 
 a veritable pilgrimage, and had timed every detail to 
 a nicety. The weather was perfect. Full, throbbing 
 autumn, with the clear skies and warm days. As 
 they neared the brooding face that had held so real 
 a place in Glenn s life, she smiled up at it as if greeting 
 a dear and longed-for friend. 
 
 The three would reach the last stopping place after 
 nightfall; they had planned to see the sunrise from 
 the top. 
 
 "Are you tired, girl?" 
 
 Arnold s eyes were on the face near him. 
 
 "Oh! no, Daddy. It does not seem as if I would 
 ever be tired again. All the way up I ve been laying 
 down burdens. I feel so light at times, that I sus 
 pect wings!" 
 
 Arnold s eyes were troubled and so he turned them 
 away and did not speak. 
 
 "Laying down, dear old Daddy, some of the 
 things that that our mother used to say had been 
 handed down to women. You remember, dear?" 
 
 "Yes. I remember, girl." And so he did 
 every word and look. 
 
352 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "I began to lay down burdens before I left the 
 Lodge. That ache about my little girl, Dad, some 
 how it grew less when I saw the new Constance lying 
 on Polly s arm. I suppose a woman never gets over 
 the feel for babies, once she has known. It s like 
 the feel of the trail, Daddy." 
 
 Again Arnold nodded. 
 
 "When I saw Polly s dear, new baby I could not 
 help thinking that my little girl was going to have 
 another a fairer chance down here. Perhaps it is 
 not quite right I do not know but I d love to 
 think so; and any way, it will make me more under 
 standing about Polly s Connie. Women, I think, 
 should see their own babies in all babies. This I 
 am sure of: the hurt that was left when my little girl 
 died, seemed to pass when I held Polly s child; the 
 blessedness remained." Glenn s eyes grew dim. 
 
 "And what else have you laid down on the way 
 up, girl?" 
 
 Arnold flinched before the tears and the smile that 
 accompanied them. Besides, he was longing for 
 confidences. 
 
 "There s to be a big talk on the top, Daddy." 
 
 Glenn caught his arm and held it fast. She was 
 thinking of the mass of burdens that had not been 
 cast aside; were still when she permitted them 
 hampering her wings. 
 
 When she and Arnold, on their way up, had come 
 to the "ticklish bit" just before they reached the 
 blue pool, Arnold, clinging to the old fancy, had said: 
 "Now close your eyes, girl." But Glenn replied: 
 
 "Daddy, I ll lay my hand on your shoulder, but I 
 must keep my eyes open! You see, while my body 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 353 
 
 has been getting ready for this climb, my eyes have, 
 
 too/ 
 
 They had both laughed at that and the need for 
 careful going had left the surprise of beauty safe. 
 When danger was past and they stood beside the 
 flower-edged lake, a cry of joy escaped Glenn, and 
 then, with a quick in-drawing of her breath, she real 
 ized that a strange familiarity, not due alone to her 
 father s off-repeated description, held her. It came 
 flooding in upon her consciousness the memory of 
 her dream in the half-way house ! 
 
 The lake, the flowers they were as she had seen 
 them in her sleep. So vivid was the memory that 
 she raised her eyes almost expecting to see a tottering 
 figure upon the perilous bit of trail over which she had 
 just come. And then, with sharp realization, she 
 felt that all that had earlier come into her life was 
 as dead as her dream-man had once been! 
 
 Arnold believed at this moment that it was her 
 delight that held her speechless; but it was her in 
 herited burdens that claimed her; shook her confi 
 dence in herself; blinded her by the dust of prejudice 
 and suggestion, and shut Grey away. 
 
