QUILL'S 
 WINDOW 
 
 GEORGE BARR 
 M c CUTCHEON
 
 J \
 
 QUILL'S WINDOW
 
 'What are you doing up here?" 
 
 Page 68
 
 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON 
 
 Author of " Graustark," " Sherry," " West 
 Wind Drift," " Mr. Bingle," " Nedra," etc. 
 
 FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 C. ALLAN GILBERT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1921
 
 COPYBIQHT, 1921 
 
 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PACE 
 
 I THE FORBIDDEN ROCK .... 1 
 
 II THE STORY THE OLD MAI? TOLD . . 13 
 
 III COURTNEY THANE 38 
 
 IV DOWD'S TAVERN ..... 50 
 
 V TRESPASS ..... . 63 
 
 VI CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS . . 72 
 
 VII COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC . . 92 
 
 VIII ALIX THE THIRD .... . 104? 
 
 IX A MID-OCTOBER DAY . . . .114 
 
 X THE CHIMNEY CORNER . . . .128 
 
 XI THANE VISITS Two HOUSES . . .142 
 
 XII WORDS AND LETTERS . . . . 161 
 
 XIII THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL . . . 180 
 
 XIV SUSPICION 192 
 
 XV THE FACE AT THE WINDOW . . . 205 
 
 XVI ROSABEL ...... 220 
 
 XVII SHADOWS .228 
 
 XVIII MR. GILFILLAN Is PUZZLED ... 241 
 
 XIX BRINGING UP THE PAST .... 255 
 
 XX THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 267 
 
 XXI OUT OF THE NIGHT . . . .285 
 
 XXII THE THROWER OF STONES . . . 301 
 
 XXIII A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER . . .316 
 
 XXIV AT QUILL'S WINDOW .... 329 
 

 
 QUILL'S WINDOW
 
 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE FORBIDDEN ROCK 
 
 A YOUNG man and an old one sat in the shade of 
 the willows beside the wide, still river. The 
 glare of a hot August sun failed to penetrate 
 the shelter in which they idled; out upon the slow- 
 gliding river it beat relentlessly, creating a pale, thin 
 vapour that clung close to the shimmering surface and 
 dazzled the eye with an ever-shifting glaze. The air 
 was lifeless, sultry, stifling; not a leaf, not a twig in 
 the tall, drooping willows moved unless stirred by the 
 passage of some vagrant bird. 
 
 The older man sat on the ground, his back against 
 the trunk of a tree that grew so near to the edge that 
 it seemed on the point of toppling over to shatter the 
 smooth, green mirror below. Some of its sturdy ex- 
 posed roots reached down from the bank into the water, 
 where they caught and held the drift from upstream, 
 reeds and twigs and matted grass, a dirty, sickly mass 
 that swished lazily on the flank of the slow-moving 
 current. 
 
 The water here in the shade was deep and clear and 
 limpid, contrasting sharply with the steel-white surface 
 out beyond. 
 
 The young man occupied a decrepit camp stool, 
 1
 
 2 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 placed conveniently against the trunk of another tree 
 hard by. A discarded bamboo rod lay beside him on 
 the bank, the hook and line hopelessly tangled in the 
 drift below. He smoked cigarettes. 
 
 His companion held a well-chewed black cigar in the 
 vise-like corner of his mouth. His hook and line were 
 far out in the placid water, an ordinary cork serving 
 as a " bob " from which his dreary, unwavering gaze 
 seldom shifted. 
 
 " I guess they're through bitin' for today,'* he re- 
 marked, after a long unbroken silence. 
 
 " How many have we got ? " inquired the other lan- 
 guidly. 
 
 " Between us we've got twenty-four. That's a fair- 
 sized mess. Sunfish don't make much of a showing 
 unless you get a barrel of 'em." 
 
 " Good eating though," mused the young man. 
 
 " Fried in butter," supplemented the other. " What 
 time is it? " 
 
 " Half -past nine." 
 
 " Well, that's just about what I'd figured. I've been 
 fishin' in this * hole ' for something like forty years, off 
 and on, and I've found out that these here sunfish get 
 through breakfast at exactly eighteen minutes past 
 nine. I always allow"about ten minutes' leeway in case 
 one or two of 'em might have been out late the night 
 before or something, but as a general thing they're 
 pretty dog-goned prompt for breakfast. Specially in 
 August. Even a fish is lazy in August. Look at that 
 fish-worm. By gosh, it's boiled! That shows you how 
 hot the water is." 
 
 He removed the worm from the hook and slowly be- 
 gan to twist the pole in the more or less perfunctory
 
 THE FORBIDDEN ROCK 3 
 
 process of " winding up " the line. The young man 
 looked on disinterestedly. 
 
 "Ain't you going to untangle that line?" inquired 
 the old man, jerking his thumb. 
 
 " What's the use? The worm is dead by this time, 
 and God knows I prefer to let him rest in peace. The 
 quickest way to untangle a line is to do it like this." 
 
 He severed it with his pocket-knife. 
 
 " A line like that costs twenty-five cents," said the 
 old man, a trace of dismay in his voice. 
 
 " That's what it cost when it was new," drawled the 
 other. " You forget it's been a second-hand article 
 since eight o'clock this morning, and what's a second- 
 hand fish-line worth? tell me that. How much would 
 you give, in the open market, or at an auction sale, for 
 a second-hand fish-line?" 
 
 " I guess we'd better be gittin' back to the house," 
 said the other, ignoring the question. " Got to clean 
 these fish if we're expectin* to have 'em for dinner, or 
 lunch, as you fellers call it. I'll bet your grandfather 
 never called it lunch. And as for him callin' supper 
 'dinner, why, by crickey, he never got drunk enough 
 for that." 
 
 " More than that," said the young man calmly, " he 
 never saw a cigarette, or a telephone, or a Ford, or a 
 safety-razor, or a lot of other things that have sprung 
 up since he cashed in his checks. To be sure, he did see 
 a few things I've never seen, such as clay-pipes, canal 
 boats, horse-hair sofas, top-boots and rag-carpets, 
 and he probably saw Abraham Lincoln, but, for all 
 that, I'd rather be where I am today than where he is, 
 and I'm not saying he isn't in heaven, either." 
 
 The older man's eyes twinkled. " I don't think he's
 
 4 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 any nearer heaven than he was forty years ago, and 
 he's been dead just about that long. He wasn't what 
 you'd call a far-seeing man, and you've got to look 
 a long ways ahead if you want to see heaven. Your 
 grandma's in heaven all right, and I'll bet she was 
 the most surprised mortal that ever got inside the 
 pearly gates if she found him there ahead of her. Like 
 as not she would have backed out, thinking she'd got 
 into the wrong place by mistake. And if he is up 
 there, I bet he's making the place an everlastin' hell 
 if or her. Yep, your grandpa was about as mean as they 
 make 'em. As you say, he didn't know anything about 
 cigarettes, but he made up for it by runnin* after 
 women and fast horses, or maybe it was hosses and 
 fast women, and cheatin' the eye teeth out of every- 
 body he had any dealings with." 
 
 " I don't understand how he happened to die young, 
 if all these things were true about him," said the other, 
 lighting a fresh cigarette and drawing in a deep, full 
 breath of the pungent smoke. The old man waited a 
 few seconds for the smoke to be expelled, and then, as 
 it came out in a far-reaching volume, carrying far on 
 the still air, his face betrayed not only relief but 
 wonder. 
 
 "You don't actually swaller it, do you?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Certainly not. I inhale, that's all. Any one can 
 'do it." 
 
 " I'd choke to death," said the old man, shifting his 
 cigar hastily from one side of his mouth to the other, 
 and taking a fresh grip on it with his teeth, as if 
 fearing the consequences of a momentary lapse of 
 control.
 
 THE FORBIDDEN ROCK 5 
 
 " You've been chewing that cigar for nearly two 
 hours," observed the young man. " I call that a filthy 
 habit." 
 
 " I guess you're right," agreed the other, amiably. 
 " The best you can say for it is that it's a man's job, 
 and not a woman's," he added, with all the scorn that 
 the cigar smoker has for the man who affects nothing 
 but cigarettes. 
 
 " You can't make me sore by talking like that," said 
 his companion, stretching himself lazily. " Approxi- 
 mately ten million men smoked cigarettes over in 
 France for four years and more, and I submit that they 
 had what you might call a man's job on their hands." 
 
 " How many of them things do you smoke in a day ? " 
 
 " It depends entirely on how early I get up in the 
 morning, and how late I stay up at night. Good 
 Lord, it's getting hotter every minute. For two cents, 
 I'd strip and jump in there for a game of hide and seek 
 with the fish. By the way, I don't suppose there are 
 any mermaids in these parts, are there?" 
 
 " You stay out of that water," commanded the old 
 man. " You ain't strong enough yet to be takin' any 
 such chances. You're here to get well, and you got 
 to be mighty all-fired careful. The bed of that river 
 is full of cold springs, and it's pretty deep along this 
 stretch. Weak as you are, and as hot as you are, 
 you'd get cramps in less'n a minute." 
 
 " I happen to be a good swimmer." 
 
 " So was Bart Edgecomb, best swimmer I ever saw. 
 He could swim back an' forth across this river half a 
 dozen times, and do you know what happened to him 
 last September? He drowned in three foot of water up 
 above the bend, that's what he did. Come on. Let's
 
 6 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 be movin'. It'll be hotter'n blazes by eleven o'clock, 
 and you oughtn't to be walkin' in the sun." 
 
 The young man settled himself a little more com- 
 fortably against the tree. 
 
 "I think I'll stay here in the shade for a while 
 longer. Don't be uneasy. I shan't go popping into the 
 water the minute your back's turned. What was it 
 you said early this morning about sniffing rain in the 
 air? " 
 
 " Thunderstorms today, sure as my name's Brown. 
 Been threatening rain for nearly a week. Got to come 
 some time, and I figure today's " 
 
 " Threats are all we get," growled the young man 
 peevishly. " Lord, I never dreamed I could get so 
 sick of white skies and what you call fresh air. You 
 farmers go to bed every night praying for rain, and 
 you get up in the morning still praying, and what's 
 the result? Nothing except a whiter sky than the day 
 before, and a greater shortage of fresh air. Don't 
 talk to me about country air and country sunshine 
 and country quiet. My God, it never was so hot and 
 stifling as this in New York, and as for peace and 
 quiet, why, those rotten birds in the trees around 
 the house make more noise than the elevated trains 
 at the rush hour, and the rotten roosters begin crow- 
 ing just about the time I'm going to sleep, and the 
 dogs bark, and the cows, the cows do whatever cows do 
 to make a noise, and then the crows begin to yawp. 
 And all night long the katydids keep up their beastly 
 racket, and the frogs in the pond back of the barns, 
 my God, man, the city is as silent as the grave com- 
 pared to what you get in the country." 
 
 " I manage to sleep through it all," said the old man
 
 THE FORBIDDEN ROCK 7, 
 
 drily. " The frogs and katydids don't keep me awake.'* 
 " Yes, and that reminds me of another noise that 
 makes the night hideous. It's the way you people 
 sleep. At nine o'clock sharp, every night, the whole 
 house begins to snore, and Say, I've seen service in 
 France, I've slept in barracks with scores of tired sol- 
 diers, I've walked through camps where thousands of 
 able-bodied men were snoring their heads off, but 
 never have I heard anything so terrifying as the racket 
 that lasts from nine to five in the land of my fore- 
 fathers. Gad, it sometimes seems to me you're all 
 trying to make my forefathers turn over in their graves 
 up there on the hill." 
 
 " You're kind of peevish today, ain't you? " inquired 
 the other, grinning. " You'll get used to the way we 
 snore before long, and you'll kind of enjoy it. I'd be 
 scared to death if I got awake in the night and didn't 
 hear everybody in the house snoring. It's kind of 
 restful to know that everybody's asleep, and not 
 dead. If they wasn't snoring, I'd certainly think they 
 was dead." 
 
 The young man smiled. " I'll say this much for you 
 farmers, you're a good-natured bunch. I ought to 
 be ashamed of myself for grousing. I suppose it's be- 
 cause I've been sick. You're all so kind and thought- 
 ful, and so darned genuine, even when you're asleep, 
 that I feel like a dog for finding fault. By the way, 
 you said something awhile ago about that big black 
 cliff over yonder having a history. I've been looking 
 at that cliff or hill or rock, or whatever it is, and it 
 doesn't look real. It doesn't look as though God had 
 made it. It's more like the work of man. So far as 
 I can see, there isn't another hill on either bank of the
 
 8 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 river, and yet that thing over there must be three or 
 four hundred feet high, sticking up like a gigantic wart 
 on the face of the earth. What is it? Solid rock? " 
 
 " Sort like slate rock, I guess. There's a stretch of 
 about a mile on both sides of the river along here that's 
 solid rock. This bank we're standin* on is rock, cov- 
 ered with six or eight foot of earth. You're right 
 about that big rock over there being a queer thing. 
 There's been college professors and all sorts of sci- 
 entific men here, off and on, to examine it and to try 
 to account for its being there. But, thunderation, if 
 it's been there for a million years as they say, what's 
 the sense of explaining it? " 
 
 " There's something positively forbidding about it. 
 Gives you the willies. How did it come by the name 
 you called it a while ago ? " 
 
 "Quill's Window? Goes back to the days of the 
 Indians. Long before the time of Tecumseh or The 
 Prophet. They used to range up and down this river 
 more than a hundred years ago. The old trail is over 
 there on the other bank as plain as day, covered with 
 grass but beaten down till it's like a macadam road. 
 I suppose the Indians followed that trail for hundreds 
 of years. There's still traces of their camps over there 
 on that side, and a little ways down the river is a 
 place where they had a regular village. Over here on 
 this side, quite a little ways farther down, is the re- 
 mains of an old earthwork fort used by the French 
 long before the Revolution, and afterwards by Amer- 
 ican soldiers about the time of the War of 1812. We'll 
 go and look at it some day if you like. Most people 
 are interested in it, but for why, I can't see. 
 
 " There ain't nothing to see but some busted up
 
 THE FORBIDDEN ROCK 9 
 
 breastworks and lunettes, covered with weeds, with here 
 and there a sort of opening where they must have had 
 a cannon sticking out to scare the squaws and papooses. 
 You was askin' about the name of that rock. Well, 
 it originally had an Indian name, which I always for- 
 get because it's the easiest way to keep from pro- 
 nouncing it. Then the French came along and sort 
 of Frenchified the name, which made it worse, far 
 as I'm concerned. I'm not much on French. About 
 three-quarters of the way up the rock, facing the river, 
 is a sort of cave. You can't see the opening from here, 
 'cause it faces north, looking up the river from the 
 bend. There are a lot of little caves and cracks in 
 the rock, but none of 'em amounts to anything except 
 this one. It runs back something like twenty foot in 
 the rock and is about as high as a man's head. 
 
 " Shortly after General Harrison licked The Prophet 
 and his warriors up on the Tippecanoe, a man named 
 Quill, an Irishman from down the river some'eres 
 towards Vincennes, all this is hearsay so far as I'm. 
 concerned, mind you, but as I was saying, this man 
 Quill begin to make his home up in that cave. He was 
 what you might call a hermit. There were no white 
 people in these parts except a few scattered trappers 
 and ^ome people living in a settlement twenty-odd miles 
 south of here. As the story goes, this man Quill lived 
 up there in that cave for about four or five years, 
 hunting and trapping all around the country. White 
 people begin to get purty thick in these parts soon 
 after that, Indiana having been made a state. There 
 was a lot of coming and going up and down the riven 
 A feller named Digby started a kind of settlement or 
 trading-post further up, and clearings were made all
 
 10 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 around, farms and all that, you see. Your great 
 grandfather was one of the first men to settle in this 
 section. Coming down the river by night you could 
 see the light up there in Quill's Cave. You could see 
 it for miles, they say. People begin to speak of it as 
 the light in Quill's window, and that's how the name 
 happened. I'm over seventy, and I've never heard that 
 hill called anything but Quill's Window." 
 
 "What happened to Quill? " 
 
 " Well, that's something nobody seems to be quite 
 certain about. Whether he hung himself or somebody 
 else done the job for him, nobody knows. According 
 to the story that was told when I was a boy, it seems 
 he killed somebody down the river and come up here 
 to hide. The relations of the man he killed never 
 stopped hunting for him. A good many people were 
 of the opinion they finally tracked him to that cave. la 
 any case, his body was found hanging by the neck up 
 there one day, on a sort of ridge-pole he had put in. 
 This was after people had missed seeing the light in 
 Quill's Window for quite a spell. There are some 
 people who still say the cave is ha'nted. When I was 
 a young boy, shortly before the Civil War, a couple 
 of horse thieves were chased up to that cave and 
 ahem! I reckon your grandfather, if he was alive, 
 could tell you all about what became of 'em and who 
 was in the party that stood 'em up against the back 
 wall of the cave and shot 'em. There's another story 
 that goes back even farther than the horse thieves. The 
 skeleton of a woman was found up there, with the skull 
 split wide open. That was back in 1830 or 1840. So, 
 you see, when all of them ghosts get together and be- 
 gin scrapping over property rights, it's enough to scare
 
 THE FORBIDDEN ROCK 11 
 
 the gizzard out of 'most anybody that happens to be 
 in the neighbourhood. But I guess old man Quill was 
 the first white man to shuffle off, so it's generally under- 
 stood that his ghost rules the roost. Come on now, let's 
 be moving. It's gettin' hotter every minute, and you 
 oughtn't to be out in all this heat. For the Lord's 
 sake, you ain't going to light another one of them 
 things, are you? " 
 
 " Sure. It's the only vice I'm capable of enjoying 
 at present. Being gassed and shell-shocked, and then 
 having the flu and pneumonia and rheumatism, and 
 God knows what else, sort of purifies a chap, you 
 see." 
 
 " Well, all I got to say is I guess I'd better not 
 say it, after all." 
 
 " You can't hurt my feelings." 
 
 " I'm not so sure about that," said the old man 
 gruffly. 
 
 " How do you get up to that cave? " 
 
 " You ain't thinking of trying it, are you? " appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 " When I'm a bit huskier, yes." 
 
 The old man removed his cigar in order to obtain 
 the full effect of a triumphant grin. 
 
 '* Well, in the first place, you can't get up to it. 
 You've got to come down to it. The only way to get 
 to the mouth of that cave is to lower yourself from the 
 top of the rock. And in the second place, you can't 
 get down to it because it ain't allowed. The owner of 
 all the land along that side of the river has got * no 
 trespass ' signs up, and nobody's allowed to climb to 
 the top of that rock. She's all-fired particular about 
 it, too. The top of that rock is sacred to her. No-
 
 12 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 body ever thinks of violatin' it. All around the bottom 
 of the slope back of the hill she's got a white picket 
 fence, and the gate to it is padlocked. You see it's 
 her family buryin'-ground." 
 
 "Her what?" 
 
 " Buryin'-ground. Her father and mother are bur- 
 ied right smack on top of that rock." 
 
 The young man lifted his eyebrows. " Does that 
 mean there are a couple of married ghosts fighting on 
 top of the rock every night, besides the gang down 
 in the" 
 
 "It ain't a joking matter," broke in the other 
 sharply. 
 
 " Go on, tell me more. The monstrosity gets more 
 and more interesting every minute." 
 
 The old man chewed his cigar energetically for a few 
 seconds before responding. 
 
 " I'll tell you the story tonight after supper, not 
 now. The only thing I want to make clear to you is 
 this. Everybody in this section respects her wishes 
 about keeping off of that rock, and I want to ask you 
 to respect 'em, too. It would be a dirty trick for you 
 to go up there, knowin' it's dead against her wishes." 
 
 " A dirty trick, eh? " said the young man, fixing his 
 gaze on the blue-black summit of the forbidden rock.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 
 
 DAVID WINDOM'S daughter Alix ran away 
 with and married Edward Crown in the spring 
 of 1894. 
 
 Windom was one of the most prosperous farmers 
 in the county. His lands were wide, his cattle were 
 many, his fields were vast stretches of green and gold ; 
 his granaries, his cribs and his mows, filled and emptied 
 each year, brought riches and dignity and power to this 
 man of the soil. 
 
 Back when the state was young, his forefathers had 
 fared westward from the tide-water reaches of Virginia, 
 coming at length to the rich, unbroken region along 
 the river with the harsh Indian name, and there they 
 built their cabins and huts on lands that had cost them 
 little more than a song and yet were of vast dimensions. 
 They were of English stock. (Another branch of the 
 family, closely related, remains English to this day, its 
 men sitting sometime in Parliament and always in the 
 councils of the nation, far removed in every way from 
 the Windoms in the fertile valley once traversed by the 
 war-like redskins.) But these Windoms of the valley 
 were no longer English. There had been six genera- 
 tions of them, and those of the first two fought under 
 General Washington against the red-coats and the 
 Hessians in the War of '76. 
 
 David Windom, of the fourth generation, went to 
 13
 
 14 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 England for a wife, however, a girl he had met on 
 the locally celebrated trip to Europe in the early sev- 
 enties. For years he was known from one end of the 
 county to the other as " the man who has been across 
 the Atlantic Ocean." The dauntless English bride had 
 come unafraid to a land she had been taught to regard 
 as wild, peopled by savages and overrun by ravenous 
 beasts, and she had found it populated instead by the 
 gentlest sort of men and equally gentle beasts. 
 
 She did a great deal for David Windom. He was 
 a proud man and ambitious. He saw the wisdom of her 
 teachings and he followed them, not reluctantly but 
 with a fierce desire to refine what God had given him 
 in the shape of raw material: a good brain, a sturdy 
 sense of honour, and above all an imagination that lifted 
 him safely, if not always sanely, above the narrow 
 world in which the farmer of that day spent his entire 
 life. Not that he was uncouth to begin with, far 
 from it. He had been irritatingly fastidious from boy- 
 hood up. His thoughts had wandered afar on frequent 
 journeys, and when they came back to take up the dull 
 occupation they had abandoned temporarily, they were 
 broader than when they went out to gather wool. The 
 strong, well-poised English wife found rich soil in which 
 to work ; he grew apace and flourished, and manifold 
 were the innovations that stirred a complacent com- 
 munity into actual unrest. A majority of the farmers 
 and virtually all of the farmers' wives were convinced 
 that Dave Windom was losing his mind, the way he 
 was letting that woman boss him around. 
 
 The women did not like her. She was not one of them 
 and never could be one of them. Her " hired girls " 
 became " servants " the day she entered the ugly old
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 15 
 
 farmhouse on the ridge. They were no longer consid- 
 ered members of the family; they were made to feel 
 something they had never felt before in their lives : that 
 they were not their mistress's equals. 
 
 The " hired girl " of those days was an institution. 
 As a rule, she moved in the same social circle as the 
 lady of the house and it was customary for her to in- 
 timately address her mistress by her Christian name. 
 She enjo3 r ed the right to engage in all conversations; 
 she was, in short, " as good as anybody." The new 
 Mrs. Windom was not long in transporting the general 
 housework " girl " into a totally unexampled state of 
 astonishment. This " girl," aged forty-five and a 
 prominent member of the Methodist Church, an- 
 nounced to everybody in the community except to Mrs. 
 Windom herself that she was going to leave. She did 
 not leave. The calm serenity of the new mistress pre- 
 vailed, even over the time-honoured independence in 
 which the " girl " and her kind unconsciously gloried. 
 Respect succeeded injury, and before the bride had 
 been in the Windom house a month, Maria Bliss was 
 telling the other " hired girls " of the neighbourhood 
 that she wouldn't trade places with them for anything 
 in the world. 
 
 Greatly to the consternation and disgust of other 
 householders, a " second girl " was added to the Win- 
 dom menage, a parlour-maid she was called. This was 
 too much. It was rank injustice. General housework 
 girls began to complain of having too much work to 
 do, getting up at five in the morning, cooking for 
 half a dozen " hands," doing all the washing and iron- 
 ing, milking, sweeping and so on, and not getting to bed 
 till nine or ten o'clock at night, to say nothing of
 
 16 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 family dinners on Sunday and the preacher in every 
 now and then, and all that. Moreover, Mrs. Windom 
 herself never looked bedraggled. She took care of her 
 hair, wore good clothes, went to the dentist regularly 
 (whether she had a toothache or not), had meals served 
 in what Maria Bliss loftily described as " courses,'* 
 and saw to it that David Windora shaved once a day, 
 dressed better than his neighbours, kept his " surrey " 
 and " side-bar buggy " washed, his harness oiled and 
 polished, and wore real riding-boots. 
 
 The barnyard took on an orderly appearance, the 
 stables were repaired, the picket fences gleamed white 
 in the sun, the roof of the house was painted red, the 
 sides a shimmering white, and there were green window 
 shutters and green window boxes filled with geraniums. 
 The front yard was kept mowed, and there were great 
 flower-beds encircled by snow-white boulders; a ham- 
 mock was swung in the shade of two great oaks, and 
 worst of all! a tennis-court was laid out alongside 
 the house. 
 
 Tennis ! That was a game played only by " dudes " ! 
 Passers-by looked with scorn upon young David Win- 
 idom and his flaxen-haired wife as they played at the 
 silly game before supper every evening. And they 
 went frequently to the " opera house " at the county 
 seat, ten miles up the river; they did not wait for sum- 
 mer to come with its circus, as all the other farmers 
 were content to do ; whenever there was a good " show " 
 at the theatre in town they sent up for reserved seats 
 and drove in for supper at the principal hotel. Alto- 
 gether, young Mrs. Windom was simply " raising 
 Cain " with the conventions. 
 
 Strange to say, David did not '* go to smash." To
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 17 
 
 the intense chagrin of the wiseacres he prospered de- 
 spite an unprecedented disregard for the teachings of 
 his father and his grandfather before him. The wolf 
 stayed a long way off from his door, the prophetic 
 mortgage failed to lay its blight upon his lands, his 
 crops were bountiful, his acreage spread as the years 
 went by, and so his uncles, his cousins and his aunts 
 were never so happy as when wishing for the good old 
 idays when his father was alive and running the farm 
 as it should be run ! If David had married some good, 
 sensible, thrifty, hard-working farmer's daughter, 
 Well, it might not have meant an improvement in the 
 crops but it certainly would have spared him the ex- 
 pense of a tennis court, and theatre-going, and abso- 
 lutely unnecessary trips to Chicago or Indianapolis 
 whenever she took it into her head to go. Besides, it 
 wasn't natural that they should deliberately put off 
 having children. It wasn't what God and the country 
 expected. After a year had passed and there were 
 no symptoms of approaching motherhood, certain 
 narrow-minded relatives began to blame Great Britain 
 for the outrage and talked a great deal about a worn- 
 out, deteriorating race. 
 
 Then, after two years, when a girl baby was born 
 to David and his wife, they couldn't, for the life of 
 them, understand how it came to pass that it wasn't 
 a boy. There had been nothing but boys in the Windom 
 family for years and years. It appeared to be a Win- 
 dom custom. And here was this fair-haired outsider 
 from across the sea breaking in with a girl! They 
 could not believe it possible. David, a great, strong, 
 perfect specimen of a Windom, the father of a girl! 
 Why, they emphasized, he was over six feet tall, strong
 
 18 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 as an ox, broad-shouldered, as fine a figure as you 
 would see in a lifetime. There was something wrong, 
 radically wrong. 
 
 The district suffered another shock when a nurse 
 maid was added to David's household, a girl from 
 the city who had nothing whatever to do, except to take 
 care of the baby while the unnatural mother tinkered 
 with the flower-beds, took long walks about the farm, 
 rode horseback, and played tennis with David and a 
 silly crowd of young people who had fallen into evil 
 ways. 
 
 She died when her daughter was ten years old. Those 
 who had misunderstood her and criticized her in the 
 beginning, mourned her deeply, sincerely, earnestly in 
 the end, for she had triumphed over prejudice, narrow- 
 mindedness, and a certain form of malice. The whole 
 district was the better for her once hateful innovations, 
 and there was no one left who scoffed at David Windom 
 for the choice he had made of a wife. 
 
 Her death wrought a remarkable, enduring change 
 in Windom. He became a silent, brooding man who 
 rarely smiled and \iose heart lay up in the little grave- 
 yard on the ridge. The gay, larksome light fled from 
 his eyes, his face grew stern and sometimes forbidding. 
 She had taken with her the one great thing she had 
 brought into his life : ineffable buoyancy. He no longer 
 played, for there was no one with whom he would play ; 
 he no longer sang, for the music had gone out of his 
 soul; he no longer whistled the merry tunes, for his 
 lips were stiff and unyielding. Only when he looked 
 upon his little daughter did the soft light of love well 
 up into his eyes and the rigid mouth grow tender. 
 
 She was like her mother. She was joyous, brave and
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 19 
 
 fair to look upon. She had the same heart of sunshine, 
 the same heart of iron, and the blue in her eyes was like 
 the blue of the darkening skies. She adored the grim, 
 silent man who was her father, and she was the breath 
 of life to him. 
 
 And then, when she was nineteen, she broke the heart 
 of David Windom. For two years she had been a stu- 
 dent in the University situated but half a score of miles 
 from the place where she was born, a co-educational 
 institution of considerable size and importance. Win- 
 dom did not believe in women's colleges. He believed in 
 the free school with its broadening influence, its com- 
 mingling of the sexes in the search for learning, and 
 in the divine right of woman to develop her mind 
 through the channels that lead ultimately and inevi- 
 tably to superiority of man. He believed that the girl 
 trained and educated in schools devoted exclusively to 
 the finer sex fails to achieve understanding as well as 
 education. The only way to give a girl a practical 
 education, and he believed that every woman should 
 have one, was to start her off even with the boy who 
 was training to become her master in all respects. 
 
 During her second year at the University she met 
 Edward Crown, a senior. He was the son of a black- 
 smith in the city, and he was working his way through 
 college with small assistance from his parent, who held 
 to the conviction that a man was far better off if he 
 developed his muscles by hard work and allowed the 
 brain to take care of itself. Young Crown was a good- 
 looking fellow of twenty-three, clean-minded, ambitious, 
 dogged in work and dogged in play. He had " made " 
 the football team in his sophomore year. Customary 
 snobbishness had kept him out of the fraternities and
 
 20 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 college societies. He may have been a good fellow, a 
 fine student, and a cracking end on the eleven, and all 
 that, but he was not acceptable material for any one 
 of the half dozen fraternities. 
 
 When he left college with his hard-earned degree it 
 was to accept a position with a big engineering com- 
 pany, a job which called him out to the far North- 
 west. Alix Windom was his promised wife. They were 
 deeply, madly in love with each other. Separation 
 seemed unendurable. She was willing to go into the 
 wilderness with him, willing to endure the hardships and 
 the discomforts of life in a construction camp up in the 
 mountains of Montana. She would share his poverty 
 and his trials as she would later share his triumphs. 
 But when they went to David Windom with their beau- 
 tiful dream, the world fell about their ears. 
 
 David Windom, recovering from the shock of sur- 
 prise, ordered Edward from the house. He would 
 sooner see his child dead than the wife of Nick Crown's 
 son, Nick Crown, a drunken rascal who had been 
 known to beat his wife, Nick Crown who was not even 
 fit to lick the feet of the horses he shod ! 
 
 One dark, rainy night in late June, Alix stole out of 
 the old farmhouse on the ridge and met her lover at the 
 abandoned tollgate half a mile up the road. He waited 
 there with a buggy and a fast team of horses. Out of 
 a ramshackle cupboard built in the wall of the toll- 
 house, they withdrew the bundles surreptitiously placed 
 there by Alix in anticipation of this great and daring; 
 event, and made off toward the city at a break-neck, 
 reckless speed. They were married before midnight, 
 and the next day saw them on their way to the Far 
 [West. But not before Alix had despatched a messen-
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 21 
 
 ger to her father, telling him of her act and asking 
 his forgiveness for the sake of the love she bore him. 
 The same courier carried back to the city a brief re- 
 sponse from David Windom. In a shaken, sprawling 
 hand he informed her that if she ever decided to return 
 to her home alone, he would receive her and forgive her 
 for the sake of the love he bore her, but if she came 
 with the coward who stole her away from him, he would 
 kill him before her eyes. 
 
 II 
 
 The summer and fall and part of the winter passed, 
 and in early March Alix came home. 
 
 David Windom, then a man of fifty, gaunt and grey 
 and powerful, seldom had left the farm in all these 
 months. He rode about his far-spread estate, grim 
 and silent, his eyes clouded, his voice almost metallic, 
 his manner cold and repellent. His tenants, his la- 
 bourers, his neighbours, fearing him, rarely broke in 
 upon his reserve. Only his animals loved him and were 
 glad to see him, his dogs, his horses, even his cattle. 
 He loved them, for they were staunch and faithful. 
 Never had he uttered his daughter's name in all these 
 months, nor was there a soul in the community pos- 
 sessed of the hardihood to inquire about her or to sym- 
 pathize with him. 
 
 It was a fierce, cruel night in March that saw the 
 return of Alix. A fine, biting snow blew across the 
 wide, open farmlands ; the beasts of the field were 
 snugly under cover; no man stirred abroad unless 
 driven by necessity; the cold, wind-swept roads were 
 'deserted. So no one witnessed the return of Alix Crown
 
 22 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 and her husband. They came out of the bleak, un- 
 friendly night and knocked at David Windom's door. 
 There were lights in his sitting-room windows ; through 
 them they could see the logs blazing in the big fireplace, 
 beside which sat the lonely, brooding figure of Alix's 
 father. It was late, nearly midnight, and the house 
 was still. Old Maria Bliss and the one other servant 
 had been in bed for hours. The farmhands slept in a 
 cottage Windom had erected years before, acting upon 
 his wife's suggestion. It stood some two or three hun- 
 dred yards from the main house. 
 
 A dog in the stables barked, first in anger and then 
 with unmistakable joy. David's favourite, a big collie, 
 sprang up from his place on the rug before the fire and 
 looked uneasily toward the door opening onto the hall. 
 Then came a rapping at the front door. The collie 
 growled softly as he moved toward the door. He 
 sniffed the air in the hall and suddenly began to whine 
 joyously, wagging his tail as he bounded back and forth 
 between his master and the door. 
 
 David Windom knew then that his daughter had come 
 home. 
 
 He sprang to his feet and took two long strides 
 toward the door. Abruptly, as if suddenly turned to 
 stone, he stopped. For a long time he stood immovable 
 in the middle of the room. The rapping was repeated, 
 louder, heavier than before. He turned slowly, retraced 
 his steps to the fireplace and took from its rack in the 
 corner a great iron poker. His face was ashen grey, 
 his eyes were wide and staring and terrible. Then he 
 strode toward the door, absolutely unconscious of the 
 glad, prancing dog at his side. 
 
 In the poor shelter of the little porch stood Alix, bent
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 23 
 
 and shivering, and, behind her, Edward Crown, at whose 
 feet rested two huge " telescope satchels." The light 
 from within fell dimly upon the white, upturned face 
 of the girl. She held out her hands to the man who 
 towered above her on the doorstep. 
 
 "Daddy! Daddy!" she cried brokenly. "Oh, my 
 daddy ! Let me come in let me, I I am freezing." 
 
 But David Windom was peering over her head at the 
 indistinct face of the man beyond. He wanted to be 
 sure. Lifting his powerful arm, he struck. 
 
 Edward Crown, stiff and numb with cold and weak 
 from an illness of some duration, did not raise an arm 
 to ward off the blow, nor was he even prepared to 
 dodge. The iron rod crashed down upon his head. His 
 legs crumpled up ; he dropped in a heap at the top of 
 the steps and rolled heavily to the bottom, sprawling 
 out on the snow-covered brick walk. 
 