 She recalled her years of effort, when love and faith 
 supported her in the belief that she could, eventually, 
 win against the Carrington hardness and coldness. 
 She felt how futile such effort had been would al 
 ways be unless Dick could be brought to see that his 
 position was an impossible one for a woman to re 
 spect; at least the kind of woman that Glenn hon 
 estly desired to be had the right to be! And still 
 she dared not turn toward love? the burdens toppling 
 over upon her, bowed her to the dust. As Carring- 
 
354 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ton s wife, what rights had she? Once, having made 
 a blind promise, what was the honourable thing to 
 do? He would never change nor could she! Why 
 did women unthinkingly make promises that no 
 human being could, with sincerity, fulfil? Why 
 should life s door be closed to a man or a woman be 
 cause of the failure to do that which lay not in the 
 power of either to do? Who would be benefited by 
 it what good could result if she went back and 
 tried again? 
 
 Glenn knew that love was dead between her and 
 Carrington; could plain duty hold them? And if it 
 did to what would it hold them ? Was she catering 
 to a world that did not understand or ? 
 
 She pictured the cold, empty years of pretense and 
 acting the useless show and the restless journeyings. 
 She felt the hideous hold that the Hollow and its 
 meaning would have upon her; the gnawing know 
 ledge of misery that she must pretend not to sym 
 pathize with. And against this stood God s work. 
 
 And then Glenn s soul cried out its bitter world- 
 old cry: "What have I to do with thee?" She 
 pushed Carrington from her. Nothing! Nothing! 
 
 And it was not, she knew, because another, a clearer 
 vision of love had entered in. The world might not 
 believe this but it was truth. And if, being truth, 
 she must deal with it as Grey had dealt with his mis 
 take ! The world must not count against the truth. 
 
 And so it was that, beside the blue pool, Glenn 
 struggled silently with the inherited burdens of 
 women, not knowing, as she struggled, that, until 
 women themselves interpreted the meaning of the 
 inheritance, they would always remain burdens 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 355 
 
 never flaming pillars to guide them into the Prom 
 ised Land. 
 
 A day and a night Arnold and Glenn camped by 
 the pool. 
 
 "Some things that you have longed for all your 
 life, Daddy, disappoint you," Glenn had said the 
 day they took to the upward trail again?" but this " 
 she opened her arms wide to the loveliness "this 
 has been far better than I dreamed." 
 
 Arnold was content; he did not suspect burdens. 
 He had faith. 
 
 Quietly they mounted resting, camping and the 
 marvellous weather held. Then they came to the 
 last point where safety ended and, in breathless si 
 lence, looked down upon their world which already 
 although they stood in the full rays of light lay 
 in purple mystery. 
 
 "At last!" whispered Glenn, "at last. Daddy, after 
 all the long years ! " 
 
 "Here we are!" Arnold tossed his head back. 
 
 And there they were man, woman, and faithful 
 dog, grouped like a heroic design against the snow- 
 covered rocks. Blankets and carefully carried food 
 and fuel lay at their feet; they seemed alone in a 
 newly created world, with their small supplies stand 
 ing between them and annihilation. 
 
 "Wind or storm," cautioned Arnold, "might finish 
 
 us." 
 
 "There will be no storm," murmured Glenn. 
 
 "I don t think there will be," Arnold added "not 
 for a couple of days, any way." 
 
 And just then Rajah raised his head, sent his 
 sixth sense out into space, and gave a low, long whin- 
 
356 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 ing cry. It was not fear, nor pain, but it thrilled the 
 eerie place and faintly echoed again and again. 
 
 " For beast and bird hath seen and heard, 
 That which man knoweth not," 
 
 quoted Arnold reverently, as he bent to smooth 
 Rajah s head. 
 
 "We must be saving with the wood, girl," he pre 
 sently said, becoming practical. "We had best eat 
 and sleep; the night s warm, and the shelter of the 
 rock will protect us. The sun rises early when one is 
 atop of the world." 
 
 "And we must catch the first glimmer of to 
 morrow, Dad -the first, faint call." 
 