 The long night wore on. Windom had carried his 
 daughter into the sitting-room, where he placed her on 
 a lounge drawn up before the fire. She had fainted. 
 After an hour he left her and went out into the night. 
 The body of Edward Crown was lying where it had 
 fallen. It was covered by a thin blanket of snow. For 
 a long time he stood gazing down upon the lifeless 
 shape. The snow cut his face, the wind threshed about 
 his coatless figure, but he heeded them not. He was 
 muttering to himself. At last he turned to re-enter 
 the house. His daughter was standing in the open 
 doorway. 
 
 "Is is that Edward down there?" she asked, in 
 weak, lifeless tones. She seemed dull, witless, utterly 
 without realization. 
 
 " Go back in the house," he whispered, as -he drew
 
 24> QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 back from her in a sort of horror, horror that had 
 not struck him in the presence of the dead. 
 
 " Is that Edward? " she insisted, her voice rising to 
 a queer, monotonous wail. 
 
 " I told you to stay in the house," he said. " I told 
 you I would look after him, didn't I ? Go back, Alix, 
 that's a good girl. Your your daddy will Oh, my 
 God! Don't look at me like that! " 
 
 " Is he dead? " she whispered, still standing very 
 straight in the middle of the doorway. She was not 
 looking at the inert thing on the walk below, but into- 
 her father's eyes. He did not, could not answer. He 
 seemed frozen stiff. She went on in the same dull, 
 whispered monotone. " I begged him to let me come 
 alone. I begged him to let me see you first. But he 
 would come. He brought me all the way from the West 
 and he ^he was not afraid of you. You have done what 
 you said you would do. You did not give him a 
 chance. And always, always I have loved you so. 
 You will never know how I longed to come back and 
 have you kiss me, and pet me, and call me those silly 
 names you used " 
 
 " What's done, is done," he broke in heavily. " He 
 is dead. It had to be. I was insane, mad with all 
 these months of hatred. It is done. Come, there is 
 nothing you can do. Come back into the house. I will 
 carry him in and wake somebody. Tomorrow they 
 will come and take me away. They will hang me. I 
 am ready. Let them come. You must not stand there 
 in the cold, my child." 
 
 She toppled forward into his arms, and he lifted her 
 as if she were a babe and carried her into the house. 
 The collie was whining in the corner. Windom sat
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 25 
 
 down in the big armchair before the fire, still holding 
 the girl in his arms. She was moaning weakly. Sud- 
 denly a great, overwhelming fear seized him, the fear 
 of being hanged ! 
 
 A long time afterward, it was after two, he arose 
 from his knees beside the lounge and prepared to go 
 out into the night once more. Alix had promised not 
 to send her father to the gallows. She was almost in 
 a stupor after the complete physical and mental col- 
 lapse, but she knew what she was doing, she realized 
 what she was promising in return for the blow that had 
 robbed her of the man she loved. 
 
 No one will ever know just what took place in that 
 darkened sitting-room, for the story as afterwards re- 
 lated was significantly lacking in details. The light had 
 been extinguished and the doors silently closed by the 
 slayer. The stiffening body of Edward Crown out in 
 the snow was not more silent than the interior of the 
 old farmhouse, apart from the room in which David 
 Windom pleaded with his stricken daughter. 
 
 And all the while he was begging her to save him 
 from the .consequences of his crime, his brain was 
 searching for the means to dispose of the body of Ed- 
 ward Crown and to provide an explanation for the re- 
 turn of Alix without her husband. 
 
 Circumstances favoured him in a surprising manner. 
 Young Crown and his wife had travelled down from 
 Chicago in a day coach, and they had left the train at 
 a small way station some five miles west of the Windom 
 farm. Crown was penniless. He did not possess the 
 means to engage a vehicle to transport them from the 
 city to the farm, nor the money to secure lodging for 
 the night in the cheapest hotel. Alix's pride stood in
 
 26 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 the way of an appeal to her husband's father or to any 
 one of his friends for assistance. It was she who in- 
 sisted that they leave the train at Hawkins station and 
 walk to Windom's house. They had encountered no 
 one who knew them, either on the train or at the sta- 
 tion; while on their cold, tortuous journey along the 
 dark highway they did not meet a solitary human 
 being. 
 
 No one, therefore, was aware of their return. 
 
 Edward Crown's presence in the neighbourhood was 
 unknown. If David Windom's plan succeeded, the fact 
 that Crown had returned with his wife never would be 
 known. To all inquirers both he and his daughter were 
 to return the flat but evasive answer : " It is something 
 I cannot discuss at present," leaving the world to ar- 
 rive at the obvious conclusion that Alix's husband had 
 abandoned her. And presently people, from sheer deli- 
 cacy, would cease to inquire. No one would know that 
 Crown had been ill up in the mountains for weeks, had 
 lost his position, and had spent his last penny in get- 
 ting his wife back to the house in which she was bora, 
 and where her own child was soon to be born. 
 
 Windom went about the task of secreting his son- 
 in-law's body in a most systematic, careful manner. He 
 first carried the two " telescopes " into the house and 
 hid them in a closet. Then he put on an old overcoat 
 and cap, his riding boots and gloves. Stealing out to 
 the rear of the house, he found a lantern and secured it 
 to his person by means of a strap. A few minutes later 
 he was ready to start off on his ghastly mission. Alix 
 nodded her head dumbly when he commanded her to 
 remain in the sitting-room and to make no sound that
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 27 
 
 might arouse Maria Bliss. He promised to return in 
 less than an hour. 
 
 " Your father's life depends on your silence, my 
 child, from this moment on," he whispered in her ear. 
 
 She started up. " And how about my husband's 
 life? " she moaned. " What of him? Why do you put 
 yourself " 
 
 " Sh ! Your husband is dead. You cannot bring him 
 to life. It is your duty, do your hear? your duty to 
 spare the living. Remember what I said to you awhile 
 ago. Never forget it, my child." 
 
 " Yes," she muttered. " ' Blood is thicker than 
 water.' I remember." 
 
 Ill 
 
 He went out into the night, closing the door softly 
 behind him. The collie was at his heels. He was afraid 
 to go alone. Grimly, resolutely he lifted the body of 
 Edward Crown from the ground and slung it across his 
 shoulder, the head and arms hanging down his back. 
 Desperation added strength to his powerful frame. As 
 if his burden were a sack of meal, he strode swiftly down 
 the walk, through the gate and across the gravel road. 
 The night was as black as ink, yet he went unerringly 
 to the pasture gate a few rods down the road. Un- 
 latching it, he passed through and struck out across 
 the open, wind-swept meadow. The dog slunk along 
 close behind him, growling softly. Snow was still fall- 
 ing, but the gale from the north was sweeping it into 
 drifts, obliterating his tracks almost as soon as they 
 were made. 
 
 Straight ahead lay the towering, invisible rock, a
 
 28 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 quarter of a mile away. He descended the ridge slope, 
 swung tirelessly across the swales and mounds in the 
 little valley, and then bent his back to the climb up the 
 steep incline to Quill's Window. Picking his way 
 through a fringe of trees, he came to the tortuous path 
 that led to the crest of the great rock. Panting, 
 dogged, straining every ounce of his prodigious 
 strength, he struggled upward, afraid to stop for rest, 
 afraid to lower his burden. The sides and the flat sum- 
 mit of the rock were full of treacherous fissures, but he 
 knew them well. He had climbed the sides of Quill's 
 Window scores of times as a boy, to sit at the top and 
 gaze off over the small world below, there to dream of 
 the great world outside, and of love, adventure, travel. 
 Many a night, after the death of his beloved Alix, he 
 had gone up there to mourn alone, to be nearer to the 
 heaven which she had entered, to be closer to her. He 
 knew well of the narrow fissure at the top, six feet 
 deep and the length of a grave ! Filled only with the 
 leaves of long dead years ! 
 
 He lowered his burden to the bare surface of the 
 rock. The wind had swept it clean. Under the pro- 
 tecting screen of his overcoat he struck a match and 
 lighted the lantern. Then for the first time he studied 
 closely the grey, still face of the youth he had slain. 
 The skull was crushed. There was frozen blood down 
 the back of the head and neck He started up in 
 sudden consternation. There would be blood-stains 
 where the body had lain so long, tell-tale, convicting 
 stains ! He must be swift with the work in hand. Those 
 stains must be wiped out before the break of day. 
 
 Lowering himself into the opening, he began digging 
 at one end with his hands, scooping back quantities of
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 29 
 
 wet leaves. There was snow down there in the pit, a 
 foot or more of it. After a few minutes of vigorous 
 clawing, a hole in the side of the fissure was revealed, 
 an aperture large enough for a man to crawl into. He 
 knew where it led to: down into Quill's cave twenty 
 feet below. 
 
 Some one, perhaps an Indian long before the time 
 of Quill, or it may have been Quill himself, had chis- 
 elled hand and toe niches in the sides of this well and 
 had used the strange shaft as means of getting into and 
 out of the cave. Windom's father had closed this shaft 
 when David was a small boy, after the venturesome 
 youngster had gone down into the cave and, unable to 
 climb out again, had been the cause of an all-day search 
 by his distracted parent and every neighbour for miles 
 around. The elder Windom had blocked the bottom of 
 the hole with a huge boulder, shorn from the side of the 
 cave by some remote wrench of nature. Then he had 
 half filled the cavity from the top by casting in all of 
 the loose stones to be found on the crest of the rock, 
 together with a quantity of earth. The work had never 
 been completed. There still remained a hole some ten 
 feet deep. 
 
 David Windom clambered out, leaving his lantern 
 below. Letting the dead man's body slide into the 
 crevice, he followed, bent on at least partially finishing 
 the job. When he climbed out a second time, Edward 
 Crown was at the bottom of the hole and the wet, foul 
 leaves again hid the opening. Tomorrow night, and 
 the night after, he would come again to close the hole 
 entirely with earth and stones, hiding forever the grew- 
 some thing in Quill's " chimney," as the flue-like pas- 
 sage was called.
 
 30 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Extinguishing the lantern, he started down the hill 
 at a reckless, break-neck speed. He had the uncanny 
 feeling that he was being followed, that Edward Crown 
 was dogging his footsteps. Halfway down, he stum- 
 bled and fell sprawling. As he started to rise, a sound 
 smote his ears the sound of footsteps. For many 
 seconds he held his breath, terror clutching his throat. 
 He was being followed ! Some one was shuffling down 
 the rock behind him. The collie ! He had forgotten the 
 dog. But even as he drew in the deep breath of relief, 
 he felt his blood suddenly freeze in his veins. It was 
 not the dog. Something approached that moaned and 
 whimpered and was not mortal. It passed by him as 
 he crouched to the earth, a shadow blacker than the 
 night itself. Suddenly the truth burst upon him. 
 
 "My God! Alix!" 
 
 Half an hour later he staggered into his house, bear- 
 ing the form of his daughter, tenderly, carefully, not 
 as he had borne the despised dead. 
 
 She had followed him to the top of Quill's Window, 
 she had witnessed the ghastly interment, and she had 
 whispered a prayer for the boy who was gone. 
 
 The next day her baby was born and that night she 
 died. Coming out of a stupor just before death claimed 
 her, she said to David Windom : 
 
 " I am going to Edward. I do not forgive you, 
 father. You must not ask that of me. You say it is 
 my duty to save you from the gallows, a child's duty 
 to her parent. I have promised. I shall keep my 
 promise. It is not in my heart to send you to the 
 gallows. You are my father. You have always loved 
 me. This is my baby, mine and Edward's. She may 
 > God knows I wish I might have died yesterday
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 3l 
 
 and spared her the accursed breath of life, she may 
 grow up to be a woman, just as I grew up. I do not 
 ask much of you in return for what I have done for 
 you, father. You have killed my Edward. I loved him 
 with all my soul. I do not care to live. But my child 
 must go on living, I suppose. My child and his. She 
 is his daughter. I cannot expect you to love her, but I 
 do expect you to take care of her. You say that blood 
 is thicker than water. You are right. I cannot find it 
 in my heart to betray you. You may tell the world 
 whatever story you like about Edward. He is dead, 
 and I shall soon be dead. You can hurt neither of us, 
 no matter what you do. I ask two things of you. One 
 is that you will be good to my baby as long as you may 
 live, and the other is that you will bury me up there 
 where you put Edward last night. I must lie near him 
 always. Say to people that I have asked you to bury 
 me in that pit at the top of Quill's Window, that it 
 was my whim, if you like. Close it up after you have 
 placed me there and cover it with great rocks, so that 
 Edward and I may never be disturbed. I want no 
 headstone, no epitaph. Just the stones as they were 
 hewn by God." 
 
 David Windom promised. He was alone in the room 
 with her when she died. 
 
 IV 
 
 Twenty years passed. Windom came at last to the 
 end of his days. He had fulfilled his promises to Alix. 
 He had taken good care of her daughter, he had given 
 her everything in his power to give, and he had wor- 
 shipped her because she was like both of the Alixes
 
 32 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 he had loved. She was Alix Crown, Alix the Third, 
 he called her. 
 
 On the day of his death, Windom confessed the crime 
 of that far off night in March. In the presence of 
 his lawyer, his doctor, his granddaughter and the prose- 
 cuting attorney of the county, he revealed the secret he 
 had kept for a score of years. The mystery of Edward 
 Crown's disappearance was cleared up, and for the first 
 time in her young life Alix was shorn of the romantic 
 notion that one day her missing father would appear 
 in the flesh, out of the silences, to claim her as his own. 
 From earliest childhood, her imagination had dealt with 
 all manner of dramatic situations ; she had existed in 
 the glamour of uncertainty ; she had looked upon her- 
 self as a character worthy of a place in some grip- 
 ping tale of romance. The mound of rocks on the crest 
 of Quill's Window, surrounded by a tall iron paling 
 fence with its padlocked gate, covered only the body 
 of the mother she had never seen. She did not know 
 until this enlightening hour that her father was also 
 there and had been throughout all the years in which 
 fancy played so important a part. 
 
 Like all the rest of the world, she was given to under- 
 stand that her father had cruelly abandoned her 
 mother. In her soul she had always cherished the hope 
 that this heartless monster might one day stand before 
 her, pleading and penitent, only to be turned away 
 with the scorn he so richly deserved. She even pic- 
 tured him as rich and powerful, possessed of everything 
 except the one greet boon which she alone could give 
 him, a daughter's love. And she would point to the 
 top of Quill's Window and tell him that he must first
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 33 
 
 look there for forgiveness, under the rocks where his 
 broken-hearted victim slept. 
 
 The truth stunned her. She was a long time in realiz- 
 ing that her grandfather, whom she both loved and 
 feared, this grim, adoring old giant, not only had 
 murdered her father but undoubtedly had killed her 
 mother as well. The story that David Windom had 
 written out and signed at the certain approach of 
 death, read aloud in his presence by the shocked and 
 incredulous lawyer, and afterwards printed word for 
 word in the newspapers at the old man's command, 
 changed the whole course of life for her. In fact, her 
 nature underwent a sharp but subtle change. There 
 was nothing left to her of the old life, no thought, no 
 purpose, no fancy ; all had been swept up in a heap and 
 destroyed in the short space of half an hour. Every- 
 thing in her life had to be reconstructed, made-over to 
 suit the new order. She could no longer harbour venge- 
 ful thoughts concerning her father, she could no longer 
 charge him with the wanton destruction of her mother's 
 happiness. 
 
 The grandfather she had loved all her life assumed 
 another shape entirely ; he was no longer the same, and! 
 never again could be the same. She did not hate him. 
 That was impossible. She had never seen her parents, 
 so she had not known the love of either. They did not 
 belong in her life except through the sheerest imagina- 
 tion. Her grandfather was the only real thing she had 
 had in life, and she had adored him. He had killed two 
 people who were as nothing to her, but he had taken 
 the place of both. How could she bring herself to hate 
 this man who had destroyed what were no more than
 
 34 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 names to her? Father, Mother! Two words, that 
 was all. And for twenty long years he had been paying, 
 Oh, how he must have paid ! 
 
 She recalled his reason for taking her to England 
 when she was less than eight years old and leaving her 
 there until she was twelve. She remembered that he 
 had said he wanted her to be like her grandmother, to 
 grow up among her people, to absorb from them all that 
 had made the first Alix so strong and fine and true. 
 And then he had come to take her from them, back to 
 the land of her birth, because, he said, he wanted her to 
 be like her mother, the second Alix, an American 
 woman. She recalled his bitter antipathy to co-educa- 
 tional institutions and his unyielding resolve that she 
 should complete her schooling in a Sacred Heart Con- 
 vent. She remembered the commotion this decision cre- 
 ated ambng his neighbours. In her presence they had 
 assailed him with the charge that he was turning the 
 girl over, body and soul, to the Catholic Church, and he 
 had uttered in reply the never to be forgotten words : 
 
 " If I never do anything worse than that for her, 
 I'll be damned well satisfied with my chance of getting 
 into heaven as soon as the rest of you." 
 
 When David's will was read, it was found that except 
 for a few small bequests, his entire estate, real and per- 
 sonal, was left to his granddaughter, Alix Crown, to 
 have and to hold in perpetuity without condition or 
 restriction of any sort or character. 
 
 The first thing she did was to have a strong picket 
 fence constructed around the base of the hill leading 
 up to Quill's Window, shutting off all accessible ave- 
 nues of approach to the summit. Following close upon 
 the publication of David Windom's confession, large
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 35 
 
 numbers of people were urged by morbid curiosity to 
 visit the strange burial-place of Edward and Alix 
 Crown. The top of Quill's Window became the most 
 interesting spot in the county. Alix the Third was 
 likewise an object of vast interest, and the old, deserted 
 farmhouse on the ridge came in for its share of 
 curiosity. 
 
 Almost immediately after the double tragedy and the 
 birth of little Alix, David Windom moved out of the 
 house and took up his residence in the riverside village 
 of Windomville, a mile to the south. The old house was 
 closed, the window shutters nailed up, the doors barred, 
 and all signs of occupancy removed. It was said that 
 he never put foot inside the yard after his hasty, in- 
 explicable departure. The place went to rack and ruin. 
 In course of time he built a new and modern house 
 nearer the village, and this was now one of the show 
 places of the district. 
 
 The influence of Alix the First was expressed in the 
 modelling of house and grounds, the result being a 
 picturesque place with a distinctly English atmosphere, 
 set well back from the highway in the heart of a grove 
 of oaks, a substantial house of brick with a steep red 
 tile roof, white window casements, and a wide brick 
 terrace guarded by a low ivy-draped wall. English ivy- 
 swathed the two corners of the house facing the road, 
 mounting high upon the tall red chimneys at the ends. 
 There were flower-beds below the terrace, and off to 
 the right there was an old-fashioned garden. The 
 stables were at the foot of the hill some distance to the 
 rear of the house. 
 
 The village of Windomville lay below, hugging the
 
 36 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 river, a relic of the days when steamboats plied up and 
 down the stream and railways were remote, a sleepy, 
 insignificant, intensely rural hamlet of less than six 
 hundred inhabitants. Its one claim to distinction was 
 the venerable but still active ferry that laboured back 
 and forth across the river. Of secondary importance 
 was the ancient dock, once upon a time the stopping 
 place of steamboats, but now a rotten, rickety obstruc- 
 tion upon which the downstream drift lodged in an. 
 unsightly mass. 
 
 In the solid red-brick house among the oaks Alix the 
 Third had spent her childhood days. She was taken to 
 England when she was eight by her haunted grand- 
 father, not only to receive the bringing-up of an Eng- 
 lish child, but because David Windom's courage was 
 breaking down. As she grew older, the resemblance to 
 Edward Crown became more and more startling. She 
 had his dark, smiling eyes; his wavy brown hair; her 
 very manner of speech was like his. To David Windom, 
 she was the re-incarnation of the youth he had slain. 
 Out of her eyes seemed to look the soul of Edward 
 Crown. He could not stand it. She became an obses- 
 sion, a curious source of fascination. He could not 
 bear her out of his sight, and yet when she was with 
 him, smiling up into his eyes, he was deathly afraid 
 of her. There were times when he was almost over- 
 come by the impulse to drop to his knees and plead for 
 forgiveness as he looked into the clear, friendly, ques- 
 tioning eyes of Edward Crown. 
 
 And her voice, her speech, therein lay the true 
 cause of his taking her to England. When she came 
 home to him, after four yers, there was no trace of 
 Edward Crown in her voice or manner of speaking.
 
 THE STORY THE OLD MAN TOLD 37, 
 
 She was almost as English as Alix the First. But her 
 eyes had not changed ; he was still a haunted man. 
 
 In the little graveyard on the outskirts of the village 
 more than a score of Windoms lie. With them lies all 
 that was mortal of fair Alix the First, and beside her 
 is David Windom, the murderer.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 COURTNEY THANE 
 
 " A ND what has become of Alix the Third? " in- 
 /A quired the young man, squinting at his wrist- 
 watch and making out in the semi-darkness 
 that it was nearly half-past nine. 
 
 He had listened somewhat indulgently to the story 
 of the three Alixes. The old man, prompted and 
 sometimes disputed by other members of the family, 
 had narrated in his own simple way the foregoing tale, 
 arriving at the end in a far more expeditious and cer- 
 tainly in a less studied manner than the present chron- 
 icler employs in putting the facts before his readers. 
 The night was hot. He was occasionally interrupted 
 by various members of the little group on the front 
 porch of the big old farmhouse, the interruption inva- 
 riably taking the form of a conjecture concerning the 
 significance of certain signs ordinarily infallible in de- 
 noting the approach of rain. Heat lightning had been 
 playing for an hour or more in the gloomy west ; a tree- 
 toad in a nearby elm was prophesying thunder in un- 
 melodious song: night-birds fluttered restlessly among 
 the lofty branches ; widely separated whiffs of a freshen- 
 ing wind came around the corner of the house. All of 
 these had a barometric meaning to the wistful group. 
 There was a thunderstorm on the way. It was sure to 
 come before morning. The prayers inaugurated a 
 month ago were at last to be answered. 
 38
 
 COURTNEY THANE 39 
 
 As old man Brown drily remarked : " There's one sat- 
 isfaction about prayin' for rain. If you keep at it 
 long enough, you're bound to get what you're askin' 
 for. Works the same way when you're prayin' for it 
 to stop rainin'. My grandfather once prayed for a 
 solid two months before he got rain, and then, by gosh, 
 he had to pray for nearly three weeks to get it to quit." 
 
 Supper over, the young man had reminded his ven- 
 erable angling companion of his promise to relate the 
 history of Quill's Window. Old Caleb Brown was the 
 father of Mrs. Vick, Lucinda Vick, wife of the farmer 
 in whose house the young man was spending a month as 
 a boarder. 
 
 The group on the porch included Amos Vick, anxious, 
 preoccupied, and interested only in the prospect of 
 rain ; his daughter Rosabel, aged eighteen, a very pretty 
 and vivacious girl, interested only in the young man 
 from the far-off, mysterious city in the East ; his son 
 Caleb, a rugged youth of nineteen; Mrs. Vick, and a 
 neighbour named White, who had come over for the sole 
 purpose of finding out just what Amos Vick thought 
 about the weather. Two dogs lay panting on the dry 
 grass at the foot of the steps. 
 
 " Oh, she's living over there in the Windom house," 
 said Mrs. Vick. 
 
 " Sort of running the place," explained Mr. Brown, 
 a trace of irony in his voice. 
 
 " Well," put in Amos Vick, speaking for the first 
 time in many minutes, " she's got a lot of sense, that 
 girl has. She may be letting on that she's running the 
 farm, but she ain't, you bet. That's where she's smart. 
 She's got sense enough to know she don't know anything 
 about running a farm, and while she puts on a lot of
 
 40 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 airs and acts kind of important like, the real truth is 
 she leaves everything to old Jim Bagley. I guess you 
 don't know who Jim Bagley is, do you, Courtney? " 
 
 " I can't say that I do," replied the young man. 
 
 " Well, he's about the slickest citizen you ever saw. 
 From what father here says about your granddad, he 
 must have been a purty hard customer to deal with, but, 
 by ginger, if he was any worse than Jim Bagley in driv- 
 ing a bargain, I'm glad he died as long ago as he did." 
 
 " You're just sore, Amos," said his wife, " because 
 Mr. Bagley got the best of you in that hog deal three 
 years ago." 
 
 " Oh, Lord, ain't you ever going to get tired of 
 thro win' that up to me? " groaned Mr. Vick. " I never 
 mention Jim Bagley's name but what you up and say 
 something about them hogs. Now, as a matter of fact, 
 them hogs " 
 
 " For goodness sake, Pa, you're not going to tell 
 Mr. Thane about that hog business, are you? " cried 
 Rosabel. 
 
 " Well, when your Ma begins to insinuate that I got 
 the worst of " 
 
 " I don't say that you got the worst of it, Amos," 
 interrupted Mrs. Vick good-humouredly. " I only say 
 that he got the best of it." 
 
 "Well, if that don't come to the same" 
 
 " Looks to me, Amos, like we'd get her good and 
 plenty before mornin'," broke in Mr. White. He was 
 referring to the weather. " That ain't all heat light- 
 nin' over there. Seems to me I heard a little thunder 
 just now." 
 
 " Alix Crown is away a good part of the time, Court-
 
 COURTNEY THANE 41 
 
 ney," said Mrs. Vick, taking up the thread where it 
 had been severed by recrimination. " All through the 
 war, long before we went in, she was up in town 
 working for the Belgiums, and then, when we did go in, 
 she went East some'eres to learn how to be a nurse or 
 drive an ambulance or something, New York, I be- 
 lieve. And as for money, she contributed quite a bit 
 how much do they say it was, Amos ? " 
 
 " Well, all I know is that Mary Simmons says she 
 gave ten thousand dollars and Josie Fiddler says it 
 was three hundred, so you can choose between 'em." 
 
 " She did her share, all right," said young Caleb 
 defensively. " That's more'n a lot of people around 
 here did." 
 
 " Gale's in love with her, Mr. Thane," explained 
 Rosabel. " She's five years older than he is, and don't 
 know he's on earth." 
 
 " Aw, cut that out," growled Caleb. 
 
 " Is she good-looking? " inquired Courtney Thane. 
 
 " I don't like 'em quite as tall as she is," said Mr. 
 White. 
 
 " She's got a good pair of legs," said old Caleb 
 Brown, shifting his cigar with his tongue. 
 
 " We're not talking about horses, father," said Mrs. 
 Vick sharply. 
 
 " Who said we was? " demanded old Caleb. 
 
 " Most people think she's good-looking," said Rosa- 
 bel, somewhat grudgingly. " And she isn't any taller 
 than I am, Mr. White." 
 
 " Well, you ain't no dwarft, Rosie," exclaimed 
 Farmer White, with a brave laugh. " You must be five 
 foot seven or eight, but you ain't skinny like she is.
 
 42 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 She'd ought to weigh about a hunderd and sixty, for 
 her height, and I'll bet she don't weigh more'n a hun- 
 derd and thirty." 
 
 " I wouldn't call that skinny," remarked Courtney. 
 
 " She wears these here new-fangled britches when 
 she's on horseback," said old Caleb, justifying his ob- 
 servation. " Rides straddle, like a man. You can't 
 help seeing what kind of- " 
 
 " That wiU do, Pa," broke in his wife. " It's no 
 crime for a woman to wear pants when she's riding, 
 although I must say I don't think it's very modest. I 
 never rode any way except side-saddle, and neither 
 has Rosabel. I've brought her up " 
 
 " Don't you be too sure of that, Ma," interrupted 
 young Caleb maliciously. 
 
 " I never did it but once, and you know it, Cale Vick," 
 cried Rosabel, blushing violently. 
 
 The subject was abruptly changed by Mr. White. 
 
 " Well, I guess I'll be moseyin' along home, Amos. 
 That certainly did sound like thunder, didn't it? And 
 that tree-toad has stopped signalling that's a sure 
 sign. Like as not I'll get caught in the rain if I don't, 
 what say, Lucindy? " 
 
 " Do you want an umberell, Steve? " 
 
 " I should say not! What do you want me to do? 
 Scare the rain off? No, sir! Rain's the funniest thing 
 in the world. If it sees you got an umberell it won't 
 come within a hunderd miles of you. That's why I got 
 my Sunday clothes on, and my new straw hat. Some- 
 times that'll bring rain out of a clear sky, that an* 
 a Sunday-school picnic. It's a pity we couldn't have 
 got up a Sunday-school picnic, but then, of course, 
 that wouldn't have done any good. You can't fool a
 
 COURTNEY THANE 43 
 
 rainstorm. So long, Amos. Night, everybody. Night, 
 Courtney. As I was sayin' awhile ago, I used to go to 
 school with your pa when him an' me was little shavers, 
 up yonder at the old Kennedy schoolhouse. Fifty 
 odd years ago. Seems like yesterday. How old did you 
 say you was? " 
 
 " Twenty-eight, Mr. White." 
 
 " And your pa's been dead how long did you say? " 
 
 " He died when I was twenty-two." 
 
 " Funny your ma didn't bring him out here and bury 
 him 'longside his father and all the rest of 'em^u in 
 the family burying-ground," was Mr. White's conclud- 
 ing observation as he ambled off down the gravel walk 
 to the front gate. 
 
 " I wish you'd brought your croix de guerre along 
 with you, Mr. Thane," said young Caleb, his eyes 
 gleaming in the faint light from the open door. " I 
 guess I don't pronounce it as it ought to be. Fm not 
 much of a hand at French." 
 
 " You came pretty close to it," said Thane, with a 
 smile. *' You see, Cale, it's the sort of thing one puts 
 away in a safe place. That's why I left it in New York. 
 Mother likes to look at it occasional!}'. Mothers are 
 queer creatures, you know. They like to be reminded 
 of the good tilings their sons have done. It helps 'em 
 to forget the bad things, I suppose." 
 
 " You're always joking," pouted Rosabel, leaning 
 forward, ardour in her wide, young eyes. " If I was a 
 boy and had been in the war, I'd never stop talking 
 about it." 
 
 " And I'd have been in it, too, if pa hadn't up and 
 told 'em I was only a little more than fifteen," said 
 Cale, glowering at his father in the darkness.
 
 44. QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " You mustn't blame your pa, Cale," rebuked his 
 mother. " He knows what a soldier's life is better than 
 you do. He was down in that camp at Chattanooga 
 during the Spanish War, and almost died of typhoid, 
 Courtney. And when I think of the way our boys died 
 by the millions of the flu, I well, I just know you 
 would have died of it, sonny, and I wouldn't have had 
 any cross or medal to look at, and and " 
 
 " Don't begin cryin', Lucindy," broke in old Caleb 
 hastily. " He didn't die of the flu, so what's the sense 
 of worryin' about it now? He didn't even ketch it, and 
 gosh knows, the whole blamed country was full ofjt 
 that winter." 
 
 *' Well," began Mrs. Vick defensively, and then com- 
 pressed her lips in silence. 
 
 " I think it was perfectly wonderful of you, Mr. 
 Thane, to go over to France and fight in the American 
 Ambulance so long before we went into the war." This 
 from the adoring Rosabel. " I wish you'd tell us more 
 about your experiences. They must have been terrible. 
 You never talk about them, though. I think the real 
 heroes were the fellows who went over when you did, 
 when you didn't really have to, because America wasn't 
 in it." 
 
 " The American Ambulance wasn't over there to 
 fight, you know," explained Courtney. 
 
 " What did you get the cross for if you weren't 
 fighting? " demanded young Cale. 
 
 " For doing what a whole lot of other fellows did, 
 simply going out and getting a wounded man or two 
 in No-Man's Land. We didn't think much about it at 
 the time." 
 
 " Was it very dangerous? " asked Rosabel.
 
 COURTNEY THANE 45 
 
 " I suppose it was, more or less so," replied Thane 
 indifferently. He even yawned. " I'd rather talk about 
 Alix the Third, if it's all the same to you. Is she light 
 or dark?" 
 
 " She's a brunette," said Rosabel shortly. All ex- 
 cept her eyes. They're blue. How long were you up 
 at the front, Mr. Thane? " 
 
 " Oh, quite a while, several months, in fact. At 
 first we were in a place where there wasn't much fight- 
 ing. Just before the first big Verdun drive we were 
 transferred to that sector, and then we saw a lot of 
 action." 
 
 " Some battle, wasn't it? " exclaimed young Cale, a 
 thrill in his voice. 
 
 " Certainly was," said Courtney. " We used to 
 work forty-eight hours at a stretch, taking 'em back by 
 the thousands." 
 
 " How near did the shells ever come to you? " 
 
 " Oh, sometimes as close as twenty or thirty feet. I 
 remember one that dropped in the road about fifty feet 
 ahead of my car, and before I could stop we ran plunk 
 into the hole it made and upset. I suppose the Windom 
 estate must be a pretty big one, isn't it, Mr. Vick? " 
 
 " Taking everything into consideration, it amounts 
 to nearly a million dollars. David Windom had quite 
 a bit of property up in the city, aside from his farm, 
 and he owned a big ranch out in Texas. The grain 
 elevator in Windomville belonged to him, still belongs 
 to Alix Crown, and there's a three mile railroad con- 
 necting with the main line over at Smith's Siding. 
 Every foot of it is on his land. He built the railroad 
 about twenty year ago, and the elevator, too, out of 
 spite, they say, for the men that run the elevator at
 
 46 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Hawkins a little further up the road. Hawkins is the 
 place where his daughter and Edward Crown got off 
 the train the night of the murder." 
 
 " And this young girl owns all of it, farms, ranch, 
 railroad and everything? " 
 
 " Every cent's worth of it is her'n. There ain't a 
 sign of a mortgage on any of it, either. It's as clear 
 as a blank sheet of writin' paper." 
 
 " When was it you were gassed, Mr. Thane? " in- 
 quired young Caleb. 
 
 " Oh, that was when I was in the air service, only 
 a few weeks before the armistice." 
 
 "You left your wings at home, too, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes. Mother likes to look at the only wings I'll 
 probably ever have, now or hereafter." 
 
 " How does it come, Court, that you went into the 
 British air corpse, 'stead of in the U. S. A. ? " inquired 
 old Caleb. 
 
 " I joined the Royal Flying Corps, Mr. Brown, be- 
 cause the Americans wouldn't have me," replied Thane 
 tersely. " I tried to get in, but they wouldn't pass me. 
 Said I had a weak heart and a whole lot of rubbish like 
 that. It's no wonder the American Air Service was 
 punk. I went over to Toronto and they took me like a 
 shot in the Royal British. They weren't so blamed 
 finicky and old womanish. All they asked for in an 
 applicant was any kind of a heart at all so long as it 
 was with the cause. I don't suppose I ought to say 
 it, but the American Air Service was a joke." 
 
 " I hope you ain't turning British in your feelings, 
 Court," remarked Amos Vick. " It's purty difficult to 
 be both, you know, English and Yankee." 
 
 " I'm American through and through, Mr. Vick, even
 
 COURTNEY THANE 47 
 
 though I did serve under the British flag till I was 
 gassed and invalided out." 
 
 " Affects the lungs, don't it? " inquired old Caleb. 
 
 "I don't like to talk about it, Mr. Brown. I'm 
 trying to forget what hell was like. I was in hospital 
 for four months. It took a lot more nerve to draw 
 a breath then than it did to fly over the German lines 
 with the Bodies popping away from all sides. I didn't 
 mind the wounds I sustained, but the gas! Gee, it 
 was horrible." 
 
 " Your ma said in her letter to me that you'd had 
 pneumonia twice since you got back," said Mrs. Vick. 
 " Was that due to the gas? " 
 
 " I suppose so. They thought I had tuberculosis 
 for awhile, you see. Then, this spring, I had to go 
 and have a bout with typhoid. I ought to be dead, with 
 all I've had, but here I am, alive and happy, and if 
 you keep on feeding me as you have been for the past 
 three days, I'll live forever." 
 
 " You mustn't overdo, Courtney," warned the 
 farmer's wife. ** Your ma sent you out here to get 
 well, and I feel a kind of responsibility for you. I guess 
 it's about time you was off to bed. Come on, Amos. 
 It isn't going to bring rain any sooner for you to be 
 setting out here watching for it." 
 
 Old Caleb had his say. " I suppose it was all right 
 for you to serve with the British, Court, but if you'd 
 waited a little while longer you might have carried a 
 gun over there under the Stars and Stripes. But, as 
 you say, you couldn't bear to wait. I give you credit 
 for it. I'm derned glad to see one member of the Thane 
 family that had the nerve to volunteer. At the time 
 of the Civil War your grandpa was what we call a
 
 48 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 slacker in these days. He hired a feller to go in his 
 place, and when that feller was killed and a second call 
 for volunteers come up, dogged if he didn't up and hire 
 another one. One of your grandpa's brothers skipped 
 off to Canada so's he wouldn't have to serve, and the 
 other, his name was George Washington Thane, by; 
 the way, accidentally shot two of his fingers off while 
 his company was in camp down at Crawfordsville, 
 gettin' ready to go down and meet Morgan's Riders, 
 and that let him out. I admit it takes right smart of 
 courage to accidentally shoot your fingers off, specially 
 when nobody is lookin', but at any rate he had a uni- 
 form on when he done it. Course, there wasn't any 
 wars during your pa's day, so I don't know how he 
 would have acted. He wasn't much of a feller for 
 fightin', though, I remember that. I mean fist 
 fightin'. I'm glad to know you don't take after your 
 granddad. I never had any use for a coward, and 
 that's why I'm proud to shake hands with you, my 
 boy. There was a derned bad streak in your family 
 back in your granddad's day, and it certainly is good 
 to see that you have wiped it out. It don't always hap- 
 pen so. Teller streaks are purty hard to wipe out. 
 Takes more than two generations to do it as a rule. 
 I'm happy to know you ain't gun shy." 
 
 The young man laughed. " I don't mind telling you, 
 Mr. Brown, that I never went into action without being 
 scared half out of my boots. But I wasn't alone in 
 that, you see. I never knew a man over there who 
 wasn't scared when he went over th*e top. He went, 
 just the same, and that's what I call courage." 
 
 " So do I," cried Rosabel. 
 
 " Did you ever know for sure whether you got a
 
 COURTNEY THANE 49 
 
 German?" asked the intense young Caleb. "I mean,' 
 did you ever kill one? " 
 
 " That's pretty hard to say, Cale. We never knew, 
 you see, we fellows up in the clouds. I was in a bomb- 
 ing machine. I'd hate to think that we wasted any 
 bombs." 
 
 " Come now, all of you, off to bed," interposed 
 Mrs. Vick. " I don't want to hear any more, Courtney. 
 I wouldn't sleep a wink." 
 
 " Strikin' ten," said Amos, arising from his rocking- 
 chair and turning it upside down at the back of the 
 porch. 
 
 " Don't do that, Amos," protested old Caleb. " It'll 
 never rain if you Why, dog-gone it, ain't you learned 
 that it's bad luck to turn a chair bottom-side up when 
 rain's needed? Turn it right-side up and put it right 
 out here in front again where the rain can get at it. 
 Nothin' tickles the weather more'n a chance to spoil 
 something. That's right. Now we c'n go to bed. Bet- 
 ter leave them cushions on the steps too, Rosie." 
 
 Courtney Thane went to his room, the spare-room 
 on the second floor, and prepared to retire. The proc- 
 ess was attended by the smoking of three cigarettes. 
 Presently he was stretched out on the bed without even 
 so much as a sheet over him. The heat was stifling. 
 Not a breath of air came in through the wide-open 
 windows. He lay awake for a long time, staring out 
 into the night. 
 
 " So my precious granddad had a yellow streak in 
 him, did he? And father wasn't much of a fighter 
 either. Takes more than two generations to wipe out 
 a yellow streak, does it? I wonder what the old boob 
 meant by that rotten slam at my people.'*
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 DOWD's TAVERN 
 
 THE last week in August Courtney Thane left the 
 Vick farm and, crossing the river, took lodgings 
 at the boarding house conducted by the Misses 
 Dowd in the town of Windomville. 
 
 In a letter to his mother, informing her of the change, 
 he had said: 
 
 Of course, I appreciate the fact that you are paying the 
 bills, old dear, and out of consideration for you I dare say 
 I ought to stick it out with the Vicks till November as we 
 arranged. But I simply cannot stand it any longer. The 
 old woman almost puts me to bed, the girl almost sits on 
 my lap, the boy drives me crazy with his infernal questions 
 about the war, and old man Brown, the one who went to 
 school with father out in this gosh awful land of the grass- 
 hopper, he is the limit. He never lets a day go by without 
 some slur about my grandfather or some other member of 
 the family who existed long before I was born. Thinks he's 
 witty. He is always nagging at me about cigarette smoking. 
 I wish you could see the way he mishandles a cigar. As you 
 know, I seldom smoke more than a half dozen cigarettes a 
 day, but he swears to God I am everlastingly ruining my 
 health, and it has got on my nerves so that if I stay on 
 here another week I'll call the old jay so hard he'll drop 
 dead from the shock. And, my heavens, how lonesome it is 
 here. I almost die of homesickness. I just had to find a 
 place where there is some one'to talk to besides the cows 
 and sheep and people who never think of anything but 
 50
 
 DOWD'S TAVERN 51 
 
 crops and the weather, last Sunday's sermon and Theodore 
 Roosevelt. They are honest, but, my God, how could they 
 be anything else? It would not be right for me to deny 
 that I have improved a great deal in the last couple of 
 weeks. I am beginning to feel pretty fit, and I've put on 
 four or five pounds. Still, I'm getting sick of fresh eggs 
 and fresh milk and their everlasting bacon, they call it 
 side-meat, and preserves. She simply stuffs me with 
 them. The air is wonderful, even during that awful hot 
 spell I wrote you about. I am sure that another month or 
 two out here, perhaps three, will put me back on my 
 pins stronger than ever, and then I'll be in condition to go 
 back to work. I am eager to get at it as soon as possible in 
 order to pay back all you have put up for me during this 
 beastly year. If I did not know you can well afford to do 
 what you have been doing for me, mother dear, I wouldn't 
 allow you to spend another penny on me. But you will get 
 it all back some day, not in cash, of course, for that means 
 nothing to you, but in the joy of knowing that it was 
 worth while to bring your only son into the world. Now, 
 as to this change I am going to make. I've been across 
 the river several times and I like it over there much better 
 than here. I think the air is better and certainly the sur- 
 roundings are pleasanter. Windomville is a funny little 
 village of five or six hundred people, about the same number 
 of dogs (exaggeration!), and the sleepiest place you've ever 
 imagined. Old Caleb Brown says it was laid out back in 
 1830 or thereabouts by the first Windom to come to these 
 parts. It has a public school, a town hall, a motion-picture 
 house (with last year's reels), a drug store where you can 
 get soda water, a grain elevator, and a wonderful old log 
 hut that was built by the very first settler, making it nearly 
 a hundred years old. Miss Alix Crown, who owns nearly 
 everything in sight, including the log hut, has had the 
 latter restored and turned into the quaintest little town 
 library you've ever seen. But you ought to see the
 
 52 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 librarian! She is a dried-up, squinty old maid of some 
 seventy summers, and so full of Jane Austen and the Bronte 
 women and Mrs. Southworth that she hasn't an inch of 
 room left in her for the modexn writers. Her name caps 
 the climax. It is Alaska Spigg. Can you beat it ? No one 
 ever calls her Miss Spigg, not even the kids, nor is she 
 iever spoken of or to as Alaska. It is always Alaska Spigg. 
 I wish you could see her. Miss Crown is the girl I wrote 
 you about, the one with the dime novel history back of her. 
 She has a house on the edge of the town, a very attractive 
 place. I have not seen her yet. She is up in Michigan, 
 Harbor Point, I believe, but I hear she is expected home 
 within a week or two. I am rather curious to see her. The 
 place where I have taken a room is run by a couple of old 
 maids named Dowd. It is really a sort of hotel. At least, 
 you would insult them if you called it a boarding house. 
 Their grandfather built the house and ran it as a tavern 
 back before the Civil War. When he died his son carried 
 on the business. And now his two daughters run the place. 
 They have built on a couple of wings and it is really an 
 interesting old shack. Clean as a pin, and they say the grub 
 is good. It will be, as I said, a little more expensive living 
 here than with the Vicks but not enough to amount to any- 
 thing. The Dowds ask only fifteen dollars a week for room 
 and board, which is cheaper than the Ritz-Carlton or the 
 Commodore, isn't it? . . . Here is my new address in the 
 Metropolis of Windomville-by-the-Crick : Dowd's Tavern, 
 Main Street 
 
 Her reply was prompt. She wrote from Bar Harbor, 
 where she was spending the summer : 
 
 . . . perfectly silly of you, dearest, to speak of repay- 
 ing me. All I possess will be yours some day, so why be- 
 grudge you a little of what should be yours now? Your 
 dear father perhaps thought he was doing the right thing 
 for both of us when he left everything to me during my
 
 DOWD'S TAVERN 53 
 
 lifetime, but I do not believe it was fair. . . . There will 
 not be a great deal, of course. You understand how heavy 
 my expenses have been. ... In any case, you are in 
 wretched health, my dear boy. Nothing must stand in the 
 way of your complete recovery. When you are completely 
 recovered, well and strong and eager to take up life where 
 this cruel war cut it off, I shall be the happiest mother 
 alive. I am sure you will have no difficulty in establishing 
 yourself. They tell me the returned soldiers are not hav- 
 ing an easy time finding satisfactory and lucrative positions. 
 It is a shame the way certain concerns have treated a good 
 many of them, after actually promising to hold their places 
 open for them. But with you it will be different. I spoke 
 to Mr. Roberts yesterday about you. He wants to have a 
 talk with you. I have an idea he wants to put you in 
 charge of one of their offices in Spain. At any rate, he 
 asked if you spoke Spanish well. . . . So I can easily 
 afford to increase your allowance to one hundred and fifty 
 a month. More, if you should ask for it, but you are so 
 proud and self-reliant I can do absolutely nothing with you, 
 dear boy. I quite understand your unwillingness to accept 
 more than you actually need from me. It is splendid, and 
 I am very proud of you. . . . This girl you wrote me 
 about, is she so very rich ? . . . Your father used to speak 
 of a young man named Windom and how he envied him 
 because he was so tall and handsome. Of course, your 
 dear father was a small boy then, and that is always one 
 of the laments of small boys. That, and falling in love 
 with women old enough to be their mothers. . . . Do 
 write me often. But don't be angry with me if I fail to 
 answer all of your letters. I am so frightfully busy. I 
 rarely ever have more than a minute to myself. How I 
 have managed to find the time to write this long letter to 
 you I cannot imagine. It is really quite a nice long one, 
 isn't it? . . . and don't be writing home to me in a few 
 weeks to say you are engaged to be married to her. It
 
 54 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 took me a great many years to convert your dear father 
 into what he was as you knew him. I don't relish the 
 thought at my time of life of transforming a crude farmer's 
 daughter into a Fifth Avenue lady, no matter how pretty 
 she may be in the rough. The days of Cinderella are long 
 since past. One has so much to overcome in the way of 
 a voice with these country girls, to say nothing of the letter 
 r. Your poor father never quite got over being an Indiana 
 farmer's son, but he did manage to subdue the aforesaid 
 letter. . . . And these country-girls take a harmless, 
 amusing flirtation very seriously, dear boy. . . . Your 
 adoring mother. 
 
 Courtney Thane's fame had preceded him to Win- 
 domville. By this time, the entire district had heard of 
 the man who was gassed, and who had actually won two 
 or three medals for bravery in the Great War. The 
 young men from that section of the state who had seen 
 fighting in France were still in New York City, looking 
 for jobs. Most of them had " joined up " at the first 
 call for volunteers. Some of them had been killed, many 
 of them wounded, but not one of them had received a 
 medal for bravery. The men who had been called by 
 the draft into the great National Army were all home 
 again, having got no nearer to the battle front than 
 an embarkation camp in New Jersey, and so this tall, 
 slender young fellow from the East was an object not 
 only of curiosity but of envy. 
 
 The Misses Dowd laid themselves out to make him 
 comfortable, as well as prominent. They gave him a 
 corner room on the upper floor of Dowd's Tavern, dis- 
 possessing a tenant of twelve years' standing, a pho- 
 tographer named Hatch, whose ability to keep from 
 living too far in arrears depended on his luck in in-
 
 DOWD'S TAVERN 55 
 
 veigling certain sentimental customers into taking 
 " crayon portraits " of deceased loved ones, satisfac- 
 tion guaranteed, frames extra. Two windows, looking 
 out over the roof of the long front porch, gave him an 
 unobstructed view of Main .Street, including such 
 edifices as the postoffice, the log-hut library, the ancient 
 watering trough, the drug store, and the steeple of the 
 Presbyterian Church rising proudly above the roofs of 
 the houses in between. 
 
 Main Street ran almost parallel with the river. With 
 commendable forethought, the first settlers had built 
 their houses and stores some little distance back from 
 the stream along the summit of a wooded ridge perhaps 
 forty feet above the river at its midsummer low-water 
 level. The tremendous, devastating floods that came 
 annually with the breaking up of winter failed to reach 
 the houses, although in 1883, according to the rec- 
 ords, the water came up to within a foot of Joe 
 Roush's blacksmith shop, situated at that time halfway 
 down the slope, compelling the smith to think seriously 
 of " moving up a couple of hops," a precaution that was 
 rendered unnecessary by a subsequent midsummer bolt 
 of lightning that destroyed not only the forge but 
 shocked Joe so severely that he " saw green " for a 
 matter of six weeks and finally resulted in his falling 
 off the dock into deep water in the middle of what was 
 intended to be a protracted spree brought on by the 
 discovery that his insurance policy did not cover " loss 
 by lightning." To this day, the older inhabitants of 
 Windomville will tell you about the way his widow 
 " took on " until she couldn't stand it any longer, and 
 then married George Hooper, the butcher, four months 
 after the shocking demise of Joseph.
 
 56 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Dowd's Tavern had few transient guests. " Drum- 
 mers " from the city hard-by dropped in occasionally 
 for a midday meal, but they never stayed the night. 
 .The guests were what the Misses Dowd called " regu- 
 lars." They included Hatch, the photographer ; an old 
 and indigent couple, parents of a farmer whose wife 
 objected so vehemently to their well-meant efforts to 
 " run " her house for her that he was obliged to " board 
 'em " with the Dowd girls, an arrangement that seemed 
 to satisfy every one concerned except the farmer him- 
 self, who never missed an opportunity to praise the 
 food and the comforts to be enjoyed at the county 
 " poorhouse " when he paid his semi-annual visit to the 
 venerable dependents ; Mr. Charlie Webster, the rotund 
 manager of the grain elevator, who spent every Satur- 
 day might and Sunday in the city and showed up for 
 duty on Monday with pinkish eyes and a rather tremu- 
 lous whistle that was supposed to be reminiscent of 
 ecclesiastical associations ; Miss Flora Grady, the dress- 
 maker; Doctor Simpson, the dentist, a pale young man 
 with extremely bad teeth and a habit of smiling, even 
 at funerals; Miss Miller, the principal of the school, 
 who was content with a small room over the kitchen at 
 ten dollars a week, thereby permitting her to save some- 
 thing out of her salary, which was fifty dollars a month ; 
 A. Lincoln Pollock, the editor, owner and printer of 
 the Weekly Sim, and his wife, Maude Baggs Pol- 
 lock, who besides contributing a poem to each and every 
 issue of the paper, (over her own signature), collected 
 news and society items, ran the postoffice for her hus- 
 band, (he being the postmaster,), and taught the Bible 
 Class in the Presbyterian Sunday-school, as well as offi- 
 ciating as president and secretary of the Literary So-
 
 DOWD'S TAVERN 57 
 
 ciety, secretary to the town board, secretary of the 
 W. C. T. U., secretary of the Woman's Foreign Mis- 
 sionary Society, secretary of the American Soldiers' 
 and Sailors' Relief Fund, secretary of the Windom- 
 ville Improvement Association, secretary of the Lady 
 Maccabees, and, last but far from least, secretary of 
 the local branch of the Society for the Preservation of 
 the Redwood Forests of California. She was a born 
 secretary. 
 
 A. Lincoln Pollock, being a good democrat and hold- 
 ing office under a democratic administration, had 
 deemed it wise to abbreviate his first name, thereby re- 
 moving all taint of republicanism. He reduced Abraham 
 to an initial, but, despite his supreme struggle for dig- 
 nity, was forced by public indolence to submit to a 
 sharp curtailment of his middle name. He was known 
 as Link. 
 
 The Weekly Swn duly reported the advent of 
 Colonel Courtney Thane, of New York and London, and 
 gave him quite a " send-off," at the same time getting 
 in a good word for the " excellent hostelry conducted 
 by the Misses Dowd," as well as a paragraph congrat- 
 ulating the readers of the Sun on the " scoop " that 
 paper had obtained over the " alleged " newspapers up 
 at the county seat. " If you want the news, read the 
 Sun," was the slogan at the top of the editorial col- 
 umn on the second page, followed by a line in parenthe- 
 sis: ("If you want the Sun, don't put off till to- 
 morrow what you can do today. Price Three Dollars a 
 Year in Advance.") 
 
 All of the boarders sat at the same table in the dining- 
 room. Punctuality at meals was obligatory. Miss 
 Jennie Dowd was the cook. She was assisted by Miss
 
 58 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Margaret Slattery, daughter of Martin Slattery, the 
 grocer. Miss Mary Dowd had charge of the dining- 
 room. She was likewise assisted by Miss Slattery. Be- 
 tween meals Miss Slattery did the dish-washing, cham- 
 ber-work, light cleaning and " straightening," and still 
 found room for her daily exercise, which consisted of 
 half a dozen turns up and down Main Street in her best 
 frock. Old Jim House did the outside chores about the 
 place. He had worked at Dowd's Tavern for thirty- 
 seven years, and it was his proud boast that he had 
 never missed a day's work, drunk or sober. 
 
 The new guest was given the seat of honour at table. 
 He was placed between Mrs. Pollock and Miss Flora 
 Grady, supplanting Doctor Simpson, who had held the 
 honour ever since Charlie Webster's unfortunate miscal- 
 culation as to the durability of an unfamiliar brand 
 of bourbon to which he had been introduced late one 
 Sunday evening. It was a brand that wore extremely 
 well, so well, in fact, that when he appeared for din- 
 ner at noon on Monday he was still in a lachrymose 
 condition over the death of his mother, an event which 
 took place when he was barely six years old. Doctor 
 Simpson relinquished the seat cheerfully. He had held 
 it a year and he had grown extremely tired of having 
 to lean back as far as possible in his chair so that 
 Mrs. Pollock and Miss Grady could converse unob- 
 structedly in front of him, a position that called for 
 the utmost skill and deliberation on his part, especially 
 when it came to conveying soup and " floating island " 
 to such an altitude. (He had once resorted to the ex- 
 pedient of bending over until his- nose was almost in the 
 plate, so that they might talk across his back, but
 
 DOWD'S TAVERN 59 
 
 gave it up when Miss Molly Dowd acridly inquired if 
 he smelt anything wrong with the soup. ) 
 
 Mr. Hatch invited Courtney down to the studio to 
 have his photograph taken, free of charge ; Mr. Pollock 
 subjected him to a long interview about the War; Mr. 
 Webster notified him that he had laid in a small stock 
 just prior to July the first and that all he had to do 
 was to " say the word," or wink if it wasn't conven- 
 ient to speak; Miss Grady told him, at great length, 
 of her trip to New York in 1895, and inquired about 
 certain landmarks in the Metropolis, such as the 
 aquarium, the Hoffman House, Madison Square, Stew- 
 art's Drygoods Store, Tiffany's place, revealing a 
 sort of lofty nonchalance in being able to speak of 
 things she had seen while the others had merely read 
 about them ; Mrs. Pollock had him write in her auto- 
 graph album, and wondered if he would not consent 
 to give a talk before the Literary Society at its next 
 meeting ; and Margaret Slattery made a point of pass- 
 ing things to him first at meals, going so far as to 
 indicate the choicest bits of ** white meat," or the " sec- 
 ond joint," if he preferred the dark, whenever they 
 had chicken for dinner, which was quite often. 
 
 Old Mr. Nichols, (the indigent father), remembered 
 Courtney's grandfather very well, and, being apt to 
 repeat himself, told and retold the story of a horse- 
 trade in which he got the better of Silas Thane. Mrs. 
 Nichols, living likewise in the remote past, remembered 
 being in his grandmother's Sunday-school class, and 
 how people used to pity the poor thing because Silas 
 ran around considerable after other women, 'spe- 
 cially a lively-stableman's wife up in the city, and
 
 60 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 what a terrible time she had when John Robinson's 
 Circus came to town a little while before her first child 
 was born and the biggest boa-constrictor in captivity 
 escaped and eat up two lambs on Silas's farm before 
 it went to sleep and was shot out in the apple orchard 
 by Jake Billings. She often wondered whether her 
 worrying about that snake had had any effect on the 
 baby, who, it appears, ultimately grew up and became 
 Courtney's father. The young man smilingly sought 
 to reassure her, but after twice repeating his remark, 
 looked so embarrassed that Mr. Hatch gloomily an- 
 nounced from the foot of the table : 
 
 " She's deef." 
 
 Now, as to Mr. Courtney Thane. He was a tall, 
 spare young man, very erect and soldierly, with an al- 
 most unnoticeable limp. He explained this limp by 
 confessing that he had got into the habit of favouring 
 his left leg, which had been injured when his machine 
 came down in flames a sort distance back of the lines 
 during a vicious gas attack by the enemy (it was 
 on this occasion that he was "gassed" while drag- 
 ging a badly wounded comrade to a place of safety) 
 but that the member was quite as sound as ever and 
 it was silly of him to go on being so confounded timid 
 about it, especially as it hadn't been anything to speak 
 of in the beginning, nothing more, in fact, than a 
 cracked knee joint and a trifling fracture of the ankle. 
 
 His hair was light brown, almost straw-coloured, and 
 was brushed straight back from the forehead. A small, 
 jaunty moustache, distinctly English in character, 
 adorned his upper Up. His eyes were brown, set well 
 back under a perfectly level, rather prominent brow. 
 His mouth was wide and faintly satirical; his chin ag-
 
 DOWD'S TAVERN 61 
 
 gressively square ; his nose long and straight. His voice 
 was deep and pleasant, and he spoke with what Miss 
 Miller described as a " perfectly fascinating drawl." 
 Mrs. Pollock, who was quite an extensive reader of 
 novels and governed her conversation accordingly went 
 so far as to say that he was " the sort of chap that 
 women fall in love with easily," and advised Miss 
 Miller to keep a pretty sharp watch on her heart, a 
 remark that drew from Miss Miller the confession that 
 she had rejected at least half a dozen offers of mar- 
 riage and she guessed if there was any watching to be 
 done it would have to be done by the opposite sex. 
 (As Miss Miller had repeatedly alluded to these fruit- 
 less masculine manifestations, Mrs. Pollock merely 
 sniffed, and afterwards confided to Miss Molly Dowd 
 her belief that if any one had ever asked Angie Miller 
 to marry him she'd be a grandmother by this time.) 
 From this, it may be correctly surmised that Miss Miller 
 was no longer in the first bloom of youth. 
 
 Whenever Courtney appeared on Main Street, he 
 was the centre not only of observation but of active 
 attention. Nearly every one had some form of greeting 
 for him. Introductions were not necessary. Women as 
 well as men passed the time of day with him, and not a 
 few of the former solicitously paused to inquire how he 
 was feeling. Young girls stared at him and blushed, 
 young boys followed his progress about town with wide, 
 worshipful eyes, for was he not a hero out of their 
 cherished romance? He had to hear from the lips of 
 ancient men the story of Antietam, of Chancellorsville 
 and of Shiloh ; eulogies and criticisms of Grant, McClel- 
 lan and Meade; praise for the enemy chieftains, Lee, 
 Stonewall Jackson and Johnston ; comparisons in the
 
 62 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 matter of fatalities, marksmanship, generalship, hard- 
 ships and all such, and with the inevitable conclusion 
 that the Civil War was the greatest war ever fought 
 for the simple reason that it was fought by men and 
 not by machinery. 
 
 " And, what's more," declared old Captain House 
 vigorously, " it was fit entirely by Americans, and not 
 by every dodgasted nation on the face of the earth, 
 no two of 'em able to understand a blamed word of 
 what was being said by friend er foe." " And," added 
 ex-Corporal Grimes, stamping the sidewalk with his peg 
 leg, " what's more, there wasn't ary one of them Johnny 
 Rebs that couldn't pick off a squirrel five hundred 
 yards away with a rifle a rifle, mind ye, not a bat- 
 tery of machine guns. Every time they was a fight, big 
 er little, we used to stand out in the open and shoot 
 at each other like soldiers and gentlemen aimin' 
 straight at the feller we'd picked out to kill. They tell 
 me they was more men shot right smack between the 
 eyes in the Civil War than all the other wars put to- 
 gether. Yes-sir-^/ And as fer r^-connoiterin', why 
 it was nothin' for our men, er the rebs, either, fer that 
 matter, to crawl up so close to the other side's camps 
 that they could smell the vittels cookin', and I re- 
 member a case when one of our scouts, bein' so over- 
 come by the smell of a fried chicken, snuck right up and 
 grabbed it offen the skillet when the cook's back was 
 turned, and got away with it safe, too, b'gosh! "
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 TEESPASS 
 
 COURTNEY never was without the heavy English 
 walking-stick on which he occasionally leaned 
 for support. He took long strolls in the coun- 
 try, frequently passing the Windom place, and twice 
 be had gone as far as the railed-in base of Quill's Win- 
 dow. From the footpath at the bottom he could look 
 through the trees up to the bare crest of the rock. The 
 gate through the high fence was padlocked, and con- 
 tained a sign with the curt warning: "No Trespass." 
 On the opposite side of the wide strip of meadow-land, 
 in which cattle grazed placidly, he could see the aban- 
 doned house where Alix Crown was born, a colourless, 
 weather-beaten, two-storey frame building with faded 
 green window shutters and a high-pitched roof black- 
 ened by rain and rot. Every shutter was closed; an 
 atmosphere of utter desolation hung over the place. 
 
 Across that brown, sunburnt stretch of meadow-land 
 when it was white and cold, old David Windom had 
 carried the stiff body of Edward Crown, <and return- 
 ing had borne the soft, limp figure of his stricken child. 
 Courtney permitted his fancy to indulge in calculation. 
 He followed with his eye what must have been the path 
 of the slayer on that dreadful night. It led, no doubt, 
 to the spot on which he now was standing, for just be- 
 hind him was the suggestion of a narrow, weed-lined 
 63
 
 64 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 path that wormed its way through the trees toward the 
 top of the great rock. He decided that one day soon 
 he would disregard that sign on the gate, and climb 
 up to the strange burial place of Edward Crown and 
 Alix the Second. 
 
 He had tested his increasing strength and endurance 
 by rowing up the river with Rosabel for a fair view of 
 the hole in the face of the rock Quill's Window. It 
 was plainly visible from the river, a wide black gash in 
 the almost perpendicular wall that reached well above 
 the fringe of trees and underbrush along the steep bank 
 of the stream. 
 
 He tried to picture Quill as he sat in his strange 
 abode, a hundred years ago, cowering over the fire or 
 reading perhaps by the light of a huge old-fashioned 
 lanthorn. He thought of him hanging by the neck back 
 in the dark recess, victim either of his own conscience 
 or the implacable hatred of the enemy " down the 
 river." And then there were the others who had found 
 death in the heart of that mysterious cavern, ugly 
 death. 
 
 He wondered what the interior of the cave was like, 
 and whether he could devise some means of entering it. 
 A rope ladder attached to a substantial support at the 
 top of the cliff would afford the easiest way of reaching 
 the mouth of the cave, in fact, he recalled that Quill 
 employed some such means of descending to his eerie 
 home. The entrance appeared to be no more than 
 twenty feet below the brow of the cliff. It would not 
 even be a hazardous undertaking^ Besides, if Quill and 
 his successors were able to go up and down that wall 
 safely and repeatedly, why not he? No doubt scores 
 of men, perhaps even schoolboys of the Tom Sawyer
 
 TRESPASS 65 
 
 type, had made frequent visits to the cave. He knew 
 he would be disregarding the command of Alix Crown, 
 a command that all people respected and observed, 
 if he passed the barrier and climbed to the top of the 
 rock, but who, after all, was Alix Crown that she should 
 say " no trespass " to the world at large? 
 
 The thought of Edward Crown wedged in at the bot- 
 tom of Quill's Chimney, weighted down with stones and 
 earth, alone served as an obstacle to the enterprise. 
 He shrank from certain gruesome possibilities, such as 
 the dislodgment of stones at the bottom of the crevice 
 and the consequent exposure of a thing that would 
 haunt him forever. And even though the stones re- 
 mained in place there would still remain the fact that 
 almost within arm's length was imprisoned the crushed, 
 distorted remains of the murdered man. 
 
 Toward the end of his second week at Dowd's Tav- 
 ern, he set out to climb to the top of the big rock. He 
 had no intention of descending to the cavern's mouth 
 on this occasion. That feat was to be reserved for 
 another day. Arriving at the gate, he was surprised 
 and gratified to discover that it was unlocked. While 
 it was latched, the padlock and chain hung loosely from 
 the post to which the latter was attached. Without 
 hesitation, he opened the gate and strode boldly into 
 proscribed territory. 
 
 The ascent was gradual at first, then steep and 
 abrupt for a matter of fifty or sixty feet to the bald 
 summit of the hill. Once at the top, he sat down pant- 
 ing and exhausted upon the edge of the shallow fissure 
 he had followed as a path up the rock, and again his 
 thoughts went back to the night of the murder. This 
 had been David Windom's route to the top of the hill.
 
 66 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 He found himself discrediting one feature at least of the 
 man's confession. Only a fabled giant could have car- 
 ried the body of a man up that steep, tortuous incline. 
 Why, he was exhausted, and he had borne no heavier 
 burden than his stout walking-stick. That part of 
 Windom's story certainly was " fishy." 
 
 Presently he arose and strode out upon the rough, 
 uneven " roof " of the height. He could look in all di- 
 rections over the tops of the trees below. The sun beat 
 down fiercely upon the unsheltered rock. Off to the 
 north lay the pall of smoke indicating the presence of 
 the invisible county seat. Thin, anfractuous highways 
 and dirt roads scarred the green and brown landscape, 
 and as far as the eye could reach were to be seen farm- 
 houses and barns and silos. 
 
 Avoiding the significant heap of rocks near the centre 
 of the little plateau, he made his way to the brink of 
 the cliff overlooking the river. There he had a won- 
 derful view of the winding stream, the harvest fields, the 
 groves, and the herds in the far-reaching stretches of 
 what was considered the greatest corn raising " belt " 
 in the United States. Some yards back from the edge 
 of the cliff he discovered the now thoroughly rotted 
 section of a tree trunk, eight or ten inches in diameter, 
 driven deeply into a narrow fissure and rendered abso- 
 lutely immovable by a solid mass of stones and gravel 
 that completely closed the remainder of the crevice. He 
 was right in surmising that this was the support from 
 which Quill's rope or vine ladder was suspended a hun- 
 dred years ago. Nearby were two heavy iron rings at- 
 tached to standards sunk firmly -into the rock, a modern 
 improvement on the hermit's crude device. (He after- 
 wards learned that David Windom, when a lad of fif-
 
 TRESPASS 67 
 
 teen, had drilled the holes in the rock and imbedded the 
 stout iron shafts, so that he might safely descend 
 to the mouth of the cave.) 
 
 Turning back, he approached the heap of boulders 
 that covered the grave of Edward and Alix Crown. No 
 visible sign of the cleft in the surface of the rock re- 
 mained. Six huge boulders, arranged in a row, rose 
 above a carefully made bed of stones held in place by a 
 low, soundly mortared wall. 
 
 Chiselled on one of the end boulders was the name of 
 Alix Windom Crown, with the date of her birth and 
 her death, with the line: " Rock of Ages Cleft for Me." 
 Below this inscription was the recently carved name of 
 Edward Joseph Crown, Born July 7, 1871. Died 
 March 22, 1895. Three words followed this. They 
 were " Abide With Me." 
 
 II 
 
 Thane stood for a long time looking at the pile. He 
 was not sentimental. His life had been spent in an ir- 
 reverent city, among people hardened by pleasure or 
 coarsened by greed. His thoughts as he stood there 
 were not of the unhappy pair who reposed beneath those 
 ugly rocks ; they were of the far-off tragedy that had 
 brought them to this singular resting-place. The fact 
 that this was a grave, sacred in the same sense that his 
 father's grave in Woodlawn was supposed to be sacred 
 to him and to his mother, was overlooked in the silent 
 contemplation of what an even less sophisticated person 
 might have been justified in describing as a " freak." 
 Nothing was farther from his mind, however, than the 
 desire or impulse to be disrespectful. And yet, as he
 
 68 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 was about to turn away from this sombre pile, he leaned 
 over and struck a match on one of the huge boulders. 
 As he was conveying the lighted sulphur match, with 
 which Dowd's Tavern abounded, to the cigarette that 
 hung limply from his lips, he was startled by a sharp, 
 almost agonized cry. It seemed to come from nowhere. 
 He experienced the uncanny feeling that a ghost, the 
 ghost that haunted Quill's Window, standing guard 
 over the mound, had cried out under the pain inflicted 
 by that profane match. 
 
 Even as he turned to search the blazing, sunlit rock 
 with apprehensive eyes, a voice, shrill with anger, flung 
 these words at him : 
 
 " What are you doing up here? " 
 
 His gaze fell upon the speaker, standing stockstill in 
 the cloven path below him, not twenty feet away. In 
 his relief, he laughed. He beheld a slim figure in riding- 
 togs. Nothing formidable or ghostlike in that ! Never- 
 theless, a pair of dark blue eyes transfixed him with 
 indignation. They looked out from under the rim of 
 a black sailor hat, and they were wide and inimical. 
 
 " Did you not see that sign on the gate? " demanded 
 the girl. 
 
 " I did," he replied, still smiling as he removed his 
 hat, one of Knox's panamas. " And I owe you an 
 apology." 
 
 She advanced to the top. He noted the riding-crop 
 gripped rather firmly in her clenched hand. 
 
 " No one is permitted to come up here," she an- 
 nounced, stopping a few feet away. She was quite tall 
 and straight. She panted a little from the climb up the 
 steep. He saw her bosom rise and fall under the khaki
 
 TRESPASS 69 
 
 jacket; her nostrils were slightly distended. In that 
 first glimpse of her, he took in the graceful, perfect 
 figure; the lovely, brilliant face; the glorious though 
 unsmiling eyes. " You must leave at once. This is 
 private property. Go, please." 
 
 " I cannot go before telling you how rotten I feel 
 for striking that match. I beg of you, Miss Crown, 
 you are Miss Crown? I can only ask you to believe 
 that it was not a conscious act of desecration. It was 
 sheer thoughtlessness. I would not have done it for the 
 world if I had " 
 
 " It is not necessary for you to explain," she broke 
 in curtly. " I saw what you did, and it is just be- 
 cause of such as you that this spot is forbidden ground. 
 Idle curiosity, utter disregard for the sacredness of 
 that lonely grave, Oh, you need not attempt to deny 
 it. You are a stranger here, but that is no excuse for 
 your passing through that gate. I am Miss Crown. 
 This hill belongs to me. It was I who had that fence 
 put up and it was I who directed the sign to be put on 
 the gate. They are meant for strangers as well as for 
 friends. It was not thoughtlessness that brought you 
 up here. You thought a long time before you came. 
 Will you be good enough to go ? " 
 
 He flushed under the scornful dismissal. 
 