 They ate sparingly, giving Rajah his full share. 
 They were tired and, for all their brave achievement, 
 the vast loneliness of their position filled them with 
 awe. The fire flickered and all but died; then Ar 
 nold laid on another stick he dared not let the 
 warmth and glow fade utterly. 
 
 Wrapped in blankets, huddled close to the blessed 
 embers, trying to sleep, an hour passed. The night 
 now held them; the stars seemed near; the brooding 
 face of the Monk shadowed them, and presently 
 Arnold was aware that Glenn was speaking. He was 
 not startled; her words ran so into his own thoughts 
 that the mere voicing of them did not interrupt the 
 flow. 
 
 "When I realized that I loved Mac, Dad, I was 
 not afraid. I knew it was love, for it met all the 
 great want within me. All my life I had been reach 
 ing out for love and and I made a mistake, first. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 357 
 
 How could I know? How can girls be sure, ever, 
 until they know the difference of their their wants ? 
 When I came back with Connie, then I knew, Dad 
 knew in my soul how it was. But because Mac had 
 never told me, I thought he was safe and I I 
 couldn t do without what he meant to me. Not just 
 then. All last summer I let myself lean on him 
 and then he went away and the loss seemed more than 
 I could bear. When he came back he told me! told 
 me how, through the long years while I was learning, 
 he had loved and waited. When I saw his kind of 
 love! why Dad I had to " 
 
 "You sent him away!" Arnold spoke from a 
 deep sense of personal loss. 
 
 "I I had to, Dad. There was nothing else to do, 
 was there ? Not until I was sure ? " 
 
 Arnold made no reply. In the dark he hid his face. 
 
 "But before Mac went, Dad, he said things that 
 that haunt me. I thought that I would forget them. 
 But I do not forget them. When one does right, 
 Dad, why doesn t peace come?" 
 
 "It does!" This came, muffled, from the blanket. 
 
 "Mac told me how he needed me how his work 
 needed me. He told me something Beverly Train 
 had said about workers not counting against God s 
 work. He told me that I had no right to stay here 
 and and shirk; that is what he said: shirk ! He 
 said that I knew what was to be done and that" [here 
 Glenn breathed hard] "and that I should either go 
 back or begin again, somehow!" Glenn withheld 
 Grey s secret. Just now it was his and hers ! 
 
 " He has the right of it !" Arnold said. 
 
 " Dad, Dad, what can I do ? " 
 
358 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 "There s no man in all the world that has a right to 
 answer that for a woman when she comes to a turn 
 in her life. She must answer to her Creator some 
 day; it is up to her to square herself with her con 
 
 science." 
 
 "Dad; you seem to be pushing me off alone into 
 the dark." 
 
 This was no confession, no plain talk; it was soul 
 crying out to soul. 
 
 "And so I must, girl push you off from me; but 
 not into the dark. You always had your light, girl. 
 Don t forget that." 
 
 "It s darkened now, Dad. I cannot see." 
 
 "Have you tried, girl? tried to see with your own 
 eyes your woman s eyes? Have you cast off all 
 that has been handed down to you? laid your own 
 life open and looked at it ? If so, the light will come !" 
 
 "I want to do right, Dad right!" 
 
 "Of course you do. You must do right, and then 
 you ll have peace." 
 
 "Mac said that I was behind two doors, Dad; that 
 Dick had closed one, and that he (Mac) stood by the 
 other; that I must either make Dick open life to me 
 or I must let him. But Dad, I know that there is 
 another door one that I myself can open and 
 pass through, alone. You d come with me, wouldn t 
 you, Dad?" 
 
 "Yes. I d keep as close to you as I could!" 
 
 "But Yes; I know. Dad, I d be often alone 
 and oh! so lonely because, because you see I 
 want love. I d be crippled at the best doing my 
 work less well for happiness counts, Dad." 
 
 "It does!" This came emphatically from Arnold. 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 359 
 
 "But perhaps I have no right to happiness, 
 Dad." 
 "Why?" 
 