 " The gate was unlocked " he began. 
 
 " That doesn't matter. It might have been wide 
 open, sir, but that did not grant you any special 
 privileges." 
 
 " I can only ask your pardon, Miss Crown, and de- 
 part in disgrace," said he, quite humbly. As he started 
 down the path, he paused to add : " I did not know you
 
 70 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 had returned. I daresay I should have been less ven- 
 turesome had I known you were in the neighbourhood.'* 
 
 The thinly veiled sarcasm did not escape her. 
 
 " I suppose you are the young man from New York 
 that every one is talking about. That may account for 
 your ignorance. In order that you may not feel called 
 upon to visit this place again to satisfy your curiosity, 
 I will point out to you the objects of interest. This 
 pile of rocks marks the grave of my father and mother. 
 The dates speak for themselves. You may have noticed 
 them when you scratched your match just above my 
 mother's name. My father was murdered by my grand- 
 father before I was born. My mother died on the day 
 I was born. I never saw them. I do not love them, 
 because I never knew them. But I do respect and 
 honour them. They were good people. I have no 
 reason to be ashamed of them. If you will look out 
 over those trees and across that pasture, you will see 
 the house in which my mother died and where I was 
 born. Directly in front of the iittle porch my father 
 died as the result of a blow delivered by my grand- 
 father. As to the disposal of the body, you may ob- 
 tain all the information necessary from Alaska Spigg, 
 our town librarian, who will be more than delighted to 
 supply you with all the ghastly details. To your right 
 is the post to which a man named Quill attached his 
 ladder in order to reach the cave in the face of this 
 rock, where he lived for many years. This is the 
 path leading down to the gate, which you will still find 
 unlocked. It will not be necessary for you to come up 
 here again. You have seen air there is to see." 
 
 With that, she deliberately turned her back on him 
 and walked toward the edge of the cliff. He stared
 
 TRESPASS 71 
 
 after her for a few seconds, his lips parted as if to 
 speak, and then, as the flush of mortification deepened 
 in his cheeks, he began picking his way rather blindly 
 down the steep path. 
 
 He was never to forget his first encounter with Alix 
 the Third.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 
 
 THAT evening at the supper table, Mr. Pollock 
 politely informed him that Alix Crown had re- 
 turned from Michigan, looking as fit as a fiddle. 
 
 " You've been so sort of curious about her, Court? " 
 (it had not taken the male boarders long to dispense 
 with formalities), " that I thought you'd be interested 
 in knowing that she's home. Got back last evening. Her 
 Packard automobile met her at the depot up in the city. 
 You'll know her when you see her. Tall girl and fairly 
 good-looking. Puts on an awful lot of ' dog.' What is 
 it you fellows in the Army call it? Swunk? " 
 
 " Swank," said Courtney, rather shortly. He was 
 still smarting under the sting of his afternoon's ex- 
 perience. 
 
 " Lemme help you to some more squash, Mr. Thane,'* 
 said Margaret Slattery in his ear. " And another 
 biscuit." 
 
 " Thank you, no," said he. 
 
 "What's the matter with your appetite?" she 
 demanded. " You ain't hardly touched anything this 
 evenin'. Sick? " 
 
 " I'm not hungry, Margaret." 
 
 " Been out in the sun too much, that's what's the 
 matter with you. First thing you know you'll get a 
 sunstroke, and then! My Uncle Mike was sunstruck 
 when I was " 
 
 73
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 73 
 
 " Pass me the biscuits, Maggie, and don't be all night 
 about it," put in Mr. Webster. " I'm hungry, even if 
 Court isn't. I can distinctly remember when you used 
 to pass everything to me first, and almost stuff it " 
 
 " Yes, and she used to do the same for me before you 
 shaved off your chin whiskers, Charlie," said Mr. Hatch 
 gloomily. " How times have changed." 
 
 " It ain't the times that's changed," said Margaret. 
 " It's you men. You ain't what you used to be, lemme 
 tell you that." 
 
 " True, oh so true," lamented Mr. Webster. " I 
 used to be nice and thin and graceful before you began 
 showering me with attention. Now look at me. You 
 put something like fifty pounds on me, and then you 
 desert me. I was a handsome feller when I first came 
 here, wasn't I, Flora? I leave it to you if I wasn't." 
 
 " I don't remember how you looked when you first 
 came here," replied Miss Grady loftily. 
 
 ** Can yo*u beat that? " cried Charlie to Courtney 
 across the table. " And she used to say I was the 
 handsomest young feller she'd ever laid eyes on. Used 
 to say I looked like, who was it you used to say I 
 looked like, Flora? " 
 
 " The only thing I ever said you looked like was a 
 mud fence, Charlie Webster." 
 
 "What did she say, Pa? Hey?" This from old 
 Mrs. Nichols, holding her hand to her ear. " What 
 are they laughing at? " 
 
 " She says Charlie looks like a mud fence," shouted 
 old Mr. Nichols, his lips close to her ear. 
 
 " His pants? What about his pants? " 
 
 This time Courtney joined in the laugh. 
 
 After supper he sat on the front porch with the
 
 74 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Pollocks and Miss Grady. It was a warm, starry night. 
 Charlie Webster and Doc Simpson had strolled off 
 down the street. Mr. Hatch and Miss Miller sat in 
 the parlour. 
 
 " She's going to land Furman Hatch, sure as you're 
 a foot high," confided Mr. Pollock, with a significant 
 jerk of his head in the direction of the parlour. 
 
 " Heaven knows she's been trying long enough," said 
 JMiss Grady. " I heard him ask Doc and Charlie to 
 wait for him, but she nabbed him before he could get 
 out. Now he's got to sit in there and listen to her tell 
 about how interested she is in art, and him just dyin' 
 for a smoke. Why, there's Alix Crown now. She's 
 comin' in here." 
 
 A big touring car drew up to the sidewalk in front 
 of the Tavern. Miss Crown sprang lightly out of the 
 jseat beside the chauffeur and came up the steps. 
 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Pollock? Hello, Flora. Good 
 -evening, Mr. Editor," was her cheery greeting as she 
 passed by and entered the house. 
 
 " She comes around every once in a while and takes 
 the Dowd girls out riding in her car," explained Mrs. 
 Pollock. 
 
 " Mighty nice of her," said Mr. Pollock, taking his 
 feet down from the porch-rail and carefully brushing 
 the cigar ashes off of his coat sleeve. " Takes old 
 Alaska Spigg out too, and the Nicholses, and " 
 
 We've been out with her a great many times," broke 
 in Mrs. Pollock. " I think a Packard is a wonderful 
 car, don't you, Mr. Thane? So smooth and " 
 
 " I think I'll take a little 'stroll," said Courtney 
 abruptly ; and snatching up his hat from the floor be- 
 side his chair he hurried down the steps.
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 75 
 
 She had not even glanced at him as she crossed the 
 porch. He had the very uneasy conviction that so far 
 as she was concerned he might just as well not have 
 been there at all. In the early dusk, her face was 
 clearly revealed to him. There was nothing cold or un- 
 friendly about it now. Instead, her smile was radiant ; 
 her eyes, even in the subdued light, glowed with 
 pleasure. Her voice was clear and soft and singularly 
 appealing. In the afternoon's encounter he had been 
 struck by its unexpected combination of English and 
 American qualities; the sharp querulousness of the 
 English and the melodious drawl of the American were 
 strangely blended, and although there had been casti- 
 gation in her words and manner, he took away with him 
 the disturbing memory of a voice he was never to for- 
 get. And now he had seen the smile that even the most 
 envious of her kind described as " heavenly." It was 
 broad and wholesome and genuine. There was a flash of 
 white, even teeth between warm red lips, a gleam of 
 merriment in the half-closed eyes, a gay tilt to the 
 bare, shapely head. Her dark hair was coiled neatly, 
 and the ears were exposed. He liked her ears. He re- 
 membered them as he had seen them in the afternoon, 
 fairly large, shapely and close to the head. No need 
 for her to follow the prevailing fashion of the day ! She 
 had no reason to hide her ears beneath a mat of hair. 
 
 In the evening glow her face was gloriously beautiful, 
 clear-cut as a cameo, warm as a rose. It was no 
 longer clouded with anger. She seemed taller. The 
 smart riding costume had brought her trim figure into 
 direct contrast with his own height and breadth, and 
 she had looked like a slim, half-grown boy beside his 
 six feet and over. Now, in her black and white checked
 
 76 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 sport skirt and dark sweater jacket, she was revealed 
 as a woman quite well above the average height. 
 
 He was standing in front of the drug store when the 
 big car went by a few minutes later, filled with people. 
 She was driving, the chauffeur sitting in the seat beside 
 her. In the tonneau he observed the two Dowd sisters, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pollock and Flora Grady. 
 
 As the car whizzed by, A. Lincoln Pollock espied him. 
 Waving his hand triumphantly, the editor called out : 
 
 "Hello, Court!" 
 
 The object of this genial shout did not respond by 
 word or action. He looked to see if the girl at the wheel 
 turned her head for a glance in his direction. She did 
 not, and he experienced a fresh twinge of annoyance. 
 He muttered something under his breath. The car dis- 
 appeared around a bend a he turned to enter the store. 
 
 "That was Alix Crown, Court," remarked Charlie 
 Webster from the doorway. " Little too dark to get 
 a good look at her, but wait till she flashes across you 
 in broad daylight some time. She'll make you forgejt 
 all those Fifth Avenue skirts so quick your head'll 
 swim." 
 
 " Is that so ? " retorted Courtney, allowing rancour 
 to get the better of fairness. Down in his heart he had 
 said that Alix Crown was the loveliest girl he had ever 
 seen. " What do you know about Fifth Avenue? " 
 
 Charlie Webster grinned amiably. He was not of- 
 fended by the other's tone. 
 
 " Well, I've seen it in the movies," he explained. 
 " What are you sore about ? " 
 
 " Sore? I'm not sore. What put that into your 
 head?"
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 77 
 
 The rotund superintendent of the elevator fanned 
 himself lazily with his straw hat. 
 
 " If I was fifteen years younger and fifty pounds 
 lighter," said he, " I'd be sore too. But what's the use 
 of a fat old slob like me getting peeved because Miss 
 Alix Crown don't happen to notice me? Oh, we're great 
 friends and all that, mind you, and she thinks a lot of 
 me, as manager of her grain elevator. Same as she 
 thinks a lot of Jim Bagley, her superintendent, and 
 Ed Stevens, her chauffeur, and so on. Now, as for you, 
 it's different. You're from New York and it goes 
 against the grain to be overlooked, you might say, by 
 a girl from Indiana. Oh, I know what you New Yorkers 
 think of Indiana, and all that therein is, as the Scrip- 
 tures would say. You think that nothing but boobs and 
 corn-fed squaws come from Indiana, but if you hang 
 around long enough you'll find you're mistaken. This 
 state is full of girls like Alix Crown, bright, smart, 
 good-looking girls that have been a hell of a ways 
 farther east than New York. Of course, there are 
 boobs like me and Doc Simpson and Tintype Hatch 
 who get up to Chicago once every three or four years 
 and have to sew our return trip tickets inside our belly- 
 bands so's we can be sure of getting back home after 
 Chicago gets through admiring us, but now since pro- 
 hibition has come in I don't know but what we're as 
 bright and clever as anybody else. Most of the fellers 
 I've run across in Chicago seem to be brightest just 
 after they change feet on the rail and ask the bartender 
 if he knows how to make a cucumber cocktail, or some- 
 thing else as clever as that. But that ain't what we 
 were talking about. We were talking about "
 
 78 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " I wasn't talking about anything," interrupted 
 Courtney. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you were," said Charlie. " Not out loud, 
 of course, but talking just the same. You were talk- 
 ing about Alix Crown and the way she forgot to invite 
 you to take a ride with the rest of " 
 
 " See here, Webster, are you trying to be of- 
 fensive? " 
 
 "Offensive? Lord, no! I'm just telling you, that's 
 all. On the level now, am I right or wrong? " 
 
 " I do not know Miss Crown," replied Thane stiffly. 
 " Why should I expect her to ask me, a total stranger, 
 to go out in her car? " 
 
 " Didn't Maude Pollock introduce you a while ago? " 
 
 " No," said the other succinctly. 
 
 "Well, by gosh, that ain't like Maude," exclaimed 
 Charlie. " I'd 'a' bet two dollars she said * I want to 
 present my friend from New York, Mr. Courtney 
 Thane, the distinguished aviator, Miss Crown,' or some- 
 thing like that. I can't understand Maude missing a 
 chance like that. She just loves it." 
 
 Courtney smiled. "I daresay 'she wasn't quick 
 enough," he said drily. " Miss Crown was in a hurry. 
 And I left before she came out of the house. Now is 
 your curiosity satisfied?" 
 
 " Absolutely," said Charlie. " Now I'll sleep soundly 
 tonight. I was afraid the darned thing would keep me 
 awake all night. Remember me saying I had a small 
 stock hid away up in my room? What say to going 
 up, now that the coast is clear, and having a nip 
 or two?" 
 
 " No, thanks, old man. I don't drink. Doctor's
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 79 
 
 orders. Besides, I've got some letters to write. I'll 
 walk home with you if you're ready to go." 
 
 II 
 
 Mr. Webster shook his head sadly. " That's the one 
 drawback to livin' in Windomville," he said. " People 
 either want to drink too much or they don't want to 
 drink at all. Nobody wants to drink in moderation. 
 Now, here's you, for instance. You look like a feller 
 that could kiss a highball or two without compromising 
 yourself, and there's Hatch that has to hold his nose 
 so's he won't get drunk if he comes within ten feet of a 
 glass of whiskey." They were strolling slowly toward 
 the Tavern. " Now you up and claim you're on the 
 water wagon. I'd been counting on you, Court, I 
 certainly had. The last time I took Hatch and Doc 
 Simpson up to my room, that was on the Fourth of 
 Jast July, I had to sleep on the floor. Course, if I 
 was skinny like Doc and Hatch that wouldn't have been 
 necessary. But I can't bear sleepin' three in a bed. 
 Doctor's orders, eh? That comes of livin' in New York. 
 There ain't a doctor in Indiana that would stoop so 
 low as that, not one. Look at old man Nichols. He's 
 eighty-two years old and up to about a year ago he 
 never missed a day without taking a couple o' swigs of 
 rye. He swears he wouldn't have lived to be more than 
 seventy-five if he hadn't taken his daily nip. That 
 shows how smart and sensible our doctors are out here. 
 They" 
 
 " By the way, Mrs. Nichols appears to be a remark- 
 ably well-preserved old lady, aside from her hearing. 
 How old is she?"
 
 80 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Eighty-three. Wonderful old woman." 
 
 " I suppose she has always had her daily swig of 
 rye." 
 
 Charlie Webster was silent for a moment. He had 
 to think. This was a very serious and unexpected com- 
 plication. 
 
 " What did you say? " he inquired, fencing for time. 
 
 " Has she always been a steady drinker, like the old 
 man?" 
 
 Charlie was a gentleman. He sighed. 
 
 " I guess it's time to change the subject," he said. 
 " The only way you could get a spoonful of whiskey 
 down that old woman would be to chloroform her. If 
 I'm any good at guessin', she'll outlive the old man 
 by ten years, so what's the sense of me preachin' to 
 you about the life preserving virtues of booze? Oh, 
 Lordy ! There's another of my best arguments knocked 
 galley-west. It's no use. I've been playing old man 
 Nichols for nearly fifteen years as a bright and shining 
 light, and he turns out to be nothing but a busted flush. 
 She's had eleven children and he's never had anything 
 worse than a headache, and, by gosh, he's hangin' onto 
 her with both hands for support to keep his other foot 
 from slippin' into the grave. But," and here his face 
 brightened suddenly, " there's one thing to be said, 
 Court. She didn't consult any darned fool doctor 
 about it." 
 
 Courtney was ashamed of his churlishness toward this 
 good-natured little man. 
 
 " Say no more, Charlie. I'll break my rule this once 
 if it will make you feel any better. One little drink, 
 that's all, in spite of the doctor. He's a long way 
 off, and I daresay he'll never know the difference. Lead
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 81 
 
 the way, old chap. Anything to cheer up a disconso- 
 late comrade." 
 
 A few minutes later they were in Webster's room, 
 second floor back. The highly gratified host had 
 lighted the kerosene lamp on the table in the centre of 
 the room, and pulled down the window shades. Then, 
 putting his fingers to his lips to enjoin silence, he tip- 
 toed to the door and threw it open suddenly. After 
 peering into the hall and listening intently for a mo- 
 ment, he cautiously closed it again. 
 
 " All's well, as the watchman says at midnight," he 
 remarked, as he drew his key ring from his hip pocket 
 and selected a key with unerring precision from the 
 extensive assortment. " I always do that," he added. 
 " I don't suppose it was necessary tonight, because 
 Angie Miller has got Hatch where he can't possibly 
 escape. Long as she knows where he is, she don't do 
 much snooping. She used to be the same way with me, 
 and Doc, too, for that matter. Poor Hatch, set- 
 ting down there in the parlour, listening to her talk 
 about birds and flowers and trying to help her guess 
 what she's going to give him for next Christmas. It's 
 hell to be a bachelor, Court." 
 
 He unlocked a trunk in the corner of the room, and 
 after lifting out two trays produced a half empty 
 whiskey bottle. 
 
 " I had a dozen of these to begin with," said he, 
 holding the bottle up to the light. " Dollar sixty a 
 quart. Quite a nifty little stock, eh? " 
 
 "Is that all you have left?" 
 
 Charlie scratched his ear reflectively. 
 
 " Well, you see, I've had a good deal of toothache 
 lately," he announced. " And as soon as Doc Simpson
 
 82 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 and Hatch found out about it, they begin to complain 
 about their teeth achin' too. Seemed to be a sort of 
 epidemic of toothache, Court. Nothing like whiskey 
 for the toothache, you know." 
 
 " But Simpson is a dentist. Why don't you have him 
 treat your teeth?" 
 
 " Seems as though he'd sooner have me treat his," 
 said Charlie, with a slight grimace. Rummaging about 
 in the top tray of the trunk, he produced a couple of 
 bar glasses, which he carefully rinsed at the washstand. 
 " Tastes better when you drink it out of a regular 
 glass," he explained. " Always seems sort of cowardly 
 to me to take it with water, almost as if you were 
 trying to drown it so's it won't be able to bite back 
 when you tackle it. Needn't mind sayin' * when.' The 
 glass holds just so much, and I know enough to stop 
 when it begins to run over. Well! Here's hoping 
 your toothache will be better in the morning, Court." 
 
 " I don't think I ought to rob you like this, 
 Charlie, " 
 
 " Lord, man, you're not robbing me. If you're rob- 
 bing anybody, it's Doc Simpson, and he's been abso- 
 lutely free from toothache ever since I told him this 
 room was dry. Excuse me a second, Court. I always 
 propose a toast before I take a drink up here. Here's 
 to Miss Alix Crown, the finest girl in the U. S. A., and 
 the best boss a man ever had. Course I've never said 
 that in a saloon, but up here it's different, and kind 
 of sacred." 
 
 " I usually make a wry face when I drink it neat like 
 this," said Courtney. 
 
 " You'll like her just as well as I do when you get 
 to know her, boy. I've known her since she was a
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 83 
 
 little kid, long before she was sent abroad, and she's 
 the salt of the earth. That's one thing on which Doc 
 and Hatch and me always agree. We differ on most 
 everything else, but well, as I was saying, you wait 
 till you get to know her." 
 
 He tossed off the whiskey in one prodigious gulp, 
 smacked his lips, and then stood watching his guest 
 drink his. 
 
 Tears came into Courtney's eyes as he drained the 
 last drop of the fiery liquid. A shudder distorted his 
 face. 
 
 "Pretty hot stuff, eh?" observed Charlie sympa- 
 thetically. 
 
 Courtney's reply was a nod of the head, speech being 
 denied him. 
 
 "Don't try to talk yet," said Charlie, as if ad- 
 monishing a child who has choked on a swallow of water. 
 " Anyhow," he went on quaintly, after a moment, " it 
 makes you forget all about your toothache, don't it ? " 
 
 The other cleared his throat raucously. " Now I 
 know why the redskins call it fire water," said he. 
 
 " Have another? " 
 
 " Not on your life," exclaimed the New Yorker. 
 " Put it back in the trunk, and lock it up ! " 
 
 " No sooner said than done," said Charlie amicably. 
 " Now I'll pull up the shades and let in a little of our 
 well-known hoosier atmosphere, and some real moon- 
 shine. Hello! There go Hatch and Angle, out for a 
 stroll. Yep! She's got him headed toward Foster's 
 soda water joint. I'll bet every tooth in his head is 
 achin'." 
 
 "How long have you been running the grain ele- 
 vator, Charlie?"
 
 84s QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Ever since David Windom built it, back in 1897, 
 twenty-two years. I took a few months off in '98, 
 expecting to see something of Cuba, but the darned 
 Spaniards surrendered when they heard I was on the 
 way, so I never got any farther than Indianapolis. 
 Twenty-two years. That's almost as long as Alix 
 Crown has lived altogether." 
 
 " Have you ever seen the grave at the top of Quill's 
 Window?" 
 
 "When I first came here, yes. Nobody ever goes 
 up there now. In the first place, she don't like it, and 
 in the second place, most people in these parts are hon- 
 ourable. We wouldn't any more think of trespassin' 
 up there than we'd think of pickin' somebody's pocket. 
 Besides which, there's supposed to be rattlesnakes up 
 there among the rocks. And besides that, the place is 
 haunted." 
 
 "Haunted? I understood it was the old Windom 
 house that is haunted." 
 
 " Well, spooks travel about a bit, being restless sort 
 of things. Thirty or forty years back, people swore 
 that old Quill and the other people who croaked up 
 there used to come back during the dark of the moon 
 and hold high revels, as the novel writers would say. 
 Strange to say, they suddenly stopped coming back 
 when the sheriff snook up there one night with a couple 
 of deputies and arrested a gang of male and female 
 mortals and confiscated a couple of kegs of beer at the 
 same time. Shortly after old David Windom confessed 
 that he killed Alix's father and buried him on the rock, 
 people begin to talk about seeing things again. Funny 
 that Eddie Crown's ghost neglected to come back till 
 after he'd been dead eighteen years or so. Ghosts ain't
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 85 
 
 usually so considerate. Nobody ever claims to have 
 seen him floating around the old Windom front yard 
 before Mr. Windom confessed. But, by gosh, the story 
 hadn't been printed in the newspapers for more than 
 two days before George Heffner saw Eddie in the front 
 yard, plain as day, and ran derned near a mile and a 
 half past his own house before he could stop, as he told 
 some one that met him when he stopped for breath. 
 Course, that story sort of petered out when George's 
 wife went down and cowhided a widow who lived just a 
 mile and a half south of their place, and that night 
 George kept on running so hard the other way that he's 
 never been heard of since. Since then there hasn't been 
 much talk about ghosts, 'specially among the married 
 men." 
 
 " And the rattlesnakes ? " said Courtney, grinning. 
 
 " Along about 1875 David Windom killed a couple 
 of rattlers up there. It's only natural that their 
 ghosts should come back, same as anybody else's. Far 
 as I can make out, nobody has ever actually seen one, 
 but the Lord only knows how many people claim to 
 have heard 'em." 
 
 He went on in this whimsical fashion for half an hour 
 or more, and finally came back to Alix Crown again. 
 
 " She did an awful lot of good during the war, 
 contributed to everything, drove an ambulance in New 
 York, took up nursing, and all that, and if the war 
 hadn't been ended by you fellers when it was, she'd have 
 been over in France, sure as you're a foot high." 
 
 ** Strange she hasn't married, young and rich and 
 beautiful as she is," mused Courtney. 
 
 " Plenty of fellers been after her all right. She don't 
 seem to be able to see 'em though. Now that the war's
 
 86 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 over maybe she'll settle down and pay some attention 
 to sufferin' humanity. There's one thing sure. If 
 she's got a beau he don't belong around these parts. 
 Nobody around here's got a look-in." 
 
 "Does she live all alone in that house up there? I 
 mean, has she no er chaperon?" 
 
 " Nancy Strong is keeping house for her, her hus- 
 band used to run the blacksmith shop here and did all 
 of David Windom's work for him. He's been dead a 
 good many years. Nancy is one of the finest women 
 you ever saw. Her father was an Episcopal minister 
 up in the city up to the time he died. Nancy had to 
 earn her own living, so she got a job as school teacher 
 down here. Let's see, that was over thirty years ago. 
 Been here ever since. Tom Strong wasn't good enough 
 for her. Too religious. He was the feller that led 
 the mob that wiped out Tony Zimmerman's saloon soon 
 after I came here. I'll never forget that night. I hap- 
 pened to be in the saloon, just out of curiosity, be- 
 cause it was new and everybody was dropping in to see 
 the bar and fixtures he'd got from Chicago, but I got 
 out of a back window in plenty of time. But as I was 
 saying, Nancy Strong keeps house for Alix. She's got 
 a cook and a second girl besides, and a chauffeur." 
 
 " An ideal arrangement," said Courtney, looking at 
 his wrist-watch. 
 
 " I wonder if you ever came across Nancy Strong's 
 son over in France. He was in the Medical Corps in 
 our Army. He's a doctor. Went to Rush Medical 
 College in Chicago and afterwards to some place in 
 the East, John Hopkins or some such name as that. 
 Feller about your age, I should say. David Strong. 
 Mr. Windom sent him through college. They say he's
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 87 
 
 paying the money back to Alix Crown as fast as he 
 makes it. Alix hates him worse'n poison, according to 
 Jim Bagley, her foreman. Of course, she don't let on 
 to David's mother on account of her being housekeeper 
 and all. Seems that Alix is as sore as can be because 
 he insists on paying the money to her, when she claims 
 her grandpa gave it to him and it's none of her business. 
 Davy says he promised to pay Mr. Windom back as 
 soon as he was able, and can't see any reason why the 
 old man's death should cancel the obligation. Jim was 
 telling me some time ago abou.t the letter Alix showed 
 him from Davy. She was so mad she actually cried. 
 He said in so many words he didn't choose to be be- 
 holden to her, and that he was in the habit of paying 
 his debts, and she needn't be so high and mighty about 
 refusin' to accept the money. He said he didn't accept 
 anything from Mr. Windom as charity, claiming it 
 was a loan, and he'd be damned if he'd accept charity 
 from her. I don't believe he swore like that, but then 
 Jim can't say good morning to you without getting in 
 a cuss word or two. Alix is as stubborn as all get out. 
 Jim says that every time she gets a cheque from Davy 
 she cashes it and hands the money over to Mrs. Strong 
 for a present, never letting on to Nancy that it came 
 from Davy. Did I say that Davy is practisin' in Phila- 
 delphia? He was back here for a week to see his 
 mother after he got out of the Army, but when Alix 
 heard he was coming she beat it up to Chicago. I 
 thought maybe you might have run across him over in 
 France." 
 
 " I was not with the American Army, and besides 
 there were several million men in France, Charlie," said 
 Courtney, arising and stretching himself. " Well, good
 
 88 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 night. Thanks for the uplift. I'll skip along now and 
 write a letter or two." 
 
 " Snappy dreams," said Charlie Webster. 
 
 Just as Courtney was closing a long letter to his 
 mother, the automobile drew up in front of the Tavern 
 and Alix Crown's guests got out. There were " good- 
 nights " and " sleep-tights " and then the car went 
 purring down the dimly lighted road. He had no 
 trouble in distinguishing Alix's clear, young voice, and 
 thereupon added the following words of comfort to his 
 faraway mother : " You will love her voice, mater dear. 
 It's like music. So put away your prejudice and wish 
 me luck. I've made a good start. The fact that she 
 refused to look at me on the porch tonight is the best 
 sign in the world. Just because she deliberately failed 
 to notice me is no sign that she didn't expect me to 
 notice her. It is an ancient and time-honoured trick 
 of your adorable sex." 
 
 rn 
 
 The next morning his walk took him up the lane past 
 the charming, red-brick house of Alix the Third. His 
 leg was troubling him. He walked with quite a pro- 
 nounced limp, and there were times when his face winced 
 with pain. 
 
 " It's that confounded poison you gave me last 
 night," he announced to Charlie Webster as they stood 
 chatting in front of the warehouse office. 
 
 " First time I ever heard of booze going to the knee," 
 was Charlie's laconic rejoinder. " It's generally aimed 
 at the head." 
 
 He made good use of the corner of his eye as he 
 strolled leisurely past the Windom house, set well back
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 89 
 
 at the top of a small tree-surrounded knoll and looking 
 down upon the grassy slope that formed the most beau- 
 tiful " front yard " in the whole county, according to 
 the proud and boastful denizens of Windomville. Along 
 the bottom of the lawn ran a neatly trimmed privet 
 hedge. There were lilac bushes in the lower corners of 
 the extensive grounds, and the wide gravel walk up to 
 the house was lined with flowers. Rose bushes guarded 
 the base of the terrace that ran the full length of the 
 house and curved off to the back of it. 
 
 A red and yellow beach umbrella, tilted against the 
 hot morning sun, lent a gay note of colour to the ter- 
 race to the left of the steps. Some one, a woman, 
 sat beneath the big sunshade, reading a newspaper. 
 A Belgian police dog posed at the top of the steps, as 
 rigid as if shaped of stone, regarding the passer-by who 
 limped. Halfway between the house and the road 
 stood two fine old oaks, one at either side of the lawn. 
 Their cool, alluring shadows were like clouds upon an 
 emerald sea. Down near the hedge a whirling garden 
 spray cast its benevolent waters over the grateful turf 
 and, reaching out in playful gusts, blew its mist into the 
 face of the man outside. Back of the house and farther 
 up the timbered slope rose a towering windmill and 
 below it the red water tank, partially screened by the 
 tree-tops. The rhythmic beat of a hydraulic pump 
 came to the stroller's ears. 
 
 Courtney's saunterings had taken him past this 
 charming place before, half a dozen times perhaps, 
 but never had it seemed so alluring. Outwardly there 
 was no change that he could detect, and yet there was 
 a subtle difference in its every aspect. The spray, the 
 shadows, the lazy windmill, the flowers, he had seen
 
 90 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 them all before* just as they were this morning. They 
 had not changed. But now, by some strange wizardry, 
 the tranquil setting had been transformed into a vi- 
 brant, exquisite fairyland, throbbing with life, charged 
 with an appeal to every one of the senses. It was as if 
 some hand had shaken it out of a sound sleep. 
 
 But, for that matter, the whole village of Windom- 
 ville had undergone a change. It was no longer the dull, 
 sleepy place of yesterday. Over night it had blos- 
 somed. Courtney Thane alone was aware of this amaz- 
 ing transformation. It was he who felt the thrill that 
 charged the air, who breathed in the sense-quickening 
 spice, who heard the pipes of Pan. All these signs of 
 enchantment were denied the matter-of-fact, unimagi- 
 native inhabitants of Windomville. And you would ask 
 the cause of this amazing transformation? 
 
 Before he left the breakfast table Courtney had con- 
 sented to give a talk before the Literary Society on the 
 coming Friday night. Mrs. Maude Baggs Pollock had 
 been at him for a week to tell of his experiences at the 
 front. She promised a full attendance. 
 
 " I've never made a speech in my life," he said, " and 
 I know I'd be scared stiff, Mrs. Pollock." 
 
 " Pooh ! Don't you talk to me about being scared ! 
 Anybody who did the things you did over in France " 
 
 " Ah, but you forget I was armed to the teeth," he 
 reminded her, with a grin. 
 
 " Well," put in Charlie Webster, we'll promise to 
 leave our pistols at home. The only danger you'll be 
 in, Court, will come from a lot of hysterical women 
 trying to kiss you, but I think I can fix it to have the 
 best lookin' ones up in front so that " 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't always try to be funny, Charlie
 
 CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS 91 
 
 Webster," snapped Mrs. Pollock. " Mr. Thane and I 
 were discussing a serious matter. If you can post- 
 pone " 
 
 " I defy anybody to prove that there's anything 
 funny about being kissed by practically half the grown- 
 up population of Windomville with the other half 
 lookin' on and cussin' under their breath." 
 
 " Don't pay any attention to him, Mr. Thane," said 
 the poetess of Windomville. " Alix Crown said last 
 night she was coming to the meeting this week, and I'd 
 so like to surprise her. Now please say you will do it." 
 
 " I really wouldn't know what to talk about," pleaded 
 the young man. " You see, as a rule, we fellows who 
 were over there don't feel half as well qualified to talk 
 about the war as those who stayed at home and read 
 about it in the papers." 
 
 "Nonsense! All you will have to do is just to tell 
 some of your own personal experiences. Nobody's 
 going to think you are bragging about them. We'll 
 understand." 
 
 " Next Friday night, you say? Well, I'll try, Mrs. 
 Pollock, if you'll promise to chloroform Charlie Web- 
 ster," said he, and Charlie promptly declared he would 
 do the chloroforming himself.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBUC 
 
 THE meetings of the Literary Society were held 
 once a month in the Windomville schoolhouse, 
 a two story brick building situated some dis- 
 tance back from the main street at the upper edge of 
 the town. There were four classrooms and three teach- 
 ers, including the principal, Miss Angie Miller, who 
 taught the upper grade. Graduates from her " room " 
 were given diplomas admitting them to the first year 
 of High School in the city hard-by in case they desired 
 to take advantage of the privilege. As a rule, how- 
 ever, the parents of such children were satisfied to call 
 it an honour rather than a privilege, with the result 
 that but few of them ever saw the inside of the High 
 School. They were looked upon as being quite suffi- 
 ciently educated for all that Windomville could pos- 
 sibly expect or exact of them. When the old school- 
 house was destroyed by fire in the winter of 1916, Alix 
 Crown contributed fifteen thousand dollars toward the 
 construction of this new and more or less modern 
 structure, with the provision that the town board should 
 appropriate the balance needed to complete the build- 
 ing. On completion the schoolhouse was found to have 
 cost exactly $14,989.75, and so, at the next township 
 election, the board was unanimously returned to office 
 by an appreciative constituency, and Miss Crown gra- 
 ciously notified by the assessor that she had been cred- 
 92
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC 93 
 
 ited with ten dollars and twenty-five cents against her 
 next year's road tax. 
 
 The Literary Society always met in Miss Miller's 
 " room," not because it was more imposing or commo- 
 dious than any of the others but on account of its 
 somewhat rarified intellectual atmosphere. Miss Angie's 
 literary attainments, while confined to absorption 
 rather than to production, were well known. She was 
 supposed to have read all of the major poets. At any 
 rate she was able to quote them. Besides, she had made 
 a study of Dickens and Thackeray and Trollope, being 
 qualified to discuss the astonishing shortcomings of 
 those amiable mid- Victorians in a most dependable man- 
 ner. She made extensive use of the word " erudite," 
 and confused a great many people by employing "vi- 
 carious " and " didactic " and " raison d'etre " in the 
 course of ordinary conversation. For example, in com- 
 plaining to Mr. Hodges, the school trustee, about the 
 lack of heat in mid-January, she completely subdued him 
 be remarking that there wasn't " the least raison d'etre 
 for such a condition." In view of these and other in- 
 tellectual associations, Miss Miller's "room " was ob- 
 viously the place for the Literary Society to meet. 
 
 Mr. George Ade, Mr. Booth Tarkington, Mr. James 
 Whitcomb Riley, Mr. Meredith Nicholson and other 
 noted Indiana authors had been invited to " read from 
 their works " before the Society, and while none of them 
 had been able to accept, each and every one had written 
 a polite note of regret to the secretary, who not only 
 read them aloud to the Society but preserved them in 
 her own private scrap book and spoke feelingly of her 
 remarkable " collection." 
 