 A silence followed. So long did it last that Arnold 
 thought Glenn, exhausted, had fallen asleep. Then: 
 
 "It s why? and why? and why? Dad. Life is just 
 that. Why? Why? Why?" 
 
 "It s not all that" this with conviction from the 
 dark "there are some thundering loud Becauses !" 
 
 "Oh! Dad; if I didn t want Mac so, it would be 
 easy but I want him! Not only for my love and 
 his but because I know that all his work and mine 
 and Beverly s must be God s work. I know this 
 Dad, I do, I do!" 
 
 "That s one Because ," Arnold ventured. 
 
 "Yes; so it is." Arnold thought Glenn was cry 
 ing; her voice trembled. 
 
 "I see, Dad I see! I must choose. I, a woman, 
 must choose and pay the price, but I must not let 
 any one else pay." 
 
 "That s only square, my girl, until the choice for 
 yourself is made. After that, if there is love enough, 
 you can share the expense." 
 
 " Dad ; what a comfort you are ! " 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Just because you are! I m alone, Dad, but I 
 know you are near." 
 
 They did not speak again for several hours. Glenn 
 was conscious of Rajah s warm body pressing against 
 her; once she saw Arnold rise quietly and lay a stick 
 on the few glowing embers. Then more stillness while 
 thoughts crowded in; blended in dreams and then 
 became thoughts again. 
 
360 UNBROKEN LINES 
 
 Without surprise Glenn, Arnold, and Rajah, sud 
 denly or so it seemed found themselves standing 
 close together, their faces toward the east! 
 
 "It is coming the day!" breathed Glenn. 
 
 "Yes!" Arnold replied, though neither he nor 
 Glenn could see it. 
 
 Rajah again gave his long, low, whining response 
 to that something that called to him. 
 
 The man and the woman shivered. 
 
 Imperceptibly the blackness moved it was mo 
 tion first, not colour. Then it was no longer black, 
 it was a nameless shade full of life. No bird or beast 
 hailed it in majesty the peaks welcomed it. Then 
 came the quivering rose, creeping up and up the 
 snowy wastes. The rocks showed black. Far, far 
 below lay the place where men and women worked 
 and loved were born and died and where their 
 little stories ran along from morning until night; 
 such tangled, unfinished stories! There lay graves 
 and tiny cradles there lay the Hollows and the 
 Pleasant Places. 
 
 Glenn reached out her hand. She did not look at 
 Arnold, but she wanted the comfort of his touch. 
 
 "Daddy, do you remember the dear old song: 
 To-morrow will bring the light ? " 
 
 "Yes, girl. Your mother used to sing it." 
 
 "The light has come Dad my light. And Dad, 
 this is my birthday!" 
 
 "I thought you had forgotten, girl." 
 
 "No, Dad." 
 
 Then Glenn stretched out her young strong 
 arms the palms upward, as if holding something in 
 offering. The morning was full upon her face. So 
 
UNBROKEN LINES 361 
 
 had she stood that day at the half-way house when 
 Grey watched her from his crevice in the rock. As 
 if she recalled the place and her mood again, she 
 spoke in a reverent, hushed whisper: 
 
 "God! God!" The words weighted with yearn 
 ing and beseeching, sounded faintly. Then: 
 
 "I want my right to love and be loved; I want 
 little children mine, mine! And who shall deny 
 me ? Who has the right to deny me ? " 
 
 Arnold s eyes were blinded by tears but no word 
 escaped him. 
 
 Presently, standing tense and looking afar, Glenn 
 seemed to re-live her dream bit by bit. She saw the 
 perilous strip of trail; the bewildered tottering figure 
 whom she believed was Grey. She saw the still, 
 dead figure at her feet. Dead, dead! but Grey was 
 alive, waiting with his great, patient love. 
 
 "Mac," she murmured, still with out-stretched, 
 empty hands. "I am coming. Why should I 
 not? Why? Why?" 
 
 THE END 
 
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 
 
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