 The room was crowded to hear the " celebrated air-
 
 94 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 man " relate his experiences at the front. The exer- 
 cises were delayed for nearly an hour while Mr. Hatch, 
 the photographer, prepared and foozled three attempts 
 to get a flashlight picture of the gathering. Everybody 
 was coughing violently when A. Lincoln Pollock arose 
 to introduce the speaker of the evening. In conclusion 
 he said: 
 
 " Mr. Thane was not only wounded in the service of 
 humanity but he was also gassed. I wish to state here 
 and now that it was not laughing gas the Germans ad- 
 ministered. Far from it, my friends. Mr. Thane will 
 tell you that it was no laughing matter. He has come 
 to God's own country to recuperate and to regain his 
 once robust health. After looking the world over, he 
 chose the health-giving climate of his native state, 
 ahem ! I should say, his father's native state, and 
 here he is not only thriving but enjoying himself. I 
 take it upon myself to announce that he left all of his 
 medals at his home in New York. They are too 
 precious to be carried promiscuously about the coun- 
 try. It is my pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to intro- 
 duce to you one of the real heroes of the Great War, 
 Mr. Courtney Thane, of New York City, who will now 
 speak to you." 
 
 Alix Crown sat at the back of the room. There were 
 no chairs, of course. Each person present occupied 
 a scholar's seat and desk. Courtney had seen her come 
 in. She was so late that he began to fear she was not 
 coming at all. The little thrill of exultation that came 
 with her arrival was shortly succeeded by an even 
 greater fear that she would depart as soon as the meet- 
 ing was over, without stopping to meet him at the " re- 
 ception " which was to follow.
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC 95 
 
 In his most agreeable drawl and with the barest ref- 
 erence to his own exploits, he described, quite simply, a 
 number of incidents that had come under his personal 
 observation while with the American Ambulance and 
 afterwards in the British Flying Corps. Most of his 
 talk was devoted to the feats of others and to the de- 
 scription of scenes and events somewhat remote from 
 the actual fighting zone. He confessed that he knew 
 practically nothing of the work of the American Expe- 
 ditionary Force, except by hearsay, as he did not come 
 in contact with the American armies, except an occa- 
 sional unit brigaded with British troops in the Cambrai 
 section of the great line. His listeners, no doubt, knew 
 a great deal more about the activities and achievements 
 of the Americans than he, so he was quite sure there 
 was nothing he could say that would interest or en- 
 lighten them. In concluding he very briefly touched 
 upon his own mishap. 
 
 " We were returning from a bombing flight over the 
 German positions when somebody put a bullet into our 
 petrol and down we came in flames. There was a gas 
 attack going on at the time. We managed to land in 
 a cloud of it, and somehow we got back to our own 
 lines, a little the worse for wear and all that sort of 
 thing, you know. It wasn't as bad as you'd think, 
 except for the gas, which isn't what you would call 
 palatable, and I came out not much worse off than 
 a chap who has been through a hard football scrim- 
 mage. Knee and ankle bunged up a little, and a dusty 
 uniform, that's about all. I hope you will excuse 
 me from talking any longer. My silly throat goes 
 back on me, you see. My mother probably would tell 
 you, ' too many cigarettes.' Perhaps she is right.
 
 96 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Thank you for listening to all this rot, ladies and gen- 
 tlemen. You are very kind to have given me this un- 
 deserved honour." 
 
 Not once during his remarks did he allow his gaze 
 to rest upon Alix Crown. It was his means of inform- 
 ing her that she had not made the slightest impression 
 upon him. 
 
 As he resumed his seat beside Mr. Pollock, and while 
 the generous hand-clapping was still going on, Pastor 
 Mavity arose and benignly waited for the applause to 
 cease. Mr. Mavity invariably claimed the ecclesiastical 
 privilege of speech. No meeting was complete, no topic 
 exhausted, until he had exercised that right. It did 
 not matter whether he had anything pertinent to say, 
 the fact still remained that he felt called upon to say 
 something: 
 
 " I should like to ask Mr. Thane if he thinks the Ger- 
 mans are preparing for another war. We have heard 
 rumours to that effect. Many of our keenest observers 
 have declared that it is only a matter of a few years 
 before the Germans will be in a position to make war 
 again, and that they will make it with even greater 
 ferocity than before. We all know of the conflict now 
 raging in Russia, and the amazing rebellion of De 
 Annunzio in Fiume, and the er as I was saying, the 
 possibility of the Kaiser seizing his bloody throne and 
 calling upon his minions to ah er renew the gigan- 
 tic struggle. The history of the world records no such 
 stupendous sacrifice of life on the cruel altars of greed 
 and avarice and er ambition. We may turn back 
 to the vast campaigns of Hannibal and Hamilcar and 
 Julius Caesar and find no er no war comparable to 
 the one we have so gloriously concluded. Our own
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC 97 
 
 Civil War, with all its, but I must not keep you stand- 
 ing, Mr. Thane. Do you, from your experience and 
 observation, regard another war as inevitable? " 
 
 " I do," was Courtney's succinct reply. 
 
 There was a distinctly audible flutter throughout the 
 room. Here, at last, was something definite to sup- 
 port the general contention that " we aren't through 
 with the Germans yet." A lady up in front leaned 
 across the aisle and whispered piercingly to her hus- 
 band: 
 
 " There! What did I tell you? " 
 
 Another lady arose halfway from her seat and anx- 
 iously inquired: 
 
 " How soon do you think it will come, Mr. Thane? " 
 
 She had a son just turning seventeen. 
 
 " That is a question I am afraid you will have to 
 put to God or the German Emperor," said Courtney, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " When David Strong was home this spring I asked 
 him what he thought about it," said Editor Pollock. 
 " I published the interview in the Sun. He was of 
 the opinion that the Germans had had all they wanted 
 of war. I tried to convince him that he was all wrong, 
 but all I could get him to say was that if they ever 
 did make war again it would be long after the most of 
 us were dead." 
 
 " David Strong didn't see anything of the war ex- 
 cept what he saw in the hospitals," said a woman con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Permit me to correct you, Mrs. Primmer," said 
 Alix Crown, without arising. " David Strong was un- 
 der fire most of the time. He was not in a base hos- 
 pital. He was attached to a field hospital, first with
 
 98 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 the French, then with the British, and afterwards with 
 the Americans." 
 
 '* In that case," said Courtney, facing her, " he was 
 in the thick of it. Every man in the army, from general 
 down to the humblest private, takes his hat off to the 
 men who served in the field hospitals. While we may 
 differ as to the next war, I do not hesitate to say that 
 Dr. Strong saw infinitely more of the last one than I 
 did. It may sound incredible to you, ladies and gentle- 
 men, but my job was a picnic compared to his. As a 
 matter of fact, I have always claimed that I was in 
 greater danger when I was in the American Ambulance 
 than when I was flying, quite safely, a couple of miles 
 up in the air. At any rate, I felt safer." 
 
 " Oh, but think of falling- that distance," cried Miss 
 'Angie Miller. 
 
 '* It was against the rules to think of falling," said 
 he, and every one laughed. 
 
 The " reception " followed. Every one came up and 
 shook hands with Courtney and told him how much his 
 address was enjoyed. As the group around him grew 
 thicker and at the same time more reluctant to move 
 on, he began to despair of meeting Alix Crown. He 
 could see her over near the door conversing with Alaska 
 Spigg and Charlie Webster. Then he saw her wave 
 her hand in farewell to some one across the room and 
 bow to Charlie. There was a bright, gay smile on her 
 lips as she said something to Charlie which caused that 
 gentleman to laugh prodigiously. All hope seemed lost 
 as she and little old Alaska turned toward the open 
 door. 
 
 It was not fate that intervened. It was Pastor
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC 99 
 
 Mavity. Disengaging himself from the group and leav- 
 ing a profound sentence uncompleted, he dashed over to 
 her, calling out her name as he did so. 
 
 " Alix ! Just a moment, please ! " 
 
 She paused, and Courtney discreetly turned his 
 back. Presently a benevolent hand was laid on his 
 shoulder and the voice of the shepherd fell upon his 
 ear. 
 
 " I want you to meet Miss Crown, Mr. Thane. She 
 has just been telling me how interested she was in your 
 remarks. Miss Crown, my very dear friend, Mr. Court- 
 ney Thane. Mr. Thane, as you may already know, is 
 sojourning in our midst for " 
 
 " I am delighted to meet you, Miss Crown," broke in 
 Courtney, with an abashed smile. " Formally, I mean. 
 I have a very distinct recollection of meeting you in- 
 formally," he added wrily. 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Mr. Mavity, elevating his 
 eyebrows. 
 
 Courtney's humility disarmed her. She allowed her 
 lips to curve slightly in a faint smile. The merest 
 trace of a dimple flickered for an instant in her smooth 
 cheek. 
 
 " I suppose it was the old story of forbidden fruit, 
 Mr. Thane," said she. Then, impulsively, she extended 
 her hand. He clasped it firmly, and there was peace 
 between them. 
 
 "On the contrary, Miss Crown, it was an unpardon- 
 able piece of impudence, for which I am so heartily 
 ashamed that I wonder how I can look you in the face." 
 
 " I was tremendously interested in your talk to- 
 night," she said, coolly dismissing the subject. *' Thank
 
 100 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 you for giving us the pleasure. It is just such adven- 
 tures as you have had that makes me wish more than 
 ever that I had not been born a girl." 
 
 He bowed gallantly. "What would the world be 
 like if God had neglected to create the rose? " 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Mr. Mavity, slapping him on the 
 back. " Spoken like a knight of old." 
 
 " Good night, Mr. Thane, and thank you again," 
 she said. Nodding to Mr. Mavity, she turned to leave 
 the group. 
 
 Again the parson intervened. " My dear Alix, I can't 
 let you go without saying a word about your splendid 
 defence of David Strong. It was fine. And you, sir, 
 were ah what shall I say? you were most generous 
 in saying what you did. David is a fine fellow. He " 
 
 " I should have said the same about any doctor who 
 was up at the front," said Courtney simply. " Is he 
 an old friend, Miss Crown?" 
 
 " I have known him ever since I can remember," she 
 replied, and he detected a slight stiffness in her manner. 
 
 "Ahem! Er ah " began Mr. Mavity tactfully. 
 " David was born here, -Mr. Thane. Well, good night, 
 Alix, good night." 
 
 When she was quite out of hearing, the flustered 
 parson lowered his voice and said to Courtney: 
 
 " They er don't get along very well, you see. I 
 couldn't explain while she was here. Something to do 
 with money matters, nothing of consequence, I assure 
 you, but very distressing, most distressing. It is too 
 bad, too bad." 
 
 Mrs. Pollock overheard. " They're both terribly 
 set in their ways," she remarked. " Stubborn as mules. 
 For my part, I think Alix is too silly for words about
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC 101 
 
 it. Especially with his mother living in the same house 
 with her. Now, mind you, I'm not saying anything 
 against Alix. I love her. But just the same, she can 
 be the most unreasonable " 
 
 " They haven't spoken to each other for over three 
 years," inserted Angie Miller. "When they were chil- 
 dren they were almost inseparable. David Windom 
 took a fancy to little David. The story is that 
 he was trying to ease his conscience by being nice to 
 a blacksmith's son. You see, his own daughter ran 
 away with a blacksmith's son, and you've heard what 
 happened, Mr. Thane. David was in my class for two 
 years before he went up to High School, and I remem- 
 ber he always used to get long letters from Alix when 
 she was in England. Then, when she came home, 
 she was about twelve I think, they were great friends. 
 Always together, playing, studying, reading, riding 
 and" 
 
 " Everybody used to say old David Windom was 
 doing his best to make a match of it," interrupted Mrs. 
 Pollock, who had been out of the conversation longer 
 than she liked. " Up to the time the old man died, 
 we used to take it for granted that some day they 
 would get married, but, my goodness, it's like waving 
 a red flag at a bull to even mention his name to Alix 
 now. She hates him, and I guess he hates her." 
 
 " Oh, my dear friend," cried Mr. Mavity, " I really 
 don't think you ought to say that. Hate is a very 
 dreadful word. I am sure Alix is incapable of actually 
 hating any one. And as for David, he is kindness, gen- 
 tleness itself. It is just one of those unfortunate situa- 
 tions that cannot be accounted for." 
 
 Charlie Webster came up at that juncture.
 
 102 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Say, Court, why didn't you tell 'em about the time 
 jou called Colonel What's-His-Name down, the 
 French guy that " The scowl on Courtney's brow 
 silenced the genial Charlie. He coughed and sputtered 
 for a moment or two and then said something about 
 " taking a joke." 
 
 As Charlie moved away, Miss Angie Miller sniffed 
 and said, without appreciably lowering her voice : 
 
 " I wonder where he gets it. There isn't supposed 
 to be a drop in Windomville." Suddenly her eyes flew 
 wide open. " Furman ! Oh, Furman Hatch ! " she 
 called out to a man who was sidling toward the door 
 in the wake of the pernicious Mr. Webster. 
 
 While there was nothing to indicate that Mr. Hatch 
 heard her, the most disinterested spectator would have 
 observed a perceptible acceleration of speed on his part. 
 
 " You promised to tell me how to " But Mr. Hatch 
 was gone. Mr. Webster turned a surprised and resent- 
 ful look upon him as he felt himself being pushed rather 
 roughly through the door ahead of the hurrying pho- 
 tographer. When Miss Angie reached the door, she 
 had lost some little time because of the seats and the 
 stupidity of Mrs. Primmer who blocked the way by 
 first turning to the rl fo ht, then to the left, and finally 
 by not turning at all, Mr. Hatch was nowhere in sight, 
 even though Mr. Webster was barely two-thirds of the 
 way down the stairs. 
 
 A pleasant, courteous voice accosted her from be- 
 hind as she stood glaring after the chubby warehouse- 
 man. 
 
 " Do you mind if I walk home with you, Miss 
 Miller? " 
 
 "Oh, is is that you, Mr. Thane?" she fairly
 
 COURTNEY APPEARS IN PUBLIC 103 
 
 gasped. Then she simpered. " I'm really not a bit 
 afraid. Still," hastily " if you really wish to, I 
 should be delighted." 
 
 If Mr. Hatch was lurking anywhere in the shadows, 
 he must have been profoundly impressed by the trans- 
 formation in Miss Angie Miller as she strode home- 
 ward at the side of the tall young New Yorker, her 
 hand on his arm, her head held high, he might also 
 have noticed that she stepped a little higher than usual.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ALIX THE THIRD 
 
 OCTOBER came, with its red and golden trees, 
 its brown pastures, its crisp nights and its 
 hazy, smoky days. Fires were kindled in 
 old-fashioned fireplaces; out in the farmyards busy 
 housewives were making soap and apple butter in great 
 iron kettles suspended over blazing logs ; wagons laden 
 with wheat and corn rumbled through country roads 
 and up to the Windom elevator; stores were thriving 
 under the spur of new-found money; the school was 
 open, Main Street childless for hours at a time, and 
 Courtney Thane was still in Windomville. 
 
 He was a frequent, almost constant visitor at the 
 red-brick house on the knoll. The gossips were busy. 
 Sage winks were exchanged when Alix and he were 
 seen together in her automobile ; many a head was low- 
 ered so that its owner might peer quizzically over the 
 upper rims of spectacles as they strolled past the post- 
 office and other public porches; convicting feminine 
 smiles pursued the young man up the lane leading to 
 Alix's home. There were some doubtful head-shakings, 
 but in the main Windomville was rather well pleased 
 with the prospect. Opinion, though divided, was almost 
 unanimous : few there were who held that " nothin' 
 would come of it. - 
 
 Charlie Webster was one of the latter. His early 
 intimacy with the ex-aviator had suffered a decided 
 104
 
 ALIX THE THIRD 105 
 
 slump. His jovial attempts to plague the young man 
 about his intentions met with the frostiest reception. 
 Indeed, on one memorable occasion, the object of these 
 good-natured banterings turned upon him, coldly and 
 said: 
 
 " See here, Webster, you're getting to be consid- 
 erable of a nuisance. Cut it out, will you? You are 
 not half as funny as you think you are. I'm pretty 
 well fed up with your freshness understand? " 
 
 It was a slap in the face that Charlie did under- 
 stand, and one he never forgot. As the rebuke was 
 uttered on the porch of Dowd's Tavern and in the pres- 
 ence of Flora Grady, Maude Baggs Pollock and one 
 or two others, the sting was likely to endure. 
 
 While Courtney's manner had undergone a decided 
 change so far as nearly all of his fellow-lodgers were 
 concerned, he still maintained a very friendly and cour- 
 teous attitude toward the Dowd sisters and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Pollock. For some reason known only to him- 
 self, (but doubtless plain to the reader of this narra- 
 tive), he devoted most of his attention to the editor 
 and his wife and to the two spinsters who were such 
 close friends of the young lady of his dreams. As for 
 the others, he made no attempt to conceal his disdain. 
 
 It was not long before the Irish in Miss Flora Grady 
 was aroused. She announced to Miss Angie Miller 
 that he was a " stuck up smart- Aleck," and sooner or 
 later he'd get a piece of her mind that would " take 
 him down a couple of pegs." Miss Miller, while in 
 complete accord with Flora's views, was content to 
 speak of him as " supercilious." 
 
 Charlie Webster grew more and more thoughtful un- 
 der the weight of indignity.
 
 106 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " I certainly missed my guess as to that feller," he 
 remarked to Doc Simpson and Hatch one day. " I had 
 him sized up as a different sort of feller altogether. 
 Why, up to a couple of weeks ago, he was as nice as 
 pie to all of us, 'specially to me. He used to come 
 over to my office and sit around for hours, chatting and 
 smoking cigarettes and joshing like a good feller. But 
 I've got it all figgered out, boys. He was simply 
 workin' me. He always led the conversation round to 
 Alix Crown, and then, like a dern' fool, I'd let him 
 pump me dry. Why, there's nothing he don't know 
 about that girl, and all through me. Now he's got 
 in with her, just as he wanted to all along, and what 
 does he do but tie a can to me and give me a swift kick. 
 And there's another thing I might as well say to you 
 fellers while I'm about it. I've been doing a lot of 
 thinking lately, sort of putting things together in 
 my mind, and it's my opinion that he is one of the 
 blamedest liars I've ever come across." 
 
 He paused to see the effect of this startling asser- 
 tion. Hatch removed the corn-cob pipe from between 
 his lips and laconically observed: 
 
 " Well, I know of one lie he's told." 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 " Remember him telling us at the supper table one 
 night that a German submarine fired three torpedoes 
 at the steamer he was coming home on with a lot of 
 other sick and wounded? Well, a couple of nights ago 
 he forgot himself and made the statement that he was 
 in a hospital in England for nearly two months after 
 the armistice was signed." 
 
 " By gosh, that's right," cried Doc Simpson. 
 
 "And what's more," went on Hatch, "wasn't he
 
 ALIX THE THIRD 107 
 
 serving in the British Array? What I'd like to know is 
 this: why would England be sending her wounded sol- 
 diers over to America? You can bet your life Eng- 
 land wasn't doing anything like that." 
 
 " There's another thing that don't sound just right 
 to me," said Charlie, his brow furrowed. " He says 
 one night he got lost driving his ambulance and the 
 first thing he knew he was away behind the German 
 lines. I may be wrong, but I've always thought both 
 sides had trenches. What puzzles me is how the dickens 
 he managed to drive that Ford of his over the German 
 trenches without noticin' 'em, and back again 
 besides." 
 
 " Well," said Doc, desiring to be fair, " it seems to be 
 the habit of soldiers to lie a little. That's where we 
 get the saying, ' he lied like a trooper.' I know my 
 Uncle George lied so much about what he did in the 
 Civil War that he ought to have had twenty pensions 
 instead of one. Still, there's a big change in Court, as 
 you say, Charlie. I wonder if Alix is really keen about 
 him. He's up there all the time, seems to me. Or is she 
 just stringin* him? " 
 
 Charlie frowned darkly. " He's a slick one. I I'd 
 hate to see Alix fall for him." 
 
 The sententious Mr. Hatch : " The smartest women 
 in the world lose their heads over a feller as soon as 
 they find out he's in poor health." 
 
 " He's in perfect health," exploded Charlie. 
 
 " I know, but that don't prevent him from cough- 
 ing and holding his side and walking with a cane, does 
 it? That's what gets 'em, Charlie. The quickest way 
 to get a girl interested is to let her think you're in need 
 of sympathy."
 
 108 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " It don't work when you're as fat as I am," said 
 Charlie gloomily. 
 
 Conscious or unconscious of the varying opinions 
 that were being voiced behind his back, Courtney went 
 confidently ahead with his wooing. He congratulated 
 himself that he was in Alix's good graces. If at times 
 she was perplexingly cool, or " upstage," as he called 
 it, he flattered himself that he knew women too well to 
 be discouraged by these purely feminine manifestations. 
 
 This was a game he knew how to play. The time 
 was not yet ripe for him to abandon his well-calculated 
 air of indifference. That he was desperately in love 
 with her goes without saying. If at the outset of his 
 campaign he was inspired by the unworthy motive of 
 greed, he was now consumed by an entirely different 
 desire, the desire to have her for his own, even though 
 she were penniless. 
 
 Those whirlwind tactics that had swept many an- 
 other girl off her feet were not to be thought of here, 
 Alix was different. She was not an impressionable, 
 hair-brained flapper, such as he had come in contact 
 with in past experiences. Despite her sprightly, thor- 
 oughly up-to-the-moment ease of manner, and an air 
 of complete sophistication, she was singularly old-fash- 
 ioned in a great many respects. While she was bright, 
 amusing, gay, there was back of it all a certain reserve 
 that forbade familiarity, sufficient, indeed, to inspire 
 unexampled caution on his part. She invited friend- 
 ship but not familiarity; she demanded respect rather 
 than admiration. 
 
 He was not slow in arriving at the conclusion that 
 she knew men. She knew how to fence with them. He 
 was distinctly aware of this. Other men, of course,
 
 ALIX THE THIRD 109 
 
 had been in love with her; other men no doubt had 
 dashed their hopes upon the barrier in their haste to 
 seize the treasure. It was inconceivable that one so 
 lovely, so desirable, so utterly feminine should fail to 
 inspire in all men that which she inspired in him. The 
 obvious, therefore, was gratifying. Granted that she 
 had had proposals, here was the proof that the poor 
 fools who laid their hearts at her feet had gone about 
 it clumsily. Such would not be the case with him. 
 Oh no ! He would bide his time, he would watch for the 
 first break in her enchanted armour, and then the con- 
 quest ! 
 
 There were times, of course, when he came near 
 to catastrophe, times when he was almost powerless 
 to resist the passion that possessed him. These were 
 the times when he realized how easy it would have been 
 to join that sad company of fools in the path behind 
 her. 
 
 He had no real misgivings. He felt confident of 
 winning. True, her moods puzzled him at times, but 
 were they not, after all, omens of good fortune? Were 
 they not indications of the mysterious changes that 
 were taking place in her? And the way was clear. So 
 far as he knew, there was no other man. Her heart 
 was free. What more could he ask? 
 
 On her side, the situation was not so complex. He 
 came from the great outside world, he brought the out- 
 side world to the lonely little village on the bank of the 
 river. He was bright, amusing, cultivated, at least 
 he represented cultivation as it exists in open places 
 and on the surface of a sea called civilization. He pos- 
 sessed that ineffable quality known as " manner." The 
 spice of the Metropolis clung to him. He could talk
 
 110 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 of the things she loved, not as she loved the farm and 
 village and the home of her fathers, but of the things 
 she loved because they stood for that which represented 
 the beautiful in intellect, in genius, in accomplishment. 
 The breath of far lands and wide seas came with him 
 to the town of Windomville, grateful and soothing, and 
 yet laden with the tang of turmoil, the spice of iniquity. 
 
 Alix was no Puritan. She had been out in the world, 
 she had come up against the elemental in life, she had 
 learned that God in His wisdom had peopled the earth 
 with saints and sinners, and she was tolerant of both ! 
 In a word, she was broad-minded. She had been an 
 observer rather than a participant in the passing show. 
 She had absorbed knowledge rather than experience. 
 
 The conventions remained unshaken so far as she 
 was personally concerned. In others she excused much 
 that she could not have excused in herself, for the 
 heritage of righteousness had come down to her through 
 a long line of staunch upholders. 
 
 She loved life. She craved companionship. She 
 could afford to gratify her desires. Week-ends found 
 two or more guests at her home, friends from the city 
 up the river. Sometimes there were visitors from Chi- 
 cago, Indianapolis and other places, girls she had met 
 at school, or in her travels, or in the canteen. Early 
 in the war her house was headquarters for the local Red 
 Cross workers, the knitters, the bandage rollers, and 
 so on, but after the entry of the United States into the 
 conflict, most of her time was spent away from Win- 
 domville in the more intense activities delegated to 
 women. 
 
 She attended the theatre when anything worth while 
 came to the city, frequently taking one or two of the
 
 ALIX THE THIRD 111 
 
 village people with her. Once, as she was leaving the 
 theatre, she heard herself discussed by persons in the 
 aisle behind. 
 
 " That's Alix Crown. I'll tell you all about her when 
 we get home. Her father and mother were murdered 
 years ago and buried in a well or something. I wish 
 she'd turn around so that you could get a good look 
 at her face. She's quite pretty and " 
 
 And she had deliberately turned to face the speaker, 
 who never forgot the cold, unwavering stare that caused 
 her to lower her own eyes and her voice to trail off 
 into a confused mumble. 
 
 Alix was a long time in recovering from the distress 
 caused by the incident. She avoided the city for weeks. 
 It was her first intimation that she was an object of 
 unusual interest to people, that she was the subject of 
 whispered comment, that she was a " character " to be 
 pointed out to strangers. Even now, with the sting 
 of injury and injustice eased by time and her own 
 good sense, there still remained the disturbing con- 
 sciousness that she was, for want of a milder term, 
 a " marked woman." 
 
 She was thoroughly acquainted with every detail 
 connected with the extensive farms and industries that 
 had been handed down to her. A great deal of her 
 time was devoted to an intelligent and comprehensive 
 interest in the management of the farms. She was 
 never out of touch with conditions. Her tenants re- 
 spected and admired her; her foremen and superintend- 
 ents consulted with her as they would not have believed 
 it possible to consult with a woman; her bankers de- 
 ferred to her. 
 
 She would have laughed at you if you had suggested
 
 112 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 to her that she had more than a grain of business- 
 sense, or ability, or capacity, and yet she was singularly 
 far-sighted and capable, without being in the least 
 aware of it. Her pleasures were not allowed to inter- 
 fere with her obligations as a landlord, a citizen and a 
 taxpayer. A certain part of each day was set aside 
 for the business of the farms. She repaired bright and 
 early to the little office at the back of the house where 
 her grandfather had worked before her, and there she 
 struggled over accounts, reports, claims, and her 
 cheque-book. And like her grim, silent grandsire, she 
 " rode " the lanes that twined through field and tim- 
 ber, only she rode gaily, blithely, with sunshine in 
 her heart. The darkness was always behind her, never 
 ahead. 
 
 Courtney undoubtedly had overcome the prejudice 
 his visit to Quill's Window had inspired in her. They 
 never spoke of that first encounter. It was as a closed 
 book between them. He had forgotten the incident. 
 At any rate, he had put it out of his mind. He some- 
 times wondered, however, if she would ever invite him 
 to accompany her to the top of that forbidden hill. 
 In their rambles they had passed the closed gate on 
 more than one occasion. The words, " No Trespass," 
 still met the eye. Some day he would suggest an adven- 
 ture : the descent to the cave in quest of treasure ! The 
 two of them ! Rope ladder and all ! It would be great 
 fun! 
 
 He was assiduous in his efforts to amuse her house 
 guests. He laid himself out to be entertaining. If he 
 resented the presence of young men from the city, he 
 managed to conceal his feelings remarkably well. On 
 one point he was firm : he would not accompany her on
 
 ALIX THE THIRD 113 
 
 any of her trips to the city. Once she had invited him 
 to motor in with her to a tea, and another time she 
 offered to drive him about the city and out to the col- 
 lege on a sight-seeing tour. It was then that he said 
 he was determined to obey " doctor's orders." No city 
 streets for him! Even she couldn't entice him! He 
 loved every inch of this charming, restful spot, every 
 tree and every stone, and he would not leave it until 
 the time came for him to go away forever. 
 
 He was very well satisfied with the fruits of this ap- 
 parently ungracious refusal. She went to the city 
 less frequently than before, and only when it was neces- 
 sary. This, he decided, was significant. It could have 
 but one meaning. 
 
 Her dog, Sergeant, did not like him.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 
 
 ONE chilly, rainy afternoon in mid-October 
 Courtney appeared at the house on the knoll 
 half an hour earlier than was his custom. Alix 
 was expecting friends down from the city for tea. From 
 the hall where he was removing his raincoat he had a fair 
 view through an open door of the north end of the long 
 living-room. Logs were blazing merrily in the fireplace. 
 Alix was standing before the fire, tearing a sheet of 
 paper into small pieces. She was angry. She threw 
 rather than dropped the bits of paper into the flames, 
 unmistakably she was furious. He waited a moment be- 
 fore entering the room. Her back was toward him. 
 She turned in response to his discreet cough. Even 
 in the dim light that filtered in from the grey, leaden 
 day outside, he could detect the heightened colour in 
 her cheeks, and as he advanced he saw that her eyes 
 were wet with illy-suppressed tears. She bit her lip 
 and forced a smile. 
 
 He possessed the philanderer's tact. There was noth- 
 ing in his manner to indicate that he noticed anything 
 unusual. He greeted her cheerfully and then, affecting 
 a shiver, passed on to spread his hands out over the fire. 
 
 " This is great,'* he exclaimed, his back to her. He 
 
 was giving her a chance to compose herself. " Nothing 
 
 like a big log fire to warm the cockles of your heart, 
 
 although it isn't my heart that needs warming. More- 
 
 114
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 115 
 
 over, I don't know what cockles are. I must look 'em 
 up in the dictionary. Come here, Sergeant, there's 
 a good dog! Come over and get warm, old fellow. 
 Toast your cockles. By Jove, Miss Crown, isn't he 
 ever going to make friends with me?" 
 
 " They are ' one man ' dogs, Mr. Thane," she re- 
 plied. " Come, Sergeant, if you're going to be im- 
 polite you must leave the room. Excuse me a moment. 
 Sergeant! Do you hear me, sir? Come!" 
 
 The big grey dog followed her slowly, reluctantly, 
 from the room. Courtney heard her going up the stairs. 
 
 " That nasty brute is going to take a bite out of me 
 some day," he muttered under his breath. " Fat 
 chance I'd have to kiss her with that beast around." 
 
 He heard the closing of an upstairs door. His 
 thoughts were still of the police dog. 
 
 " There's one thing sure," he said to himself. " That 
 dog and I can't live in the same house." Then his 
 thoughts rose swiftly to that upstairs room, he was 
 sure it was a dainty, inviting room, to picture her be- 
 fore the mirror erasing all visible evidence of agitation. 
 He found himself wondering what it was that caused 
 this exhibition of temper. A letter? Of course, a 
 letter. A letter that contained something she resented, 
 something that infuriated her. A personal matter, not 
 a business one. She would not have treated a business 
 matter in such a way. He knew her too well for that. 
 The leaping flames gave no hint of what they had de- 
 stroyed. Was it an anonymous letter? Had it any- 
 thing to do with him? 
 
 His eye fell upon several envelopes on the library 
 table. After a moment's hesitation and a quick glance 
 toward the door, he strode over to inspect them. They
 
 116 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 were all unopened. Two were postmarked Chicago, one 
 New York; on the others the postmarks were indis- 
 tinct. The handwriting was feminine on most of them. 
 A narrow, folded slip of paper lay a little detached 
 from the letters. He picked it up and quickly opened 
 it. It proved to be a check on a Philadelphia bank. A 
 glance sufficed to show that it was for two hundred and 
 fifty dollars, payable to the order of Alix Crown, and 
 signed " D. W. Strong." 
 
 The door upstairs was opened and closed. Replacing 
 the bit of paper on the table, he resumed his position 
 before the fire. Quite a different Alix entered the room 
 a few seconds later. She was smiling, her eyes were 
 soft and tranquil. All traces of the passing tempest 
 were gone. 
 
 " Sit down, draw this big chair up to the fire, do. 
 It is raw and nasty today, isn't it? I think the Mallons 
 are coming out in an open car. Isn't it too bad ? " 
 
 "Bad for the curls," he drawled. "Mind if I 
 smoke?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Don't you know that by this 
 time? " 
 
 He had drawn a chair up beside hers. Her reply 
 afforded him a very definite sense of elation. 
 
 " It seems to me that the world is getting to be a 
 rather heavenly place to live in," he said, and there was 
 a trace of real feeling in his voice. " You don't mind 
 my saying it's entirely due to you, do you? " 
 
 " Not in the least," she said calmly. " Charlie Web- 
 ster once paraphrased a time-honoured saying. He 
 said ' In the fall an old man's fancy slightly turns to 
 thoughts of comfort.' I sha'n't deprive my fireplace
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 117 
 
 and my big armchair of their just due by believing a 
 word of what you say." 
 
 He tossed the match into the fire, drew in a deep 
 breath of smoke, settled himself comfortably in the 
 chair before exhaling, and then remarked : 
 
 " But I don't happen to be an old man. I happen 
 to be a rather young one, and a very truthful one 
 to boot." 
 
 " Do you always tell the truth? " 
 
 He grinned. " More or less always," was his reply. 
 " I never lie in October/* 
 
 "And the other eleven months of the year? " 
 
 " Oh, I merely change the wording. In July I say 
 * I never lie in July,' and so on throughout the twelve- 
 month. I don't slight a single month. By the by, I 
 hope I didn't pop in too far ahead of time this after- 
 noon. You asked me to come at four. I'm half an 
 hour early. Were you occupied with anything " 
 
 " I was not busy. A few letters, but they can 
 wait." He caught the faint shadow of a cloud as it 
 flitted across her eyes. " They are all personal, 
 nothing important in any of them, I am sure." 
 
 She shot a quick glance at the folded check and, 
 arising abruptly, went over to the table where, with 
 apparent unconcern, she ran through the little pile of 
 letters. He saw her pick up the check and thrust it 
 into the pocket of her sport skirt. Then she returned 
 to the fireplace. The cloud was on her brow again 
 as she stared darkly into the crackling flames. He 
 knew now that it was Strong's letter she had destroyed 
 in anger. He would have given much to know what 
 the man she despised so heartily had written to her.
 
 118 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 If he could have seen that brief note he would have 
 read: 
 
 DEAR ALIX: 
 
 I enclose my checque for two-fifty. If all goes well I 
 hope to clean up the indebtedness by the first of the year. 
 In any case, I am sure it can be accomplished by early 
 spring. You may thank the flu for my present prosperity. 
 It has been pretty bad here in the East again, although 
 not so virulent as before. Please credit me with the amount. 
 This leaves me owing you five hundred dollars. It should 
 not take long to wipe it out entirely, interest and all. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Courtney eyed her narrowly as she stood for a mo- 
 ment looking into the fire before resuming her seat. He 
 realized that her thoughts were far away and that they 
 were not pleasant. 
 
 " It's queer," he said presently, " that you have 
 never learned to smoke." 
 
 She started slightly at the sound of his voice. As 
 she turned to sit down, he went on : 
 
 " Almost every girl I know smokes. I will not say 
 that I like to see it, especially in restaurants and all 
 that sort of thing, but it's rather jolly if there's a 
 nice, cosy fire like this, see what I mean? Sort of 
 intimate, and friendly, and soothing. Don't you want 
 to try one now ? " 
 
 " Thank you, no. If it weren't so shocking, I think 
 I should like to learn how to smoke a pipe, but I sup- 
 pose that isn't to be thought of. Somehow I feel that 
 a pipe might be a pal, a good old stand-by, or even a 
 relative, something to depend upon in all sorts of
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 119 
 
 weather, fair and foul. I've noticed that the men on 
 the place who smoke pipes appear to be contented and 
 jolly and good humoured, and efficient. Yes, I think 
 I should like to smoke a pipe." 
 
 " Would you like me better if I cut out the ciga- 
 rettes, and took up the pipe of peace and content- 
 ment ? " he inquired thoughtfully. 
 
 " I doubt it," she replied, smiling. " I can't imagine 
 you smoking a pipe." 
 
 " Is that supposed to be flat'tering or scornful? " 
 " Neither. It is an impression, that's all." 
 He frowned slightly. " I used to smoke a pipe, in 
 college, you know. Up to my sophomore year. It was 
 supposed to indicate maturity. But I don't believe I'd 
 have the courage to tackle one now, Miss Crown. Not 
 since that little gas experience over there. You see, 
 my throat isn't what it was in those good old freshman 
 days. Pipe smoke, you may even say tobacco smoke, 
 for heaven only knows what these cigarettes are made 
 of, pipe smoke is too strong. My throat is so con- 
 founded sensitive I well, I'd probably cough my head 
 off. That beastly gas made a coward of me, I fear. 
 You've no idea what it does to a fellow's throat and 
 lungs. If I live to be a thousand years old, I'll never 
 forget the tortures I went through for weeks, yes, 
 ages. Every breath was like a knife cutting the very 
 But what a stupid fool I am! Distressing you with 
 all these wretched details. Please forgive me." 
 
 She was looking at him wonderingly. " You are so 
 different from the poor fellows I saw in New York," 
 she said slowly. " I mean the men who had been gassed 
 and shell-shocked. I saw loads of them in the hospitals, 
 you know, and talked with them. I was always tre-
 
 120 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 mendously affected by their silence, their moodiness, 
 their unwillingness to speak of what they had been 
 through. The other men, the ones who had lost legs or 
 arms or even their eyes, were as a rule cheerful and 
 as chatty as could be, oh, how my heart used to ache 
 for them, but the shell-shock men and the men who 
 had been gassed, why, it was impossible to get them to 
 talk about themselves. I have seen some of them since 
 then. They are apparently well and strong, and yet 
 not one word can you get out of them about their suf- 
 ferings. You are almost unique, Mr. Thane. I am 
 glad you feel disposed to talk about it all. It is a good 
 sign. It " 
 
 " I didn't say -much about it at first," he interrupted 
 hurriedly. " Moreover, Miss Crown," he went on, " a 
 lot of those chaps, the majority of them, in fact, 
 worked that dodge for all it was worth. It was a de- 
 liberate pose with them. They had to act that way or 
 people wouldn't think they'd been hurt at all. Bunk, 
 most of it." 
 
 " I don't believe that, Mr. Thane. I saw too many 
 of them. The ones with whom I came in contact cer- 
 tainly were not trying to deceive anybody. They were 
 in a pitiable condition, every last one of them, piti- 
 able." 
 
 " I do not say that all of them were shamming, but 
 I am convinced that a great many of them were." 
 
 " The doctors report that the shell-shock cases " 
 
 " Ah, the doctors ! " he broke in, shrugging his shoul- 
 'ders. " They were all jolly good fellows. All you had 
 to do was to even hint that you'd been knocked over 
 by a shell that exploded two hundred yards away and 
 zip ! they'd send you back for repairs. As for myself,
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 121 
 
 the only reason I didn't like to talk about my condition 
 at first was because it hurt my throat and lungs. It 
 wasn't because I was afflicted with this heroic melan- 
 choly they talk so much about. I was mighty glad to 
 be alive. I couldn't see anything to mope about, cer- 
 tainly not after I found out I wasn't going to die." 
 
 " I daresay there were others who took it as you 
 did. I wish there could have been more." 
 
 He hesitated a moment before speaking again. Then 
 he hazarded the question : 
 
 " What does your friend, Dr. Strong, have to say 
 about the general run of such cases? " 
 
 " I don't know. I have not seen Dr. Strong since the 
 war ended." 
 
 He looked mildly surprised. " Hasn't he been home 
 since the war? " 
 
 " I believe-so. I was away at the time." 
 
 " How long was he in France? " 
 
 " He went over first in 1916 and again in the fall of 
 1917, and remained till the end of the war. His mother 
 is here with me, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know. By Jove, I envy him one thing, 
 lucky dog." She remained silent. " You were play- 
 mates, weren't you? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, lifting her chin slightly. 
 
 " Well, that's why I envy him. To have been your 
 playmate, Why, I envy him every minute of his boy- 
 hood. When I think of my own boyhood and how little- 
 there was to it that a real boy should have, I I con- 
 found it, I almost find myself hating chaps like Strong, 
 chaps who lived in the country and had regular pals, 
 and girl sweethearts, and went fishing and hunting, and 
 played hookey as it ought to be played, and grew up
 
 122 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 with something fine and sweet and wholesome to look 
 back upon, and to have had you for a playmate, -. 
 maybe a sweetheart, you in short frocks, with your 
 hair in pigtails, barefooted in summertime, running " 
 
 She interrupted him. " Your imagination is at fault 
 there, Mr. Thane," she said, smiling once more. " I 
 never went barefooted in my life." 
 
 " At any rate, he did. And he played all sorts of 
 games with you ; he " 
 
 " My impression of David Strong is that he was a 
 boy's boy," she broke in rather stiffly. " His games 
 were with the boys of the town, and they were rough 
 games. Football, baseball, shinney, circus, things like 
 that." 
 
 " I don't mean sports, Miss Crown. I was thinking 
 of those wonderful boy and girl games, such as 
 * playing house,' * getting married,' * hide-and-go-seek, 5 
 ^all that sort of thing." 
 
 " Yes, I know," she admitted. " We often played at 
 getting married, and we had very large but inanimate 
 families, and we quarrelled like real married people, and 
 I used to cry and take my playthings home, and he 
 used to stand outside our fence and make faces at me 
 till I hated him ferociously. But all that was when 
 we were very small, you see." 
 
 " And as all such things turn out, I suppose he grew 
 up and went off and got married to some one else." 
 
 " He is not married, Mr. Thane." 
 
 " Well, for that matter, neither are you," said he, 
 leaning forward, his eyes fixed intently on hers. She 
 did not flinch. " I wonder just how you feel toward 
 him today, Miss Crown." 
 
 She was incapable of coquetry. " We are not the
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 123 
 
 best of friends," she said quietly. " Now, if you please, 
 let us talk of something else. Did I tell you that an 
 old Ambulance man is coming down for a day or two 
 next week ? A Harvard man who lives in Chicago. His 
 sister and I went to New York together to take our 
 chances there on getting over to France. I think I've 
 told you about her, Mary Bly the ? " 
 
 "Ely the?" repeated Courtney thoughtfully. 
 " Blythe. Seems to me I heard of a chap named Blythe 
 over there in the Ambulance, but I don't remember 
 whether I ran across him anywhere or not. He may 
 have been after my time, however. I was with the 
 Ambulance in '15 and the early part of '16, you see." 
 
 " Addison Blythe. He was afterwards a Field Artil- 
 lery captain. I've known Mary Blythe for years, but 
 I know him very slightly. He went direct from Har- 
 yard to France, you see." 
 
 "What section was he with?" 
 
 " I don't know. I only know he was at Pont-a-Mous- 
 son for several months. You were there too at one 
 time, I remember. I've heard him speak of the Bois le 
 Pretre. You may have been, there at the same time." 
 
 " Hardly possible. I should have known him in that 
 case. My section was sent up to Bar le Due just be- 
 fore the first big Verdun battle." 
 
 * Why, he was all through the first battle of Verdun. 
 His section was transferred from Pont-a-Mousson at 
 an hour's notice. Were there more than one section 
 at Pont-a-Mousson? " 
 
 " I don't know how they were fixed after I left. You 
 see, I was trying to get into the aviation end of the 
 game along about that time. I was in an aviation camp 
 lor a couple of months, but went back to the Ambulance
 
 124 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 just before the Verdun scrap. They slapped me into 
 another section, of course. I used to see fellows from 
 my own section occasionally, but I don't recall any one 
 named Blythe. He probably was sent up while I was 
 at Toul, or it may have been during the time I was 
 with a section in the Vosges. I was up near Dunkirk 
 too for a while, only for a few weeks. When did you 
 say he was coming? " 
 
 "Next Tuesday. They are stopping off on their 
 way to attend a wedding in Louisville. You two will 
 have a wonderful time reminiscing." 
 
 " Blythe. I'll rummage around in my memory and 
 jsee if I can place him. There was a fellow named Bright 
 up there at one time, at least I got the name as 
 Bright. It may have been Blythe. I'll be tickled to 
 Ideath to meet him, Miss Crown." 
 
 " You will love Mary Blythe. She is a darling." 
 
 " I may be susceptible, Miss Crown, but I am not 
 inconstant," said he, with a gallant bow. 
 
 She was annoyed with herself for blushing. 
 
 *' Will you throw another log or two on the fire, 
 please?" she said, arising. "I think I hear a car 
 coming up the drive. The poor Mallons will be chilled 
 to the bone." 
 
 He smiled to himself as he took the long hickory logs 
 from the wood box and placed them carefully on the 
 fire. He had seen the swift flood of colour mount to 
 her cheeks, and the odd little waver in her eyes before 
 she turned them away. She was at the window, looking 
 out, when he straightened himself and gingerly brushed 
 the wood dust from his hands. Instead of joining her, 
 he remained with his back to the fire, his feet spread 
 apart, his hands in his coat pockets, comforting him-
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 125 
 
 self with the thought that she was wondering why he 
 had not followed her. It was, he rejoiced, a very clever 
 bit of strategy on his part. He waited for her to turn 
 away from the window and say, with well-assumed per- 
 plexity : " I was sure I heard a car, Mr. Thane." 
 
 And that is exactly what she did say after a short 
 interval, adding: 
 
 " It must have been the wind in the chimney." 
 
 " Very likely," he agreed. 
 
 She remained at the window. He held his position 
 before the fire. 
 
 " If I were just a plain damned fool," he was saying 
 to himself, " I'd rush over there and spoil everything. 
 It's too soon, too soon. She's not ready yet, not 
 ready." 
 
 Alix, looking out across the porch into the grey 
 drizzle that drenched the lawn, thrust her hand into 
 her skirt pocket and, clutching the bit of paper in her 
 fingers, crumpled it into a small ball. Her eyes were 
 serene, however, as she turned away and walked back 
 to the fireplace. 
 
 " I don't believe they are coming, after all. I think 
 they might have telephoned," she said, glancing up at 
 the old French ormula clock on the mantelpiece. 
 " Half-past four. We will wait a few minutes longer 
 and then have tea." 
 
 His heart gave a sudden thump. Was it possible 
 but no! She would not stoop to anything like that. 
 The little thrill of exultation departed as quickly as 
 it came. 
 
 " Tire trouble, perhaps," he ventured. 
 
 Tea was being brought in when the belated guests 
 arrived. Courtney, spurred by the brief vision of sue-
 
 126 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 cess ahead, was never in better form, never more en- 
 tertaining, never so well provided with polite cynicisms. 
 Later on, when he and Alix were alone and he was 
 putting on his raincoat in the hall, she said to him 
 impulsively : 
 
 " I don't know what I should have done without you, 
 Mr. Thane. You were splendid. I was in no mood to 
 be nice or agreeable to anybody." 
 
 " Alas ! " he sighed. " That shows how unobserving 
 I am. I could have sworn you were in a perfectly 
 adorable mood." 
 
 " Well, I wasn't," she said stubbornly. " I was quite 
 horrid." 
 
 " Has anything happened to to distress you, Miss 
 Crown?" he inquired anxiously. His voice was husky 
 and a trifle unsteady. " Can't you tell me? Sometimes 
 it helps to" 
 
 " Nothing has happened," she interrupted nervously. 
 " I was just stupid, that's all." 
 
 "When am I to see you again?" he asked, after a 
 perceptible pause. " May I come tonight ? " 
 
 " Not tonight," she said, shaking her head. 
 
 She gave no reason, nothing more than the two 
 little words, and yet he went away exulting. He 
 walked home through the light, gusty rain, so elated 
 that he forgot to use his cane, and he had limped quite 
 painfully earlier in the afternoon, complaining of the 
 dampness and chill. He had the habit of talking to 
 himself when walking alone in the darkness. He thought 
 aloud : 
 
 " She wants to be alone, she wants to think. She 
 has suddenly realized. She is frightened. She doesn't 
 understand. She is bewildered. She doesn't want to
 
 A MID-OCTOBER DAY 127 
 
 see me tonight. Bless her heart ! I'll bet my head she 
 idoesn't sleep a wink. And tomorrow? Tomorrow I 
 shall see her. But not a word, not a sign out of me. 
 Not tomorrow or next day or the day after that. Keep 
 her thinking, keep her guessing, keep her wondering 
 whether I really care. Pretty soon she'll realize how 
 miserable she is, and then!"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 
 
 A LINCOLN POLLOCK was full of news at 
 supper that evening. Courtney, coming in a 
 little late, in fact, Miss Margaret Slattery 
 already had removed the soup plates and was begin- 
 ning to wonder audibly whether a certain guy thought 
 she was a truck-horse or something like that, found 
 the editor of the Sun anticipating by at least twelve 
 hours the forthcoming issue of his paper. He was 
 regaling his fellow-boarders with news that would be 
 off the press the first thing in the morning, having 
 been confined to the composing-room for the better part 
 of a week, and he was enjoying himself. Charlie Web- 
 ster once made the remark that " every time the Sun 
 goes to press, Link Pollock acts for all the world like 
 a hen that's just laid an egg, he cackles so." 
 
 " I saw Nancy Strong this morning and she was 
 telling me about a letter she had from David yesterday. 
 He wants her to pack up and come to Philadelphia, 
 Pennsylvania, to live with him. He says he'll take a 
 nice little apartment, big enough for the two of 'em, 
 if she'll only come. She can't make up her mind what 
 to do. She's so fond of Alix she don't see how she can 
 desert her, at least, not till she gets married, and 
 yet she feels she owes it to her son to go and make a 
 home for him. Every once in a while Alix makes her 
 128
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 129 
 
 a present of a hundred dollars or so, once she gave 
 her three hundred in cold, clean cash, and actually 
 loves her as if she was her own mother. Nancy's ter- 
 ribly upset. She is devoted to Alix, and at the same 
 time she's devoted to her son. She seemed to want my 
 advice, but of course I couldn't give her any. It's 
 a thing she's got to work out for herself. I couldn't 
 advise her to leave Alix in the lurch and I couldn't ad- 
 vise her to turn her back on her only son, could I? " 
 
 " How soon does David want her to come? " inquired 
 Miss Molly Dowd. 
 
 " Before Christmas, I believe. He wants her to be 
 with him on Christmas day." 
 
 " Well, it would work out very nicely," said Mrs. 
 Pollock, " if Alix would only get married before that 
 time." 
 
 " I guess that's just what Nancy is kind of hoping 
 herself," stated Mr. Pollock. " It would simplify every- 
 thing. Of course, when she told Alix about David's 
 letter and what he wanted her to do, Alix was mighty 
 nice about it. She told Nancy to go by all means, her 
 place was with her son if he needed her, and she wouldn't 
 stand in the way for the world. Nancy says she had 
 about made up her mind to go, but changed it last 
 night. She was telling me about sneaking up to Alix's 
 bedroom door and listening. Alix was crying, sort of 
 sobbing, you know. That settled it with Nancy, tem- 
 porarily at any rate. Now she's up in the air again, 
 and don't know what to do. She's gone and told Alix 
 she won't leave her, but all the time she keeps wonder- 
 ing if Davy can get along without her in that great 
 big city, surrounded by all kinds of perils and traps 
 and pitfalls, night and day. Evil women and "
 
 130 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 "Has Alix said anything to you about it, Mr. 
 Thane? " inquired Maude Baggs Pollock. 
 
 " Not a word," replied Courtney, secretly irritated 
 by the discovery that Alix had failed to take him into 
 her confidence. " She doesn't discuss servant troubles 
 with me." 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! " cried Miss Dowd. " If Nancy 
 Strong ever heard you speak of her as a servant 
 she'd" 
 
 " She'd bite your head off," put in Miss Margaret 
 Slattery. "Are you through with your soup, Mr. 
 Thane?" Without waiting for an answer, she re- 
 moved the plate with considerable abruptness. 
 
 " Are you angry with me, Margaret ? " he asked, 
 with a reproachful smile. His smile was too much 
 for Margaret. She blushed and mumbled something 
 about being sorry and having a headache. 
 
 " Say, Court, do you know this Ambulance feller 
 that's coming to visit Alix next week ? " asked the edi- 
 tor, with interest. 
 
 "You mean Addison Blythe? He was up at Pont-a- 
 Mousson for a while, I believe, but it was after I had 
 left for the Vosges section. I've heard of him. Harvard 
 man." 
 
 " You two ought to have a good time when you get 
 together," said Doc Simpson. 
 
 " I've got an item in the Stm about him this week, 
 and next week we'll have an interview with him." 
 
 The usually loquacious Mr. Webster had been silent 
 since Courtney's arrival. Now he lifted his voice to 
 put a question to Miss Angie Miller, across the table. 
 
 " Did you write that letter I spoke about the other 
 iday, Angie? "
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 131 
 
 " Yes, but there hasn't been time for an answer 
 yet." 
 
 " Speaking about David Strong," remarked Mr. 
 Pollock, " I'll never forget what he did when Mr. Win- 
 dom gave him a silver watch for his twelfth birthday. 
 Shows what a bright, progressive, enterprising feller 
 he was even at that age. You remember, Miss Molly? 
 I mean about his setting his watch fifteen minutes 
 ahead the very day he got it." 
 
 Miss Molly smiled. " It was cute of him, wasn't it? " 
 
 " What was the idea? " inquired Mr. Hatch. 
 
 " So's he would know what time it was fifteen min- 
 utes sooner than anybody else in town," said Mr. Pol- 
 lock. 
 
 " My, what a handsome boy he was," said Miss Angie 
 Miller. 
 
 " Do you really think so? cried Mrs. Pollock. " I 
 never could see anything good looking about him, ex- 
 cept his physique. He has a splendid physique, but I 
 never liked his face. It's so so well, so, raw-boned 
 and all. I like smooth, regular features in a man. I " 
 
 "Like mine," interjected the pudgy Mr. Webster, 
 with a very serious face. 
 
 " David Strong has what I call a very rugged face," 
 said Miss Miller. " I didn't say it was pretty, Maude." 
 
 " He takes a very good photograph," remarked Mr. 
 Hatch. " Specially a side-view. I've got one side-view 
 of him over at the gallery that makes me think of an 
 Indian every time I look at it." 
 
 " Perhaps he has Indian blood in him," suggested 
 Courtney, who was tired of David Strong. 
 
 " Well, every drop of blood he's got in him is red," 
 said Charlie Webster ; " so maybe you're right."
 
 132 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " The most interesting item in the Sun tomorrow," 
 said Mr. Pollock, " is the word that young Cale Vick, 
 across the river, has enlisted in the navy. He leaves 
 en Monday for Chicago to join some sort of a training 
 school, preparatory to taking a job on one of Uncle 
 Sam's newest battleships, the biggest in the world, ac- 
 cording to his grandfather, who was in to see me a 
 day or two ago. I have promised to send young Cale 
 the Sum, for a year without charging him a cent. Old 
 man Brown says Amos Vick's daughter Rosabel isn't 
 at all well. Something like walking typhoid, he says, 
 mopes a good deal and don't sleep well." 
 
 " Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," exclaimed Courtney, 
 real concern in his voice. " She was such a lively, light- 
 hearted girl when I was over there. I can't imagine 
 her moping. I hope Amos Vick isn't too close-fisted 
 to consult a doctor. He's an awful tight-wad believe 
 me." 
 
 " Doctor can't seem to find anything really the mat- 
 ter with her, so old Cale Brown told me," said Mr. 
 Pollock. " But don't you think it's fine of young Cale 
 to join the navy, Court? Maybe your tales about the 
 war put it into his head." 
 
 " It's more likely that he'd got fed up with life on 
 a farm," said Courtney. " He'll find himself longing 
 for the farm and mother a good many times before he's 
 through with the navy." 
 
 Instead of going up to his room immediately after 
 supper, as was his custom of late, Courtney joined 
 the company in the " lounging room," so named by Mr. 
 Webster who contended that no first-class hotel ever 
 had such a thing as a parlour any more. The Misses 
 Dowd, of course, called it the parlour, but as they con-
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 133 
 
 tinued to refer to the fireplace as the " chimney cor- 
 ner," one may readily forgive their reluctance to prog- 
 ress. Smoking was permitted in the " lounging room " 
 during the fall and winter months only. 
 
 A steady rain was beating against the windows, and 
 a rising wind made itself heard in feeble wails as it 
 turned the dark corners of the Tavern. Presently it 
 was to howl and shriek, and, as the rain ceased, to rattle' 
 the window shutters and the ancient, creaking sign 
 that hung out over the porch, for on the wind to- 
 night came the first chill touch of winter. 
 
 " A fine night to be indoors,'* remarked Courtney in 
 his most genial manner as he moved a rocking chair 
 up to the fireplace and gallantly indicated to old Mrs. 
 Nichols that it was intended for her. 
 
 " Ain't you going out tonight, Court? " inquired Mr. 
 Hatch. 
 
 " Iron horses couldn't drag me out tonight," he re- 
 plied. " Sit here, Mrs. Pollock. Doc, pull up that sofa 
 for Miss Grady and Miss Miller. Let's have a chimney- 
 corner symposium. Is symposium the right word, Miss 
 Miller? Ah, I see it isn't. Well, I did my best. I could 
 have got away with it in New York, but no chance 
 here. And speaking of New York reminds me that at 
 this very instant the curtains are going up and the 
 lights are going down in half a hundred theatres, and 
 I don't mind confessing I'd like to be in one of them." 
 
 " That's one thing I envy New York for," said Mrs. 
 Pollock. " Hand me my knitting off the table, Lincoln, 
 please. I love the theatre. I could go every night " 
 
 " You get tired of them after a little while, Maude," 
 said Flora Grady, a trifle languidly. " Isn't that so, 
 Mr. Thane?"
 
 134 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Quite," agreed Courtney. " You get fed up witB 
 'em." 
 
 " I remember once when I -was in New York going 
 six nights in succession, seeing all the best things on 
 the boards at that time, and I give you my word," said 
 Miss Grady, " they did feed me up terribly." 
 
 "I know just what you mean, Miss Grady," said 
 Courtney, without cracking a smile. "One gets so 
 bored with the best plays in town. What one really 
 ought to do, you know, is to go to the worst ones." 
 
 " I've always wanted to see The Blue Bird,' " said 
 Miss Miller wistfully. "It's by Maeterlinck, Mr. 
 Nichols." 
 
 Old Mr. Nichols looked interested. " You don't say 
 so," he ejaculated. " Give me a good minstrel show, 
 that's what I like. Haverly's or Barlow, Wilson, Prim- 
 rose & West, or Billy Emerson's or say, did you ever 
 see Luke Schoolcraft? Well, sir, there was the fun- 
 niest end man I ever see. There used to be another 
 minstrel man named, er lemme see, now what was 
 that feller's name? It begin with L, I think or maybe 
 it was W. Now lemme think. Go on talkin', the 
 rest of you. I'll think of his name before bedtime." 
 Whereupon the ancient Mr. Nichols relapsed into a 
 profound state of thought from which he did not 
 emerge until Mr. Webster shook his shoulder some fif- 
 teen or twenty minutes later and informed him that 
 if he got any worse Mrs. Nichols would be able to 
 hear him, and then she couldn't go 'round telling people 
 that he slept just like a baby. 
 
 Courtney was in his element. He liked talking about 
 the stage, and stage people. And on this night, of 
 all nights, he wanted to talk, he wanted company. The
 
 THE CHIMNEY. CORNER 135 
 
 clock on the mantel-piece struck ten and half-past and 
 was close to striking eleven before any one made a move 
 toward retiring, excepting Mr. and Mrs. Nichols who 
 had gone off to bed at eight-thirty. The Misses Dowd 
 had joined the little company in the " parlour." He 
 discussed books with Mrs. Pollock and Miss Miller, 
 fashions with Miss Grady, politics with Mr. Pollock, 
 (agreeing with the latter on President Wilson), art 
 with Mr. Hatch and the erudite Miss Miller, the drama 
 with every one. 
 
 Now, Courtney Thane knew almost nothing about 
 books, and even less about pictures. He possessed, 
 however, a remarkable facility when it came to discuss- 
 ing them. He belonged to that rather extensive class 
 of people who thrive on ignorance. If you wanted to 
 talk about Keats or Shelley, he managed to give you 
 the impression that he was thoroughly familiar with 
 both, though lamenting a certain rustiness of mem- 
 ory at times. He could talk intelligently about Joseph 
 Conrad, Arnold Bennet, Bernard Shaw, Galsworthy, 
 Walpole, Mackenzie, Wells and others of the modern 
 English school of novelists, that is to say, he could 
 differ or agree with you on almost anything they had 
 written, notwithstanding the fact that he had never 
 read a line by any one of them. He professed not to 
 care for Thomas Hardy's " Jude the Obscure," though 
 nothing could have been more obscure to him than the 
 book itself or the author thereof, and agreed with the 
 delightful Mrs. Pollock that " The Mayor of Caster- 
 bridge " was an infinitely better piece of work than 
 "Tess of the D'Urbervilles." As for the American 
 writers, he admitted a shameful ignorance about them. 
 
 " Of course, I read Scott when I was a boy, I was
 
 136 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 compelled to do so, by the way, but as for the others 
 I am shockingly unfamiliar with them. Ever since I 
 grew up I've preferred the English novelists and poets, 
 so I fear I" 
 
 " I thought Scott was an English writer," put in 
 Charlie Webster quietly. 
 
 "What Scott are you referring to, Charlie?" he 
 asked indulgently. 
 
 " Why, Sir Walter Scott, he wrote Ivanhoe,' you 
 know." * 
 
 " Well, I happen to be speaking of William Scott, 
 the American novelist, no doubt unknown to most of 
 you. He was one of the old-timers, and I fancy has 
 dropped out of the running altogether." 
 
 " Never heard of him," said Mr. Pollock, scratching 
 his ear reflectively. 
 
 " Indigenous to New England, I fancy, like the 
 estimable codfish," drawled Courtney, and was rewarded 
 by a wholesome Middle West laugh. 
 
 "What are those cabarets like?" inquired Mr. 
 Hatch. He pronounced it as if he were saying ciga- 
 rettes. 
 
 " Pretty rotten," said Thane. 
 
 "Are you fond of dancing, Mr. Thane?" inquired 
 Mrs. Pollock. " I used to love to trip the light fan- 
 tastic." 
 
 " I am very fond of dancing," said he, and then added 
 with a smile : " Especially since the girls have taken to 
 parking their corsets." 
 
 There was a shocked silence, broken by Miss Grady, 
 who, as a dressmaker, was not quite so finicky about 
 the word. 
 
 "What do you mean by parking?" she inquired.
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 137 
 
 " Same as you park an automobile," said he, enjoy- 
 ing the sensation he had created. " It's the fashion 
 now, among the best families as well as the worst, for 
 the girls when they go to dances to leave their corsets 
 in the dressing rooms. Check 'em, same as you do your 
 hat." 
 
 "Bless my soul," gasped Mr. Pollock. "Haven't 
 they got any mothers ? " 
 
 " Sure, but the mothers don't know anything about 
 it. You see, it's this way. We fellows won't dance 
 with 'em if they've got corsets on, so off they come." 
 
 " What's the world coming to ? " cried the editor. 
 
 " You'd better ask where it's going to," said Charlie 
 Webster. 
 
 " Do you go to the opera very often? " asked Miss 
 Miller nervously. 
 
 He spoke rather loftily of the Metropolitan Opera 
 House, and very lightly of the Metropolitan Museum, 
 and gave Charlie Webster a sharp look when that 
 amiable gentleman asked him what he thought of the 
 Metropolitan Tower. 
 
 But he was at home in the theatre. He told them 
 just what Maude Adams and Ethel Barrymore were 
 like, and Julia Marlowe, and Elsie Ferguson, and 
 Chrystal Herne, and all the rest of them. He spoke 
 familiarly of Mr. Faversham as " Favvy," of Mr. Col- 
 lier as "Willie," of Mr. Sothern as "Ned," of Mr. 
 Drew as " John," of Mr Skinner as " Otis," of Mr. 
 Frohman as " Dan." 
 
 And when he said good night and reluctantly wended 
 his way to the room at the end of the hall, round the 
 corner of which the fierce October gale shrieked de- 
 risively, he left behind him a group enthralled.
 
 138 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Isn't he a perfect dear? " cried Mrs. Pollock, clasp- 
 ing her hands. 
 
 " The most erudite man I have ever met," agreed 
 Miss Miller ecstatically. "Don't you think so, Mr. 
 Hatch? " 
 
 Mr. Hatch was startled. " Oh, er yes, indeed. 
 Absolutely!" he stammered, and then looked inquir- 
 ingly at his finger nails. He hoped he had made the 
 proper response. 
 
 Charlie Webster ambled over to one of the windows 
 and peered out intotthe whistling night. 
 
 " It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," said 
 he sententiously. 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Charlie ? " inquired 
 Flora Grady, at his elbow. 
 
 "Well, if it had been a pleasant night he'd have 
 been up at Alix Crown's instead of here," said Charlie. 
 
 " I see," said Flora, after a moment. " You mean 
 the ill wind favoured Alix, eh? " 
 
 Charlie's round face was unsmiling as he stared hard 
 at the fire. 
 
 " I wonder " he began, and then checked the words. 
 " Don't you worry about Alix," said Flora. " She's 
 nobody's fool." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of Alix just then," said Charlie. 
 
 II 
 
 The following morning, Courtney went, as was his 
 custom, to the postoffice. He had arranged for a lock- 
 box there. His letters were not brought up to the 
 Tavern by old Jim House, the handy-man. 
 
 The day was bright and clear and cold; the gale
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 139 
 
 had died in the early morning hours. Alix Crown's 
 big automobile was standing in front of the post- 
 office, the engine running. Catching sight of it as he 
 left the Tavern porch, he hastened his steps. He was 
 a good two hundred yards away and feared she would 
 be off before he could come up with her. As he drew 
 near, he saw the lanky chauffeur standing in front 
 of the drug store, chatting with one of the villagers. 
 
 Alix was in the postoffice. As he passed the car, he 
 slackened his pace and glanced over his shoulder into 
 the tonneau. The side curtains were down. A low 
 growl greeted him. He hastened on. 
 
 She was at the registry window. 
 
 " Hello ! " he exclaimed, extending his hand and 
 searching her face as he did so for signs of a sleepless 
 night. 
 
 " Good morning," she responded cheerily. There was 
 nothing in her voice, her eyes or her manner to indi- 
 cate an even remotely disturbed state of mind. Her 
 gaze met his serenely; the colour did not rush to her 
 cheeks as he had fondly expected, nor did her eyes 
 waver under the eager, intense gleam in his. He sud- 
 denly felt cheated. 
 
 " Where are you off to this morning? " he inquired. 
 
 " To town for the day. I have some business to 
 attend to and some shopping to do. Would you like 
 to come along? " j 
 
 He was in a sulky mood. 
 
 " You know I hate the very thought of going to 
 town," he said. Then, as she raised her eyebrows 
 slightly, be made haste to add : " I'd go from one end 
 of the desert of Sahara to the other with you, but " 
 shaking his head so solemnly that she laughed out-
 
 140 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 right, " not to the city. Just ask me to go to the 
 Sahara with you and see how " 
 
 " Haven't you had enough of No-Man's Land ? " she 
 cried merrily. 
 
 " It depends on what you'd call No-Man's Land," 
 said he, and her gaze faltered at last. There was no 
 mistaking his meaning. " Sometimes it is Paradise, 
 you know," he went on softly. 
 
 Twice before she had seen the same look in his eyes, 
 and both times she had experienced a strange sensa- 
 tion, as of the weakness that comes with ecstasy. There 
 had been something in his eyes that seemed to caress 
 her from head to foot, something that filled her with 
 the most disquieting self-consciousness. Strange to 
 say, it was not the ardent look of the love-sick admirer, 
 and she had not escaped such tributes, nor the in- 
 quiring look of the adventurous married man. It was 
 not soulful nor was it offensive. She reluctantly con- 
 fessed to herself that it was warm and penetrating and 
 filled her with a strange, delicious alarm. 
 
 She quickly withdrew her gaze and turned to the 
 little window where Mrs. Pollock was making out her 
 receipt for a registered package. She felt that she 
 was cowardly, and the thought made her furious. 
 
 "Will it go out today, Mrs. Pollock?" she asked. 
 
 "'This afternoon," replied the postmaster's wife and 
 assistant. "Wasn't that a dreadful wind last night, 
 Alix? I thought of you. You must have been fright- 
 ened." 
 
 " I slept like a log through all of it," said Alix. " I 
 love the wild night wind. It makes me feel so nice and 
 comfy in bed. I was awfully tired last night. Thanks." 
 Then turning to Courtney : " Sorry you will not go with
 
 THE CHIMNEY CORNER 141 
 
 me. I'll bear you in mind if I ever take a trip to the 
 Sahara. Good-bye." 
 
 "Will you be at home tonight?" he asked, holding 
 the door open for her to pass through. 
 
 " Yes," she replied composedly. 
 
 " I mean, to me? " 
 
 " If you care to come," she said. 
 
 He did not accompany her to the car. The big 
 grey-brown dog with his paws on the back of the front 
 seat, was eagerly watching her approach. 
 
 She wore a long mole-skin coat and a smart little red 
 turban. She had never looked so alluring to the young 
 man who waited in the open door until the car started 
 away. 
 
 " Close the door, please," called out Mrs. Pollock 
 " This isn't July, you know." 
 
 " So she slept like a log, did she? " muttered Court- 
 ney as he turned away from his lockbox with a letter. 
 " Well, that's more than I did." 
 
 He glanced hurriedly through the letter, crumpled 
 it up in his hand, and went jauntily up the street until 
 he came to Hatch's Photograph Gallery. Entering, 
 he gave the proprietor a hearty " good morning," and 
 then drew a chair up before the low " sheet-iron stove " 
 which heated the reception-room. Hatch was " print- 
 ing " behind a partition, and their conversation was 
 carried on at long range over the top. Presently the 
 visitor drew the crumpled letter from his pocket, tore 
 it into tiny pieces and cast it into the fire. 
 
 " Well, so long, Hatch. I'm off for a stroll in your; 
 crisp October air."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 
 
 ALL day long Alix was troubled. She could not 
 free her thoughts of that searing look or the 
 spell it had cast over her during the brief in- 
 stant of contact. She was haunted by it. At times she 
 gave herself up to a reckless, unmaidenly rejoicing in 
 the thrill it had given her; at such times she flushed 
 to the roots of her hair despite the chill of ecstasy that 
 swept over her. But far more often she found herself 
 resenting the liberty his eyes had taken, a mental 
 rather than a physical liberty. She was resolved that 
 it should not happen again. 
 
 She had posted a note to David Strong that morn- 
 ing. Before the car had covered the first mile on its 
 way to town, she was wishing she had not dropped it 
 into the slot at the postoffice. Only the fear of appear- 
 ing ridiculous to Mrs. Pollock kept her from turning 
 back to reclaim it. She could not explain this sudden, 
 almost frantic impulse, she did not attempt to ac- 
 count for it. Somehow she sensed that it had to do 
 with the look in Thane's eyes, but it was all so vague 
 and intangible that even the suggestion did not take 
 the form of thought. 
 
 In this curt little note she had said: 
 
 DEAR DAVID: 
 
 I hereby acknowledge receipt of your cheque No. 372 for 
 two hundred and fifty dollars, but as I have tried to make 
 142
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 143 
 
 you understand before, it is not only an unnecessary but a 
 most unwelcome bit of paper. You are perfectly well aware 
 that my grandfather's estate has been settled and, as I have 
 informed you time and again, your obligation to him np 
 longer exists. You may have owed something to him, but 
 you owe nothing to me. If I were to follow my impulse 
 I should tear up this cheque of yours. It would be useless 
 to return it to you, for you would only send it back to me, 
 as you did with the first two cheques that came last winter. 
 I want you to understand that I do not accept this money as 
 my own. If it is any satisfaction to you to know that I 
 give it away, no matter how, you are welcome to all 
 the consolation you may get out of it. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 ALIX CROWN. 
 
 P.S. I have advised your mother to go to Philadelphia 
 whenever you are ready for her to come. A. 
 
 P.S.S. Under separate cover by registered post I am 
 also returning to you the bracelet you sent me from Paris. 
 I think I wrote you a long time ago how much I admired 
 it. A. 
 
 Meanwhile, Thane was making the best of a rather 
 empty morning 1 . He put off finishing a letter to his 
 mother, who had returned to New York and was so 
 busy with dressmakers that twice she had employed the 
 telegraph in promising to " write soon," a letter in 
 which he already had written, among other rapturous 
 passages : " She is positively ravishing, mater dear. I 
 am simply mad about her, and I know you will be too." 
 He was determined that the day should not be a total 
 loss ; he would turn at least a portion of it to profit. 
 
 First of all, he visited Alaska Spigg at the log-hut 
 village library. Miss Spigg was very proud of her 
 geraniums. No one else in Windomville, or in the
 
 144 (QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 world, for that matter, if one were to recall Mr. Pol- 
 lock's article in the Stun, no one else cultivated such 
 geraniums as those to be seen in the pots that crowned 
 the superinforced windowsills at the library. 
 
 There was no such thing as a florist's shop in Win- 
 domville. Roses or orchids or even carnations were 
 unobtainable. A potted geranium plant, in full bloom, 
 one of Alaska Spigg's tall, sturdy, jealously guarded 
 treasures was the best he could do in the way of a floral 
 offering to his goddess. So he set about the supposedly 
 hopeless task of inducing Alaska to part with one of 
 her plants. Half an hour after entering the library 
 he departed with a balloon shaped object in his arms. 
 He was not too proud to be seen shuffling up the lane 
 with his prize, a huge thing loosely done up in news- 
 papers, leaving behind him a completely dazzled 
 Alaska who went about the place aimlessly folding and 
 unfolding a brand new two-dollar bill. 
 
 " I don't know what come over me," explained Alaska 
 later on to a couple of astonished ladies who had hur- 
 ried in to see if the report was true that she had parted 
 with one of her geraniums. " For the life of me, I 
 don't know how I happened to do it. 'Specially the 
 one I was proudest of, too. I've always said I'd never 
 sell one of my plants, not even if the President of the 
 United States was to come in and offer me untold mil- 
 lions for it, and here I I why, Martha, I almost 
 gave it to him, honest I did. I just couldn't seem to 
 help letting him have it. Of course, I don't mind its 
 loss half so much, knowing that it is going to Alix. She 
 loves flowers. She'll take the best of care of it. But 
 how I ever came to " 
 
 "Don't cry, Alaska," broke in one of her callers
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 145 
 
 cheerfully. " You'll be getting it back before long." 
 
 " Never," lamented Alaska. " What makes you think 
 I'll get it back?" she went on, suddenly peeping over 
 the edge of her handkerchief. 
 
 " Why, as soon as Alix knows how miserable you are 
 about parting with that geranium, she'll send it back to 
 you, and you'll be two dollars ahead. Don't be silly." 
 
 Repairing at once to the house on the knoll, Court- 
 ney took counsel with Mrs. Strong. The housekeeper 
 could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the geranium. 
 
 " Well, all I've got to say is that you must have 
 stolen it," she exclaimed. " There couldn't be any other 
 way to get one of those plants away from Alaska 
 
 " Be that as it may," said he airily, " what we've 
 got to decide now, Mrs. Strong, is just where to put it. 
 I want to surprise Miss Crown when she returns from 
 town." 
 
 " She'll be surprised all right when she finds out you 
 got one of Alaska Spigg's pet geraniums. I remember 
 Alaska saying not so long ago that she wouldn't sell 
 one of those plants for a million dollars. Now let me 
 see. It ought to go where it will get as much sun as 
 possible. That would be in the dining-room. I guess 
 we'd better " 
 
 " I really think it would look better right here in 
 this room, Mrs. Strong," said he, indicating one of the 
 windows looking out over the terrace. There was little 
 or no sunlight there, but he did not mind that. As a 
 matter of fact, he wasn't at all concerned about the 
 future welfare of the plant. It meant no more to him 
 than the customary bunch of violets that one sends, 
 " sight unseen," to the lady of the hour.
 
 146 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Well, you're the boss. It's your plant," said Mrs. 
 Strong briskly. " Alaska Spigg will go into hysterics 
 when she hears where you've put it, but that's of no 
 consequence." 
 
 And so the plant was placed on a small table in the 
 window of the long living-roorn. 
 
 " Link Pollock told us last night that you may go 
 to Philadelphia to join your son, Mrs. Strong," said 
 he, as he watched her arranging the window curtains. 
 
 Mrs. Strong flushed. "It did not occur to me to 
 ask Mr. Pollock not to repeat what I said to him in 
 confidence," she said, with dignity. 
 
 " I'm sorry I mentioned it. I am sure Pollock didn't 
 understand it was er a secret or anything like that, 
 Mrs. Strong." 
 
 " It isn't a secret. I have talked it over with Miss 
 Alix, and I have practically decided to remain with her. 
 You may tell that to Mr. Pollock if you like." 
 
 " She would miss you terribly," said he, allowing the 
 sarcasm to pass over his head. " Your son and Miss 
 Crown were boy and girl sweethearts, I hear, oh, 
 please don't be offended. Those things happen, you 
 know, and pass off like all of the children's diseases. 
 Like the measles, or mumps or chicken pox. Every boy 
 and girl has to go through that stage, you know. I 
 remember being horribly in love with a girl in our block 
 when I was fifteen, and she with me. But, for the life 
 of me, I can't remember her name now. I mean her 
 married name," he explained, with his whimsical grin. 
 
 " I don't believe Alix and David ever were in love 
 with each other," said she stiffly. "They were won- 
 derful friends, playmates and all that, but," here 
 she flushed again, " you see, my boy was only the black-
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 147 
 
 smith's son. People may have told you that, Mr. 
 Thane." 
 
 " What has that to do with it? " he cried instantly. 
 " Wasn't Miss Crown's father the son of a black- 
 smith?" 
 
 He caught the passing flicker of appreciation in her 
 eyes as she lifted her head. 
 
 " True," she said quietly. " And a fine young man, 
 they tell me, those who knew him. His father was not 
 like my David's father, however. He was a drunkard. 
 He beat his wife, they say." 
 
 " Abraham Lincoln was a rail splitter. James A. 
 Garfield drove a canal boat. Does anybody think the 
 worse of them for that? Your son, Mrs. Strong, I am 
 told by all who know him, will be a great surgeon, a 
 great man. You must not forget that people will speak 
 of his son as the son of Dr. David Strong, the famous 
 surgeon." 
 
 Her face glowed with pleasure. Mother love and 
 mother pride kindled in her dark eyes. He caught him- 
 self wondering if young David Strong was like this 
 tall, grey-haired woman with the steady gaze and quiet 
 smile. 
 
 " I am sure David will succeed," she said warmly. 
 " He always was a determined boy. Mr. Windom was 
 very fond of him. He took a great interest in him." 
 A self-conscious, apologetic smile succeeded the proud 
 one. " I suppose you would call Alix and David boy 
 and girl sweethearts. As you say, boys and girls just 
 simply can't help having such ailments. It's like an 
 epidemic. Even the strongest catch it and, get over 
 it without calling in the doctor." 
 
 He grinned. " It is a most amiable disease. The
 
 148 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 only medicine necessary is soda water and ice cream, 
 with a few pills in the shape of chocolate caramels or 
 marshmallows, taken at all hours and in large doses." 
 
 Mrs. Strong's eyes softened as she looked out of the 
 window. A faraway, wistful expression lurked in them. 
 
 "Those were wonderful days, Mr. Thane, when 
 those two children were growing up." She sighed. 
 " David is four years older than Alix, but ever since 
 she was a tiny child she seemed older than he was. I 
 guess it was because he was so big and strong that he 
 just couldn't bear to lord it over her like most boys 
 do with girls. He was kind of like a big shepherd dog. 
 Always watching over her and dear me, I'll never for- 
 get the time they got lost in the woods up above here. 
 That was when she was about seven. They were not 
 found till next morning. We had everybody for miles 
 around beating the woods for them all night long. 
 Well, sir, that boy had taken off his coat and put it on 
 her, and his stockings too, and he had even removed his 
 shirt to make a sort of muffler to wrap around her 
 throat, because she always had sore throats and croup 
 when she was a child. And when the men found them, 
 he was sitting up against a tree sound asleep, almost 
 frozen stiff, with her in his lap and his cold little arms 
 around her. It was late in September and the nights 
 were cold. Then there was the time when she fell off 
 the side of the ferry boat and he jumped in after her, 
 with his best suit on, the little rascal, and held her 
 up till Josh Wilson stopped the ferry and old Mr. 
 White, who was crossing with his team, managed to 
 throw a buggy rein out to him and pull him in. The 
 water out there in the middle of the river is ten feet
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 149 
 
 ideep, Mr. Thane, and David was just learning how to 
 swim. And they both had croup that night. My good- 
 ness, I thought that boy was going to die. But, my 
 land, that seems ages ago. Here they are, a grown 
 man and woman, and probably don't even remember 
 those happy days." 
 
 " That's the horrible penalty one pays for growing 
 up, Mrs. Strong." 
 
 " I guess you're right. Of course, they write to each 
 other every once in a while, but nothing is like it used 
 to be. Alix had a letter from Davy only a day or so 
 ago. You'd think she might occasionally tell me some 
 of the things he writes about, but she never does. She 
 never opens her mouth about them. And he never writes 
 anything to me about what she writes to him. I suppose 
 that's the way of the world. When they were little 
 they used to come to me with everything. 
 
 " You see, I came here to keep house for Mr. Win- 
 idom soon after old Maria Bliss died. My husband died 
 when David was six years old. Alix was only four 
 years old when I came here, Mr. Thane. This house 
 was new, just finished. I'll never forget the rage Mr. 
 Wmdom got into when he found out that Alix and 
 David were going up to the old farmhouse where her 
 mother died and were using one of the upstairs rooms 
 as a * den.' They got in through a cellar window, it 
 seems. They were each writing a novel, and that was 
 where they worked and read what they had written to 
 each other. That lasted only about six weeks or so 
 before Mr. Windom found out about it. He was ter- 
 rible. You see, without knowing it, they had picked 
 out the room that was most sacred to him. It was his
 
 150 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 4 
 
 wife's own room, where she died and where Alix's 
 mother was born and where she also died, and where 
 our Alix was born. 
 
 " Of course, at that time nobody knew about Edward 
 Crown. We all thought he was alive somewhere. The 
 children never went there again. No, sirree! They 
 both ought to have known better than to go at all. 
 Alix was fifteen years old when that happened, and 
 Davy was going to college in the winter time." 
 
 " Did your son live here in the house with you all 
 those years?" inquired Courtney. 
 
 " We lived in the first cottage down the lane from 
 here. Mr. Windom was a very thoughtful man. He 
 did not want me to live here in the house with him 
 because of what people might say. You see, I was a 
 young woman then, and well, people are not always 
 kind, you know." She spoke simply and without the 
 slightest embarrassment. 
 
 He looked hard at her half-averted face and was 
 suddenly confronted by the realization that this grey, 
 motherly woman must have been young once, like Alix, 
 and pretty. As it is with the young, he could not think 
 of her except as old. He had always thought of his 
 mother as old; it was impossible to think of her as 
 having once been young and gay like the girls he knew. 
 Yes, Mrs. Strong must have been young and pretty 
 and desirable, somebody's sweetheart, somebody's 
 *' girl." The thought astonished him. 
 
 II 
 
 Shortly afterward he took his departure. There was 
 a frown of annoyance on his brow as he strode briskly 
 up the lane in the direction of the crossroads, half a
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 151 
 
 mile or more above the village. As usual, he thought 
 aloud. 
 
 "There's no way of finding out just how things 
 stand between them. The old lady doesn't know any- 
 thing, that's a cinch. If she really knew she would 
 have let it out to me. I'll never get a better chance to 
 pump her than I had today. She doesn't know. You 
 can see she hopes her son will get her. That's as plain 
 as the nose on your face. But she doesn't know any- 
 thing. Is that a good sign or a bad one? I wish I 
 knew. Alix isn't the sort to forget. Maybe Strong has 
 gotten over it and not she. It's darned aggravating, 
 that's what it is. There must be some good reason why 
 she's never married. I wonder if she's still keen about 
 him. This talk of Charlie Webster's may be plain bunk. 
 If she hates him, why? That's the question. Why 
 does she hate him? There must be some reason beside 
 that debt he owed to old Windom. Gad, I wish I could 
 have seen that letter he wrote her when he sent the 
 cheque. Well, anyhow, it's up to me to get busy. 
 That's sure ! " 
 
 His walk took him past the Windomville Cemetery 
 and up the gravel turnpike leading to the city. Alix 
 had traversed this road an hour or so earlier. Swing- 
 ing around a bend in the highway, he came in view of 
 the abandoned farmhouse half a mile ahead. 
 
 It was a familiar object by this time, for he had 
 passed it many times, not only on his solitary walks 
 but on several occasions with Alix. The desolate house, 
 with its weed-grown yard, its dilapidated paling fence, 
 its atmosphere of decay, had always possessed a certain 
 fascination for him. He secretly confessed to a queer 
 little sensation as of awe whenever he looked upon the
 
 152 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 empty, green-shuttered house. It suggested death. 
 More than once he had paused in the road below the 
 rickety gate to gaze intently at the closed windows, or 
 to scrutinize the tangled mass of weeds and rose bushes 
 that almost hid the porch and its approach from view. 
 He was never without the strange feeling that the body 
 of Edward Crown might still be lying at the foot of 
 the hidden steps. 
 
 Now he approached the place with a new and deeper 
 interest. Strangely enough, it had been shorn within 
 the hour of much that was grim and terrifying. It was 
 no longer a house to inspire dread and uneasiness. Two 
 young and venturesome spirits had invaded its silent 
 precincts, there to dream in safety and seclusion, un- 
 haunted by its spectres, undisturbed by its secret. In 
 one of its darkened rooms they had set up a " work- 
 shop," a " playhouse." A glaze came over his eyes as 
 he wondered what had transpired in that room during 
 the surreptitious six weeks' tenancy. Had David 
 Strong kissed her? Had she kissed David Strong? 
 Were promises made and futures planned? His throat 
 was tight with the swell of jealousy. 
 
 He stopped at the gate. After a moment's hesitation 
 he lifted the rusty latch and jerked the gate open far 
 enough to allow him to squeeze through. Then he 
 paused to sweep the landscape with an inquiring eye. 
 Far up the pike a load of fodder moved slowly. There 
 were cattle in the pasture near at hand, but no human 
 being to observe his actions. In a distant upland field 
 men were moving among a multitude of corn-shocks, 
 trailing the horses and wagons that belonged to Alix 
 Crown. Crows cawed in the trees on the eastern edge 
 of the strip of meadowland, and on high soared two
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 153 
 
 or three big birds, hawks or buzzards, he knew not 
 which, circling slowly in the arc of the steel blue sky. 
 
 Confident that he was unobserved, he made his way 
 up the half-buried walk to the porch, and, deliberately 
 mounting the steps, tried the door-knob. As he ex- 
 pected, the door was locked. After another searching 
 look in all directions, he started off through the tangle 
 of weeds and burdocks to circle the house. He passed 
 through what once must have been the tennis-court of 
 Alix the First, now a weedy patch, and came to the 
 back door. Below him lay the deserted stables and 
 outbuildings, facing the barnyard in which a few worn- 
 out farm implements were to be seen, weather-beaten 
 skeletons of a past generation. 
 
 There was no sign of human life. A lean and thread- 
 bare scarecrow flapped his ragged coat-sleeves in the 
 wind that swept across the barren garden patch farther 
 up the slope, this was the nearest approach to human 
 life that came within the range of vision. And as if 
 to invite jovial companionship, this pathetic gentleman 
 wore his ancient straw hat cocked rakishly over what 
 would have been his left ear if he had had any 
 ears at all. 
 
 While standing before the gate, Courtney had come 
 to a sudden, amazing decision. He resolved to enter 
 and explore the house if it were possible to do so. He 
 remembered that Mrs. Strong, in pursuing the subject, 
 had declared that Alix and David were not even per- 
 mitted to return to the house for their literary prod- 
 ucts ; moreover, she doubted very much whether the 
 former had taken the trouble to recover them after 
 she became sole possessor of the property. If they 
 were still there, with other tangible proofs of an adoles-
 
 154 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 cent intimacy, he saw no reason why he should not lay 
 e y es> or ev en hands, upon them. He saw no wrong 
 in the undertaking. It was a justifiable adventure, 
 viewed from the standpoint of a lover whose claim was 
 in doubt. 
 
 The back door was locked and the window shutters 
 securely nailed. Entrance to the cellar was barred by 
 heavy scantlings fastened across the sloping hatch. In 
 the barnyard he found a stout single-tree. With this 
 he succeeded in prying off the two scantlings. The 
 staple holding the padlock was easily withdrawn from 
 one of the rotten boards. 
 
 Descending the steps, he found himself in the small, 
 musty cellar. The vault-like room was empty save for 
 a couple of barrels standing in a corner and a small 
 pile of firewood under the stairs that led to regions 
 above. Selecting a faggot of kindling-wood from this 
 pile, he fashioned a torch by whittling the end into a 
 confusion of partially detached slivers. This he lighted 
 with a match, and then mounted the stairs. 
 
 The door at the head opened at the lifting of an 
 old-fashioned latch. A thick screen of cobwebs almost 
 closed the upper half of the aperture. He burnt it 
 away with the naming torch, and passed on into the 
 kitchen. He was grateful for the snapping fire of the 
 faggot, for otherwise the silence of the grave would have 
 fallen about him as he stood motionless for a moment 
 peering about the empty room. No light penetrated 
 from the outside. The air was dead. Spiders had 
 clothed the corners and the ceiling with their silk, over 
 which the dust of years lay thick and ugly. He felt, 
 with a queer little shiver, that the eyes of a thousand
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 155 
 
 spiders peered gloatingly down upon him from the 
 murky fastnesses. 
 
 He hurried on. The rooms on the lower floor had 
 been stripped of all signs of habitation. His footsteps 
 resounded throughout the house. Boards creaked 
 under his tread. Without actually realizing what he 
 was doing, he began to tiptoe toward the stairway that 
 led to the upper floor. He laughed at himself for this 
 precaution, and yet could not rid himself of the feeling 
 that some one was listening, that the stealth of the 
 midnight burglar was necessary. The stairs groaned 
 under his weight, the dust-covered banister cracked 
 loudly when he laid his hand upon it. He had the 
 strange notion that they were sounding the alarm to 
 some guardian occupant of the premises, to a slum- 
 bering ghost perhaps. 
 
 He came at last to the room where Alix and David 
 had played at book-writing. In the centre stood a 
 kitchen table, on either side of which was a rudely 
 constructed bench, evidently the handiwork of David 
 Strong, Two strips of rag carpet served as a rug. 
 At each end of the table was a candlestick containing 
 a half-used tallow candle. There was a single ink pot, 
 but there were two penholders beside it, and a couple of 
 blue blotters. Nearby were two ancient but substantial 
 rocking chairs, singularly out of place, no doubt 
 discarded survivors of long-distant days of comfort, 
 rescued from an attic storeroom by the young tres- 
 passers. A scrap basket, half-full of torn and crum- 
 pled sheets of paper, stood conveniently near the table. 
 
 He lighted both of the candles and extinguished the 
 flickering faggot. The steady glow of the candlelight
 
 156 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 filled the room. On the mantel above the blackened 
 fireplace he saw a small, white framed mirror. A for- 
 gotten pair of gloves lay beside it, and two or three 
 hairpins. He picked up the gloves, slapped them 
 against his leg to rid them of accumulated dust, and 
 then stuck them into his coat pocket. They were long 
 and slim and soiled by wear. 
 
 A closet door, standing partly open, drew him across 
 the room. Hanging from one of the hooks was a moth- 
 eaten vicuna smoking jacket of blue. Beside this gar- 
 ment hung a girl's bright red blazer, with black collar; 
 protecting, business-like paper cuffs were still attached. 
 In the corner of the closet reposed a broom, a mop and 
 an empty pail. 
 
 He smiled at the thought of young Alix sweeping 
 and scrubbing the floor of this sequestered retreat. 
 
 Returning to the table, he pulled out the drawer, 
 and there, side by side, lay two neat but far from volum- 
 inous manuscripts, each weighted down by the unused 
 portion of the scratch pad from which the written 
 sheets had been torn. One was in the bold, superior 
 scrawl of a boy, the other ineffably feminine in its pains- 
 taking regard for legibility and tidiness. 
 
 Ill 
 
 These literary efforts had been cut off short in their 
 infancy. David's vigorously written pages, marred by 
 frequent scratchings and erasures, far outnumbered 
 Alix's. He was in the midst of Chapter Three of a 
 novel entitled " The Phantom Singer " when the calam- 
 itous interruption came. Alix's work had progressed 
 to Chapter Five. Inspection revealed the further fact 
 that she was thrifty. She had written on both sides
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 157 
 
 of the sheets, while the prodigal David confined him- 
 self to the inexorable " one side of the sheet only." 
 There were unmistakable indications of editorial arro- 
 gance on the part of Alix on every sheet of David's 
 manuscript. Her small, precise hand was to be seen 
 here, there and everywhere, sometimes in the substi- 
 tution of a single word, often in the rewriting of an 
 entire sentence. But nowhere on her own pages was to 
 be found so much as a scratch by the clumsy hand of 
 her fellow novelist. 
 
 Her story bore the fetching title : " Lady Mor- 
 daunt's Lover." 
 
 Courtney read the first page of her script. A sudden 
 wave of remorse, even guilt, swept through him. Back 
 in his mind he pictured her bending studiously, earn- 
 estly to the task, her heart in every line she was pen- 
 ning, her dear little brow wrinkled in thought. He 
 could almost visualize the dark, wavy hair, the soft 
 white neck, as if he were standing behind looking 
 down upon her as she struggled with an obstinate 
 muse, and the quick, gentle rise and fall of her young 
 breast. He could see her lift her head now and then to 
 stare dreamily at the ceiling, searching there for in- 
 spiration. He could see the cramped, tense fingers that 
 gripped the pen as she wrote these precious lines, with 
 David scratching away laboriously at the opposite end 
 of the table. A strange tenderness entered his soul. 
 Something akin to reverence took possession of him. 
 He had invaded sanctuary. 
 
 Slowly, almost tenderly, he replaced the manuscript 
 in the drawer beside its bristling mate. Then he reso- 
 lutely closed the drawer, blew out the candles, and 
 strode swiftly from the room and down the creaking
 
 158 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 stairs, lighting the way with matches. Even as he 
 convicted himself of wrong, he justified himself as right. 
 The virtuous renunciation balanced, aye, overbalanced, 
 the account with cupidity. He was saying to him- 
 self as he made his way down to the cellar: 
 
 "It would be downright rotten to take that story 
 of hers, even as a joke, and I came mighty near to 
 doing it. Thank the Lord, I didn't. Of course, it's 
 piffle, both of 'em, but I just couldn't take hers 
 away for no other reason than to get a good laugh out 
 of it. Anyhow, my conscience is clear. I put it back 
 where she left it, and that's the end of it so far as 
 I'm concerned. Damn these cobwebs! Good Lord, I 
 wonder if any of these spiders are poisonous ! " 
 
 Brushing the cobwebs from his face as he ran, he 
 hurried across the cellar and bolted up the steps, out 
 into the brilliant sunlight. He made frantic efforts to 
 remove the disgusting webs from his garments, his eyes 
 darting everywhere in search of the evil insects. 
 
 Presently he set to work replacing the staple and 
 padlock, inserting the nails in the holes they had left 
 in the rotting board. He did his best to fasten the 
 scantlings down, making a sorry job of it, and then, 
 as he prepared to leave the premises, he was suddenly 
 seized by the uncanny feeling that some one was watch- 
 ing him. His gaze swept the fields, the barn lot, even 
 the high grass that surrounded the house. There was 
 no one in sight, and yet he could feel the eyes of an 
 invisible watcher. 
 
 Up in the garden patch, the scarecrow flapped his 
 empty sleeves. His hat was still tilted jauntily over 
 his absent ear. It was ridiculous to suppose that that 
 uncanny object could see, yet somehow it seemed to
 
 THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES 159 
 
 Courtney that it was looking at him, looking at him 
 with malicious, accusing eyes. 
 
 Not once, but half a dozen times, he turned in the 
 road to glance over his shoulder at the house he had 
 left behind. Always his gaze went to the scarecrow. 
 He shivered slightly and cursed himself for a fool. The 
 silly thing couldn't be looking at him! What non- 
 sense ! Still he breathed a sigh of relief when he turned 
 the bend and was safely screened from view by the grove 
 of oaks that crowned the hill above the village. 
 
 Several automobiles passed him as he trudged along 
 the pike; an old man afoot driving a little herd of 
 sheep gave him a cheery " good morning," but received 
 no response. 
 
 " I wish I hadn't gone into that beastly house," he 
 was repeating to himself, a scowl in his eyes. " It gave 
 me the ' Willies.' Jolly lot of satisfaction I got out of 
 it, I don't think. I daresay he kissed her a good many 
 times up there in that, But, Lord, what's the sense 
 of worrying about something that happened ten years 
 ago?" 
 
 At the dinner table that noon, Charlie Webster sud- 
 denly inquired: 
 
 " Well, what have you been up to this morning, 
 Court?" 
 
 Courtney started guiltily and shot a quick, inquiring 
 look at the speaker. Satisfied that there was no veiled 
 significance in Charlie's question, he replied: 
 
 " Took a long ramble up the pike. The air is like 
 wine today. I walked out as far as the old Windom 
 house." 
 
 Charlie was interested. "Is that so? Did you see 
 [Amos Vick's daughter hanging around the place ? "
 
 160 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 "Amos Vick's you mean Rosabel? " He swallowed 
 hard. " No, I didn't see her. Was she over there? " 
 
 " Jim Bagley was in the office half an hour or so 
 ago. As he was coming past the house in his Ford he 
 saw her standing at the front gate, so he stopped and 
 asked her what she was doing over on this side of the 
 river. She'd been over here spending the night with 
 Annie Jordan, that's Phil Jordan's girl, you know, 
 the township assessor, and went out for a long walk 
 this morning. She looked awful tired and sort of sickly, 
 so Jim told her to hop in and he'd give her a lift back 
 to Phil's house. She got in with him and he left her at 
 Phil's." 
 
 " I saw her walking down to the ferry with Annie 
 as I was coming over from the office a little while ago," 
 said Doc Simpson. 
 
 " Sorry I didn't meet her," said Courtney. " She's 
 jolly good fun, and I certainly was in need of some- 
 body to cheer me up this morning. For the first time 
 since I came out here I was homesick for New York, 
 and mother. It must have been our talk last night 
 about the theatres and all that."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 
 
 MARY BLYTHE and her brother arrived on 
 Tuesday for a two days' visit. Alix motored 
 to town and brought them out in the automo- 
 bile. She was surprised and gratified when Courtney, 
 revoking his own decree, volunteered to go up with her 
 to meet the visitors at the railway station in the city. 
 But when the day came, he was ill and unable to leave 
 his room. The cold, steady rains of the past few days 
 had brought on an attack of pleurisy, and the doctor 
 ordered him to remain in bed. He grumbled a great 
 deal over missing the little dinner Alix was giving on 
 the first night of their stay, and sent more than one 
 lamentation forth in the shape of notes carried up to 
 the house on the knoll by Jim House, the venerable 
 handy-man at Dowd's Tavern. 
 
 " I really don't recall him," said Addison Blythe, 
 frowning thoughtfully. " He probably came to the 
 sector after I left, Miss Crown. I've got a complete 
 roster at home of all the fellows who served in the 
 American Ambulance up to the time it was taken over. 
 I'd like to meet him. I may have run across him any 
 number of times. Names didn't mean much, you see, 
 except in cases where we hung out together in one 
 place for some time. I would remember his face, of 
 course. Faces made impressions, and that's more than 
 names did. Courtney Thane? Seems to me I have a 
 161
 
 162 QUILL'S JVINDOW 
 
 vague recollection of that name. You say he was 
 afterward flying with the British? " 
 
 " Yes. He was wounded and gassed at at let me 
 think. What was the name of the place? Only a few 
 weeks before the armistice." 
 
 " There was a great deal doing a few weeks before 
 the armistice," said Blythe, smiling. "You'll have 
 to be a little more definite than that. The air was full 
 of British aeroplanes from London clear to Palestine. 
 What is he doing here? " 
 
 " Recovering his health. He has had two attacks of 
 pneumonia, you see, and a touch of typhoid. His 
 family originally lived in this country. The old Thane 
 farm is almost directly across the river from Windom- 
 ville. Courtney's father was born there, but went east 
 to live during the first Cleveland administration. He 
 had some kind of a political appointment in Washing- 
 ton, and married a Congressman's daughter from 
 Georgia, I think anyhow, it was one of the Southern 
 states. He is really quite fascinating, Mary. You 
 would lose your heart to him, I am sure." 
 
 "And, pray, have you offered any reward for 
 yours?" inquired Mary Blythe, smiling as she studied 
 her friend's face rather narrowly. 
 
 Alix met her challenging gaze steadily. A sharper 
 observer than Mary Blythe might have detected the 
 faintest shadow of a cloud in the dark, honest eyes. 
 
 "When I lose it, dear, I shall say good riddance ' 
 and live happily ever after without one," she replied 
 airily. 
 
 The next morning she started off with her guests for 
 a drive down the river, to visit the old fort and the 
 remains of the Indian village. Stopping at the grain
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 163 
 
 elevator, she beckoned to Charlie Webster. The fat 
 little manager came bustling out, beaming with pleasure. 
 
 " How is Mr. Thane today, Charlie? " she inquired, 
 after introducing him to the Blythes. 
 
 Charlie pursed his lips and looked wise. " Well, all 
 I can say is, he's doing as well as could be expected. 
 Temperature normal, pulse fluctuating, appetite good, 
 respiration improved by a good many cusswords, mus- 
 tard plaster itching like all get out, but otherwise 
 he's at the point of death. I was in to see him after 
 breakfast. He was sitting up in bed and getting ready 
 to tell Doc Smith what he thinks of him for ordering 
 him to stay in the house till he says he can go out. He 
 is terribly upset because he can't get up to Alix's to 
 see you, Mr. Blythe. I never saw a feller so cut up 
 about a thing as he is." 
 
 " He must not think of coming out in this kind of 
 weather," cried Alix firmly. " It would be" 
 
 " Oh, he's not thinking of coming out," interrupted 
 Charlie quietly. 
 
 " I am sorry not to have met him," said Blythe. 
 " We probably have a lot of mutual friends." 
 
 A queer little light flashed into Charlie Webster's 
 eyes and lingered for an instant. 
 
 * He's terribly anxious to meet you. It wouldn't 
 surprise me at all if he got up today sometime and 
 in spite of Doc Smith hustled over to call on you. I'll 
 tell you what we might do, Alix. If Mr. Blythe isn't 
 going to be too busy, I might take him up to see Court, 
 that is, when you get back from your drive. I know 
 he'll appreciate it, and be tickled almost to death." 
 
 " Fine ! " cried Blythe. " If you're sure he will not 
 mind, Mr. Webster."
 
 164 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 "Why should he mind? He says he's crazy to meet 
 you, and he's able to see people " 
 
 " But I've always understood that talking was very 
 painful to any one suffering from pleurisy," protested 
 Alix. 
 
 " Doesn't seem to hurt Court very much," declared 
 Charlie. " He nearly talked an arm off of me and 
 Furman Hatch this morning, and it certainly seemed 
 to be a real pleasure for him to cuss. I really think 
 he'll get well quicker if you drop in for a chat with 
 him, Mr. Blythe." 
 
 " It would be very nice," said Alix warmly, " if you 
 could run in for a few minutes " 
 
 " Sure I will," cried the young man. " This after- 
 noon, Mr. Webster, about half-past two? " 
 
 " Any time suits me," said the obliging Mr. Webster. 
 As if struck by something irresistibly funny, he sud- 
 denly put his hand to his mouth and got very red in 
 the face. After an illy-suppressed snort or two, he 
 coughed violently, and then stammered : " Excuse me. 
 I was just thinking about er about something funny. 
 I'm always doing some fool thing like that. This was 
 about Ed Jones's dog, wouldn't be the least bit funny 
 to anybody but me, so I won't tell you about it. Two- 
 thirty it is, then? I'll meet you up at Alix's. It's only 
 a step." 
 
 " Will you tell Mr. Thane that you are bringing Mr. 
 Blythe to see him this afternoon, Charlie? " said Alix. 
 " You said he was threatening to disobey the doc- 
 tor's" 
 
 "You leave it to me, Alix," broke in Charlie re- 
 assuringly. Trust me to see that he don't escape." 
 
 A little before two-thirty, tall Mr. Blythe, one time
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 165 
 
 Captain in the Field Artillery, and short Mr. Web- 
 ster wended their way through the once busy stable- 
 yard in the rear of Dowd's Tavern. Charlie gave his 
 companion a brief history of the Tavern and indicated 
 certain venerable and venerated objects of interest, 
 such as the ancient log watering-trough (hewn in 1832) ; 
 the rain-barrels, ash-hoppers and fodder cribs (dating 
 back to Civil War days), the huge kettle suspended 
 from a thick iron bar the ends of which were supported 
 by rusty standards, where apple-butter was made at 
 one season of the year, lye at another, and where lard 
 was rendered at butchering-time. He took him into 
 the wagon-shed and showed him the rickety high-wheeled, 
 top-heavy carriage used by the first of the Dowds back 
 in the forties, now ready to fall to pieces at the slightest 
 ungentle shake ; the once gaudy sleigh with its great 
 curved " runners " ; and over in a dark corner two long 
 barrelled rifles with rusty locks and rotten stocks, 
 that once upon a time cracked the doom of deer and 
 wolf and fox, of catamount and squirrel and coon, of 
 wild turkeys and geese and ducks to say nothing of 
 an occasional horsethief. 
 
 " They say old man Dowd could shoot the eye out 
 of a squirrel three hundreds yards away with one of 
 these rifles," announced Charlie ; " and it was no trick 
 at all for him to nip a wild turkey's head off at five 
 hundred yards. I'll bet you didn't run up against any 
 such shooting as that over in France." 
 
 Blythe shook his head. " No such rifle shooting, I 
 grant you. But what would you say to a German 
 cannon twelve miles away landing ten shells in succes- 
 sion on a battery half as big as this stable without 
 even being able to see the thing they were shooting at? "
 
 166 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " I give up," said Charlie gloomily. " Old man Dowd 
 was some liar, but, my gosh, he couldn't hold a well, 
 my respect for the American Army is greater than 
 it ever was, I'll say that, Captain. Dan Dowd was 
 the rankest kind of an amateur." 
 
 " Do you mean as a shot, or as a liar? " inquired 
 Blythe, grinning. 
 
 " Both," said Charlie. 
 
 He had a very definite purpose in leading his guest 
 through the stable-yard. By doing so he avoided the 
 customary approach to the Tavern, in full view from 
 Courtney's windows. They circled the building and 
 arrived at the long, low porch from the north. Here 
 thej r encountered Furman Hatch. Charlie appeared 
 greatly surprised to find the photographer there. 
 
 " What are you doing here at this time o' day, Tin- 
 type? " he demanded. " Takin' a vacation? " 
 
 " I come over for some prints I left in my room last 
 night," explained Mr. Hatch. 
 
 "We're going up to call on Court," said Charlie. 
 "Won't you join us?" 
 
 Hatch looked at his watch, frowned dubiously, and 
 then said he could spare a few minutes, and that was 
 just what it was understood in advance that he was 
 to say ! 
 
 " He goes by the name of Tintype," explained Mr. 
 Webster, after the two men had shaken hands. " Not 
 because he looks like one, but because the village idiot's 
 name is Furman, and we have to have some way of 
 tellin' them apart." 
 
 A few minutes later, Charlie knocked resoundingly 
 on Courtney's door. 
 
 "Who is it?'?
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 167 
 
 " It's me, Charlie Webster. Got a nice surprise 
 for you." 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 And in strode Charlie, followed by the tall stranger 
 and the lank Mr. Hatch. 
 
 Courtney, full dressed, except that he wore instead 
 of his coat a thick blue bath gown, was sitting at a 
 table in front of the small wood-fire stove, playing 
 solitaire. A saucer at one corner of the table served 
 as an ash tray. It was half full of cigarette stubs. 
 
 "Well, what the " he began, and then, catching 
 sight of the stranger, scrambled up from his chair, his 
 rnouth still open. 
 
 " I thought you'd be surprised," said Charlie trium- 
 phantly. "This is Mr. Blythe, Mr. Thane, shake 
 hands with each other, comrades. When I told him 
 you were so keen to see him and talk over old times, 
 he said slap-bang he'd come with me when I offered to 
 bring him up." 
 
 " I hope we're not intruding, Mr. Thane," said 
 Blythe, advancing with hand extended. " Mr. Web- 
 ster assured me you were quite well enough to re- 
 ceive " 
 
 " I am glad you came," cried Courtney, recovering 
 from his surprise. " Awfully good of you. These 
 beastly lungs of mine, you know. The least little flare- 
 up scares me stiff. Still, I had almost screwed up my 
 nerve to going out this afternoon " 
 
 " It doesn't pay to take any risks," warned Blythe, 
 as they shook hands. 
 
 The two men looked each other closely, steadily in 
 the eye. Courtney was the first to speak at the end 
 of this mutual scrutiny.
 
 168 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " I wasn't quite sure whether I met you over there, 
 Captain Blythe," he said, " but now I know that I 
 didn't. I've been puzzling my brain for days trying 
 to recall the name, or at least your face. I may be 
 wrong, however. I haven't much of a memory. I hope 
 you will forgive me if we did meet and I have forgotten 
 it. I" 
 
 " I have no recollection of ever having seen you, 
 Mr. Thane," said Blythe. " It isn't surprising, how- 
 ever. It it was a pretty big war, you know." 
 
 Charlie Webster was slightly dashed. If anything, 
 Courtney Thane was more at ease, more convincing than 
 Addison Blythe. He felt rather foolish. Something, it 
 seemed, had fallen very flat. He evaded Mr. Hatch's 
 eye. 
 
 " Sit down, Captain Blythe," said Courtney affably. 
 " Hope you don't mind this bath gown. Charlie, make 
 yourself at home on the bed, you too, Hatch. We're 
 as shy of chairs here as we were at the front, you see." 
 
 Blythe remained for half an hour and then went 
 away with his two companions. Courtney shook hands 
 with him and said good-bye at the hall door; then he 
 strode over to the bureau to look at himself in the 
 glass. He saw reflected therein a very well satisfied 
 face, with brightly confident eyes and the suggestion of 
 a triumphant smile. 
 
 Hatch accompanied the moody Mr. Webster to the 
 warehouse office. 
 
 " Strikes me, Charlie," said he, thoughtfully, " that 
 of the two our friend Courtney seems a long sight 
 more genuine than this feller Blythe. I guess you're 
 off your base, old boy. Why, darn it, he Lad Blythe up 
 in the air half the time. If I was a betting man,
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 169 
 
 I'd put up a hundred or two that Blythe never even 
 saw the places they were talking about." 
 
 " Do you think Blythe is a fake? " cried Charlie in 
 some heat. 
 
 " I wouldn't go so far as to say that," said Hatch 
 diplomatically, " but you'll have to admit that Court 
 asked him a lot of questions he didn't seem able to 
 answer." 
 
 Charlie stared hard at the floor for a few seconds. 
 Then : " Well, if I was to ask you what my mother's 
 maiden name was, Tintype, you'd have to say you 
 didn't know, wouldn't you? " 
 
 " Sure," said Hatch. " But I wouldn't go so far 
 as to say I wasn't certain whether she had a maiden 
 name or not, would I?" 
 
 " There's no use arguing with you, Hatch," said 
 Charlie irritably, and turned to his desk by the win- 
 dow, there to frown fiercely over his scales book. 
 
 II 
 
 Alix and Miss Blythe were sitting in front of the 
 fireplace when young Blythe entered the living-room 
 on his return from Dowd's Tavern. The former looked 
 up at him brightly, eagerly as he planted himself be- 
 tween them with his back to the cheerful blaze. 
 ' "Did you see him?" she inquired. He was struck 
 by the deep, straining look in her dark eyes, as if 
 she were searching for something far back in his brain. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, as he took his pipe and tobacco 
 pouch from his pocket. " He was up and around the 
 room and was as pleased as Punch to see me." He 
 began stuffing the bowl of the pipe. " He is a most at-
 
 170 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 tractive chap, Alix. I don't know when I've met a 
 more agreeable fellow." 
 
 " Then you had not met before, over there? " 
 
 " No. We missed each other by days on two or 
 three occasions. He left for the Vosges just before 
 I got to Pont-a-Mousson, and was transferred to an- 
 other section when we all went up to Bar le Due at 
 the time of the Verdun drive. He joined the Ambu- 
 lance several months before I did, and was shifted about 
 a good deal. Had some trouble with a French officer 
 at Pont-a-Mousson and asked to be transferred." Here 
 he smiled feelingly. " He's got a mustard plaster on 
 his back now, he says, that would cover an army mule. 
 I know how that feels, by Jinks ! I wore one for three 
 weeks over there because I didn't have the nerve to 
 rip it off." 
 
 He was still aware of the unanswered question in her 
 eyes. Changing his position slightly, he busied him- 
 self with the lighting of his pipe. 
 
 "Was he expecting you? " inquired Alix. 
 
 "Not at all. It seems that your roly-poly friend 
 forgot to notify him. I say, Alix, what a wonderful 
 lot of pre-historic junk there is in that old stable-yard. 
 Webster took me around there and showed me the stuff. 
 Tell me something about the place." 
 
 Late in the afternoon Blythe, after submitting to 
 an interview at the hands of A. Lincoln Pollock, sat 
 alone before the fire, his long legs stretched out, a 
 magazine lying idly in his lap, his pipe dead but gripped 
 firmly in the hand that had remained stationary for a 
 long, long time halfway to his lips. He was staring 
 abstractedly into the neglected fire.
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 171 
 
 His sister came in. He was not aware of her en- 
 trance until she appeared directly in front of him. 
 
 " Hello ! " he exclaimed, blinking. 
 
 " What is on your mind, Addy ? " 
 
 He glanced over his shoulder. 
 
 "Where is Alix? " 
 
 "Writing letters. There were two or three she 
 has to get off before we start for town." She sat 
 (down on the arm of his chair. " You may as well tell 
 me what you really think of him, Addison. Isn't he 
 good enough for her? " 
 
 He lowered his voice. The frown of perplexity deep- 
 ened in his eyes. 
 
 " I can't make him out, Mary," he said, lowering 
 his voice. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked quickly. 
 
 ** Well, I may be doing him the rottenest injustice, 
 but somehow he doesn't ring quite true to me." 
 
 "For goodness sake, Addy, " she began, and then: 
 *' In what way? Hurry up! Tell me before she comes 
 idown. Isn't he a a gentleman? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I suppose he is. He's a most engaging 
 chap; he certainly seems well-bred, and he's darned 
 good-looking. That isn't what I mean." He hesitated 
 a moment and then blurted out : " Does Alix know 
 positively that he was in the American Ambulance? 
 I mean, has she anybody else's word for it except his ? " 
 
 Mary Blythe stared at her brother, her lips parted. 
 [Then her eyes narrowed suddenly. 
 
 " Don't don't you think he's straight, Addy? " she 
 half-whispered. 
 
 " I confess I'm puzzled. I never dreamed of doubt-
 
 172 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 ing him when I went there. But I've been doing a lot 
 of thinking since I saw him, and, by George, Mary, 
 I'm up a tree. Good- Lord, if he should be well, if 
 he should be putting something over on Alix, he ought 
 to be shot, that's all. Do you think she's in love with 
 him?" 
 
 " I don't know. She's interested in him, I'm sure, 
 but two or three times I have caught the queerest little 
 look in her eyes when she is speaking of him, almost 
 as if she were afraid of something. I can't describe it. 
 It's just well, the only thing I can think of is that 
 it's kind of pleading, if you know what I mean." 
 
 " Groping, I guess is the word you're after." 
 
 " Exactly. But go on, tell me." 
 
 " It won't do to say anything about this to Alix, 
 Mary," said he firmly. " At least not at present. Not 
 until I've satisfied myself. I'm going to write to three 
 or four fellows who were in Section Two for months, 
 before I was there, and see if they know anything 
 about him. I'd write to Mr. Hereford himself, but he's 
 in Europe. He could give me the right dope in a min- 
 ute. Piatt Andrew's in France, I understand. The 
 records will show, of course, but it will take time to 
 get at them. We must not breathe a word of all this 
 to Alix, Mary. Understand? I've got to make sure 
 first. It would be unpardonable if I were to make a 
 break about him and he turned out to be all right," 
 
 " You must find out as quickly as possible, Addison. 
 We would never forgive ourselves if we allowed Alix 
 to" 
 
 " Don't you worry ! It won't take long to get a line 
 on him. I'd telegraph if I were sure of the addresses. 
 I ought to hear in three or four days, a week at the
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 173 
 
 outside. Of course, he talks very convincingly. That's 
 what floors me. But, on the other hand, he's too darned 
 convincing. First of all, he called me Captain Blythe 
 all the time. That isn't done by fellows in the know. 
 I'm just plain Mister these days. He was rather hazy 
 about the places I know all about, and tremendously 
 clear about places I've never even heard of, the places 
 around Pont-a-Mousson, I mean. He actually looked 
 suspicious of me when I said I didn't know where they 
 were. And he mentioned a lot of men that I am dead 
 sure never were up at Pont-a-Mousson, either before 
 or after I was there. Names I had never heard before 
 in my life. And, confound it, the way he lifted his 
 eyebrows made me feel for a minute or two that I 
 hadn't been there myself. He says that since his injury 
 and his sicknesses his memory isn't the best, but when 
 I spoke of some of the fellows who were there with 
 me, he remembered them perfectly. Didn't know them 
 well, because he wasn't with the bunch very long, it 
 seems. When I remarked that he must see a good 
 bit of the chaps who live in New York City, he told 
 me he had been sick ever since he came home from 
 England and hadn't seen one of the crowd. He said 
 he knew Pottle, and Fay, and Tyler, Sudbery and sev- 
 eral others, so I'm going to write to all of them to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " It would be terrible, Addy, if she were to " 
 
 " Mind you, old girl, I'm not saying this fellow isn't 
 square," he interrupted. " He may be all he says he 
 is. He's got me guessing, that's all." 
 
 " She says he has the crolx de guerre and a D. S. 
 medal." 
 
 He looked at her pityingly. " I've got a couple of
 
 174 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Iron Crosses, old dear, but that doesn't mean I had 
 'em pinned on me by a Boche general. I've also got a 
 German helmet, but I got it the same way I got the 
 Crosses, off of a German whose eyes were closed. Any- 
 how, I'd like to see his medals. Has Alix seen them? " 
 
 " His mother has them in New York," she replied. 
 She stared into the fire for a moment or two and then 
 turned to him, a look of deep concern in her eyes. " I 
 think Alix is in love with him, Addy. She isn't herself 
 at all. She is distrait. Twice this afternoon she has 
 asked me if I didn't want to walk down into the village, 
 to the postoffice or the library. What she really 
 wanted to do was to walk past the place where he lives. 
 Oh, I know the symptoms. I've had them myself, ' 
 when I was younger than I am now. We don't do the 
 things at thirty-two that we did at twenty-four. She 
 is the dearest, finest girl I've ever known, .Addy. We 
 must not let anything happen to her." 
 
 He shook his head slowly. " If she is really in love 
 with him, there's nothing we can do. The saying that 
 4 there's no fool like an old fool ' isn't in it with ' there's 
 no fool like a woman in love.' Look at Isabel Harring- 
 ton. Wasn't she supposed to be as sensible as they 
 make 'em? And didn't everybody she knew tell her 
 what kind of a man he was? Did it do any good?" 
 
 " She knew he gambled, and drank and he was a 
 fascinating chap, Addy. You'll admit that." 
 
 " You bet I admit it. It was certainly proved when 
 those other women turned up with marriage certificates, 
 and old Mrs. Mason jumped into the scrimmage and 
 had him arrested for swindling her out of thirty-five 
 thousand dollars, and the New York police came along 
 with a warrant for "
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 175 
 
 " Yes, yes," she interrupted impatiently. " But Alix 
 is quite different. She is not a fool, and Isabel was, 
 and still is, I maintain. You have seen this friend of 
 Alix's. Is he attractive?" 
 
 " Well," he mused aloud, " unless I am mistaken, he 
 is the sort of fellow that women fall for without much of 
 an effort. The sort that can fool women but can't 
 fool men, Mary, if that means anything to you. Now 
 that I think of it, I believe Webster and that friend 
 of his are Well, I'm sure they don't like him. He " 
 
 "Sh! She is coming!" 
 
 Alix's quick, light tread was heard in the hall. She 
 came from her " office " in the wing where the kitchen 
 was situated. 
 
 There was a heightened colour in her cheeks and her 
 lovely eyes were shining. 
 
 " Well, that job is done," she cried, tossing two or 
 three letters on the table. " Don't let me forget them, 
 Mary. I'll post them in the city. We leave at six 
 o'clock, Addison. I telephoned to town and asked 
 George Richards to meet us at the Raleigh at a quarter 
 before seven. I am dreadfully disappointed, Mary, that 
 Mr. Thane cannot go, but you will like George. Mr. 
 Thane never goes to town. He was going to break his 
 rule tonight, and now he can't go. Isn't that always 
 the way?" 
 
 " Mary's awfully partial to Georges," said Addison, 
 * so don't you worry about her. I know I shall have 
 a better time if Thane isn't in the party. To be per- 
 fectly frank with you, I'm jolly well fed up with Mary, 
 as we say in London. And if Thane was along I'd 
 Tiave to talk to her for three solid Why, 'pon my 
 soul, Alix, you're blushing I "
 
 176 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Don't be silly ! " 
 
 " Skip along, Addy, and see how quickly you can 
 dress," interposed his sister briskly. " You've got 
 forty-six minutes. ** 
 
 " I can dress and undress three times in forty-six 
 minutes, and still have time to read the evening paper 
 and do a few odd chores about the place. I say, Alix, 
 red is awfully becoming to you." With that parting 
 shot, he disappeared. 
 
 Ill 
 
 One of the envelopes on the table was addressed to 
 David Strong. It was a reply to a special delivery 
 letter received in the afternoon post. He had been very 
 prompt in responding to Alix's curt note, and she was 
 being equally prompt with her answer. There were 
 stamps sufficient on hers to insure " special delivery " 
 to him. 
 
 He had written : 
 
 DEAR ALIX: 
 
 I have not received the bracelet yet. Registered mail 
 moves slowly. If I did not know you so well, I might even 
 hope that you had changed your mind at the last minute 
 and did not send it. But I know it will come along in a day 
 or so. I shall not ask you to explain why you are return- 
 ing my gift. You have a good reason, no doubt. We have 
 not been very friendly of late. I admit that I have been 
 stubborn about paying back the money your grandfather 
 lent to me, and I suppose I have not been very gentle- 
 manly or tactful in trying to make you understand. I still 
 maintain that it is a very silly thing for us to quarrel about, 
 but I am not going to hector you about it how. I trust 
 you will forgive me if I add to your annoyance by saying
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 177 
 
 that I'd like to be where I could shake a little sense into 
 that stubborn head of yours. 
 
 You are returning my gift. As I told you when I sent 
 it to you, it was given me by a French lady whose son I 
 had taken care of and for whose ultimate recovery I was 
 perhaps responsible. She appreciated the fact that I could 
 not r / j would not accept pay for my services. This much 
 I have told you before. Now, I shall tell you something 
 more. When she pressed it upon me she said that I was to 
 give it to my sweetheart back in America. I gave it to 
 you. I daresay I am greatly to blame for never having told 
 yrm before that you were my sweetheart, Alix. 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 To this Alix replied: 
 
 DEAR DAVID: 
 
 By this time you will have received the bracelet. It is 
 not beyond the bounds of probability that you may yet be 
 in a position to carry out the terms imposed by the lady in 
 France. All the more reason for my returning it to you. 
 You are now free to give it to any one to whom you may 
 have confided the astonishing secret you so successfully 
 withheld from me. You seem to have forgotten that I gave 
 you a receipt in full for the amount you are supposed to 
 have owed my grandfather's estate. I did this with the 
 consent of my lawyer. He said it was perfectly legal and 
 that it was in my power to cancel the so-called obligation, 
 especially as we have no documentary evidence that you 
 ever had promised to reimburse my grandfather. On the 
 contrary, as I have told you over and over again, I have 
 in my possession a statement written by Grandfather Win- 
 dom which absolutely settles the matter. He states in so 
 many words that in making his will he failed to mention his 
 " beloved young friend, David Strong " as a beneficiary, in
 
 J78 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 view of the fact that " I have made him a substantial gift 
 during the closing years of my life in the shape of such 
 education as he may require, and for which I trust him to 
 repay me, not in money, but in the simplest and truest form 
 of compensation: gratitude." In spite of this, you con- 
 tinue to offend me, I might even say insult me, by 
 choosing to consider his gift as an obligation which c?^i only 
 be met by paying money to me. All that you owed my 
 grandfather was gratitude and respect. As for myself, I 
 relieve you of the former but I do think I am entitled to 
 the latter. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 ALIX CROWN 
 
 The same post that carried her letter east was to 
 take one from Courtney Thane to his mother. 
 
 DEAREST MATER: 
 
 I am going to ask Alix Crown to marry me. I have hesi- 
 tated to do so for obvious reasons, perfectly clear to you. 
 Now, I have decided. She understands my financial situa- 
 tion. She knows that I am almost entirely dependent on 
 you for support at present. If it had not been for the war 
 and my confounded ill-health, I should, of course, have 
 been quite independent by this time. I have explained my 
 present unbearable situation to her in a general sort of way, 
 and I know that she is in complete sympathy with me. 
 Your resolve to not increase my allowance is, I suppose, 
 irrevocable. I shall soon be in a position, I hope, to dis- 
 pense with what you are already so gracious as to allow 
 me. I have not deemed it wise to tell her at this time of 
 my unfortunate and, as you say, foolish mismanagement of 
 my affairs before and after father's death. When all is said 
 and done, he didn't leave me very much. It went before 
 I quite knew what was happening, and I submit that it was 
 bad judgment due to my youth rather than to recklessness,
 
 WORDS AND LETTERS 170 
 
 as old Mumford claims. I'll make him eat his words some 
 day. Thanks for your cheque. You are a darling. You're 
 the best mother a fellow ever had. I quite understand your 
 position, so don't lose a moment's sleep thinking that I 
 may be resenting your decision. I shall manage very 
 nicely on what you give me. It is ample for my present 
 needs. I shall probably find it rather humiliating when it 
 comes time for a wedding journey, but, bless your dear 
 old heart, I'll manage somehow. 
 
 I am quite well and very happy. Hope you are the same. 
 By the way, have you made that visit to Washington ? 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 COURTNEY. 
 
 P.S. I am still looking for the little parcel I asked 
 you to send me. Have you forgotten to attend to it? 
 
 C. 
 
 As Alix and her friends went out to the automobile, 
 the big police dog trotted beside Addison Blythe, look- 
 ing up into his face with pleased and friendly eyes. 
 Pie allowed the man to stroke his head and rumple the 
 thick fur on his back. 
 
 " He likes you, Addison," said Alix, a serious little 
 frown in her eyes. " I can't understand his not liking 
 Courtney Thane. His hair fairly bristles and he growls 
 like a bear every time he sees him. Isn't it odd?" 
 
 Blythe looked up quickly. It was on the tip of his 
 tongue to say something tactless. What he did say 
 was this : 
 
 "Can you blame the poor dog for being jealous?."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 
 
 COURTNEY delayed. A certain aloofness on 
 Alix's part caused him to hesitate. Something 
 in her manner following upon the visit of the 
 Blythes invited speculation. She was as pleasant as 
 ever, yet he sensed a subtle change that warned him 
 of defeat if he attempted to storm the citadel. His 
 confidence was slightly shaken, but not his resolve. 
 
 '* She's been different ever since those infernal Blythes 
 were here," he reflected aloud, scowling as he watched 
 her pass in the car several days after the departure of 
 her guests. 
 
 She went to the city nearly every day now, and 
 seldom returned before dark. Somehow he felt that his 
 grip was slipping. He was standing in front of the 
 Tavern. She had waved her hand to him, and had 
 smiled gaily, but it was not the first time that week 
 she had failed to stop and repeat her usual invitation 
 for him to accompany her, even though she knew he 
 would politely decline. He resented this oversight. 
 How could she know that he hadn't changed his mind 
 about going to the city? As a matter of fact, he had 
 changed it. He would have gone like a shot. Indeed, 
 he had dressed with that very object in view, and she 
 had gone by with a casual wave of her hand. His 
 annoyance was increased by the remark of Mr. Nichols, 
 who was standing at the top of the steps at the time. 
 180
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 181 
 
 " Thought you said you was going up to town, Court- 
 ney^" said the old man, with a detestable grin on his 
 wrinkled visage. 
 
 " I didn't say anything of the kind," snapped Court- 
 ney, and strode off angrily. 
 
 His stroll, and his reflections, tooK him up the 
 old Indian trail along the bank of the river. He wanted 
 solitude. He wanted to be where he could talk without 
 fear of being, overheard. There was much that he had 
 to say to himself. 
 
 The rarely used path through the willows and un- 
 derbrush ran along the steep bank, sometimes within 
 a few feet of water. Once before he had walked a 
 couple of hundred yards over this ancient, hard-packed 
 trail of Tccumseh's people, but had been turned back 
 by the sight of a small snake wriggling off into the 
 long grass ahead of him. That was in the warm days 
 of early September. There was no likelihood of ser- 
 pents being abroad on this chill October morning. 
 
 Leaving the road at the cut above the ferry landing, 
 he turned into the trail. A half hour's walk brought 
 him to the gradually rising, rock-covered slope that led 
 to the base of Quill's Window. On all sides were 
 great, flat slabs of stone, some of them almost buried 
 in the earth, others sticking their jagged points up 
 above the brush and weeds. Back in ages dim these 
 drab, moss-covered rocks had been sliced from the side 
 of the towering mound by the forces that shaped the 
 earth, to be hurled hither and thither with the calm dis- 
 dain of the mighty. No human agency had blasted 
 them from their insecure hold on the shoulders of the 
 cliff. Uncounted centuries ago they had come bound- 
 ing, crashing down from the heights, shaken loose by
 
 182 (QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 the convulsions of Mother Earth, tearing their way 
 through the feeble barrier of trees to a henceforth place 
 of security. 
 
 The trail wound in and out among these boulders, 
 dividing at a point several hundred feet south of the 
 steep ascent to the top of the great black mound. The 
 main-travelled path turned in from the river at this 
 point, to skirt the hill at its rear. A more tortuous 
 way, traversed presumably by the fishers and hunters 
 of the tribes, or perhaps by war parties in swift pur- 
 suit or retreat, held directly to the bank of the stream 
 and passed along the front of the cliff. 
 
 Courtney took the latter branch. Presently he was 
 picking his way carefully along the base of the cliff, 
 scrambling over and between the rocks that formed a 
 narrow ledge between the river and the sheer face of 
 QuilPs Window. He was now some fifty or sixty feet 
 above the cold, grey water. Below him grew a line of 
 stunted, ragged underbrush, springing from the earth- 
 filled fissures among the boulders. Across the river 
 stretched far away the farms and fields of the far- 
 famed grain-belt. 
 
 He sat down upon a rock and gazed out over these 
 fertile lands, now crowded with shocks of corn or rusty 
 with the dead glories of summer. There were great 
 square fields of stubble, fenced-in patches of pasture- 
 land, small oases of woodland, houses and barns and 
 silos as far as the eye could reach, and always the 
 huge red barns dwarfed the houses in which the farmers 
 dwelt. Cattle and sheep and horses, wagons and men, 
 all made small and insignificant in the sweep of this 
 great and solemn panorama.
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 183 
 
 The home of Amos Vick was visible, standing half- 
 a-mile back from the river. He looked hard and long 
 at the house in which he had spent the first three weeks 
 of his stay in the country. So young Cale had gone 
 off to join the Navy, eh? Good! And Rosabel, 
 what of her? What was she doing over at the old Win- 
 dom house that day? Could it have been she who was 
 watching him? Looking badly, too, they said. Such a 
 strong, pretty, wind-tanned young thing she was ! How 
 long ago was it? Not two months. . . . He lit a 
 cigarette and resumed his way, the shadow of a fond 
 smile lingering in his eyes. 
 
 Rounding the curve, he came to that side of the 
 stone hill which faced up the river. He had passed 
 many small, shallow niches along the base of the emi- 
 nence, miniature caves from which oozed what might 
 well have been described as sweat. There were, besides, 
 deep upright slashes in the side of the rock, higher 
 than his head, suggesting to the imagination the vain 
 effort of some unhappy giant to burst through the walls 
 of his rocky prison, some monster of a man who now 
 lay dead in the heart of the hill. The turn took him 
 farther away from the river. 
 
 He was looking now into the tops of several tall syca- 
 mores that rose from the low ground at the foot of 
 the hill. Extending far to the north along the river 
 was a fringe of these much be-sung trees. The space 
 between the straight face of the cliff and the edge of 
 the ledge on which he stood was not more than seven 
 or eight feet. It was possible, he perceived, for one 
 to continue along and down this natural path to the 
 bottom of the lull, coming out among the trees in the
 
 184 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 low ground. The descent, however, was a great deal 
 more precipitous than the ascent from the other direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Now that he was immediately below the cave known 
 as Quill's Window, he was surprised to find that the 
 cliff was not absolutely perpendicular. There was quite 
 a pronounced slant ; the top of the wall was, at a guess, 
 ten feet farther back than the foot. His gaze first 
 sought the strange opening three-fourths of the way 
 to the top, a matter of eighty or ninety feet above the 
 spot on which he stood. There it was, a deep, black 
 gash in the solid rock, rendered narrow by fore-short- 
 ening and a slightly protruding brow. He could think 
 of nothing more analogous than an open mouth with 
 a thick upper lip and the nether lip drawn in. 
 
 Then he saw what surprised him even more, some- 
 thing that none of the chroniclers had mentioned: a 
 series of hand-cut niches up the face of the cliff, lead- 
 ing directly to the mouth of the cave. He had been 
 given to understand that there was no other means of 
 reaching Quill's Window save from the top of the rock. 
 These niches or " hand-holds " were about two feet 
 apart. He examined the lower ones. They were deeply 
 chiselled, affording a substantial foothold as well as 
 a grip for a strong, resolute climber. Most of them 
 were packed with dirty, wind blown leaves from the 
 trees nearby, so tightly packed by the furious rains 
 that beat against the rock that he had difficulty in re- 
 moving the substance. Higher up they appeared to 
 be quite clean and free from obstruction. 
 
 He scraped the leaves out of five or six of the slits, 
 one after the other, as he climbed a short distance
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 185 
 
 up the wall. Further progress was checked, not so 
 much by lack of desire to go to the top, but by an 
 involuntary glance over his shoulder. He was not 
 more than ten feet above the trail, but the trail was 
 shockingly narrow and uneven. So down he came, quite 
 thrilled by his discovery, to lean against the rock and 
 laugh scornfully over the silly tales about Quill's Win- 
 dow and its eerie impregnability. Anybody could climb 
 up there! All that one needed was a stout heart and 
 a good pair of arms. Closer inspection convinced hint 
 that these niches were of comparatively recent origin, 
 certainly they were not of Quill's time. David Win- 
 idom? Had that adventurous lad hewn this ladder to 
 the cave long before the beautiful Alix the First came 
 to complete the romance of his dreams? 
 
 No matter who cut them, they were still there to 
 prove that Quill's Window was accessible. According 
 to tradition, no one had put foot inside the cave since 
 David Windom, in his youth, had ventured to explore 
 its grisly interior. Courtney promised himself that 
 one day he would enter that unhallowed hole in the 
 wall! 
 
 Retracing his steps over the trail, he soon found 
 himself in the village. He was more cheerful now* 
 He had talked himself into a better frame of mind. 
 . . . She was shy. She had reached the turning 
 point, the inevitable point where women tremble with 
 a strange mixture of alarm and rapture, and are as 
 timid as the questioning deer. What a fool he was 
 not to have thought of that ! 
 
 There was a small package in his lockbox at the 
 postoffice and two or three letters. The package
 
 186 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 was from New York, addressed in his mother's hand. 
 
 He stopped at the general delivery window for a 
 chat with Mrs. Pollock. 
 
 "I had forgotten all about my birthday," he said, 
 " but here's mother reminding me of it as usual. She 
 never forgets, and, hang it all, she won't let me for- 
 get." He fingered the unopened package lovingly. 
 
 " Goodness me, Mr. Thane, is this your birth- 
 clay?" she cried excitedly. "We must have a cele- 
 bration. We can't allow " 
 
 " Alas, it is too late. Your super-efficient postal 
 service has brought this to me just forty-eight hours 
 behind time. Day before yesterday was the day, now 
 that I think of it." 
 
 Mrs. Pollock mentally resolved to indite a short poem 
 to him, notwithstanding. She could feel it coming, even 
 as she stood there talking to him. The first line was 
 already written, so to speak. It went: 
 
 " The flight of Time has brought once more " 
 
 He continued, oblivious to the workings of the Muse : 
 " Twenty-nine ! By Jove, I begin to feel that I'm get- 
 ting on in life." He ripped open one of the envelopes. 
 
 Maude Baggs Pollock looked intently at the ceiling 
 of the outer office, and thought of line number two : 
 
 " The busy Reaper to his door," 
 
 She hastily snatched a pencil from her hair and be- 
 gan jotting down these precious lines. Fumbling for a 
 bit of paper her fingers encountered an nvelope ad- 
 dressed to Alaska Spigg. The Muse worked swiftly.
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 187 
 
 Before she had dashed off the first two lines, the second 
 pair were crowding down upon them, to wit : 
 
 " But while he whets his fatal scythe, 
 Gaze ye upon his victim lithe." 
 
 At this juncture George Rice's son came in for a 
 half dozen postal cards, and while she was making 
 change for a dime the Muse forsook her. Bent on pre- 
 serving the lines already shaped, she stuffed Alaska's 
 letter into the pocket of her apron, intending to copy 
 them at the first leisure moment. Unfortunately for 
 Alaska, there was a rush of business at the window, in- 
 cluding an acrimonious dispute with Mrs. Ryan over the 
 non-arrival of a letter she was expecting from her son, 
 and a lengthy conversation with Miss Flora Grady who 
 dropped in to say that her chilblains always began to 
 bother her in October. In the meantime, Courtney de- 
 parted. 
 
 Two days later, Alaska Spigg received her letter, 
 considerably crumpled and smelling of licorice root, 
 (a favourite remedy of Mrs. Pollock's) but rendered 
 precious by the presence of a mysterious " quatrain " 
 done in violet hues by some poetic wielder of an indel- 
 ible pencil. Guilt denied Maude Baggs Pollock the right 
 to claim authorship of these imperishable lines, and 
 to this day they remain unidentified in the archives of 
 the Windomville Public Library, displayed upon re- 
 quest by Alaska Spigg, their proud and unselfish donor. 
 
 Courtney read two of his letters. The third he con- 
 signed, unopened, to the fireplace at Dowd's Tavern. 
 The little package, minus the wrapping paper, was 
 locked away in his trunk.
 
 188 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Charlie Webster, emerging from his office at the Sin- 
 ter hour twelve noon, espied Miss Angie Miller hur^ 
 rying toward the Tavern. He hailed her, not cere- 
 moniously or even gallantly, but in the manner of 
 Windomville. 
 
 " Hey ! " he called, and Angie promptly responded, 
 not with the dignity for which she was famous but with 
 an, entirely human spontaneity : 
 
 "Hey yourself!" 
 
 She waited till he caught up with her. 
 
 " Have you had an answer to that letter, Angie? " he 
 inquired, glancing at a small bunch of letters she held 
 in her hand. 
 
 "No, I haven't," she replied, somewhat guardedly. 
 " I can't understand why he hasn't answered, Charlie, 
 unless he's away or something." 
 
 " Must be that," said he, frowning slightly. " You 
 wrote nearly two weeks ago, didn't you? " 
 
 " Two weeks ago yesterday." 
 
 " Sure you had the right address ? " 
 
 " Absolutely. Thirty-three Cedar Street. He's had 
 an office there for ever so long. I ought to know where 
 my uncle's office is, oughtn't I?" 
 
 " I thought maybe you might have got the wrong 
 tree," explained Charlie. 
 
 " It's Cedar," said Miss Angie flatly. 
 
 " Cedar and pine are a good deal alike, except in '* 
 began Charlie, doubtfully. 
 
 "Goodness!" cried Miss Angie, stopping short. 
 " It w Pine ! How perfectly stupid of me ! How utterly 
 reprehensible ! " 
 
 Charlie stared at her a moment in sheer idisdain. 
 " Well, by gosh, if that ain't like a woman," he ex-
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 189 
 
 claimed disgustedly. "I'd hate to send you for a 
 half dozen oranges if there were any lemons in the 
 market." 
 
 "He is such a well-known lawyer," began Angie 
 humbly, " that you would think the mail carrier 
 would" 
 
 "What did you say his name was?" 
 
 " Joseph Smith. He is my mother's brother." 
 
 "East or West?" 
 
 " East or west what? " 
 
 "Pine Street. Same as North Fourth Street and 
 South Fourth Street up in the city. It runs both 
 ways, Angie, you poor simp." 
 
 " I shall write to him again this evening," said Angie 
 stiffly. " And I'll thank you, Charlie Webster, to re- 
 member that I am a lady and not a " 
 
 " I apologize, Angie," cried Charlie. 
 
 "You'd better!" 
 
 They walked along in silence for a few rods. Then 
 Charlie spoke. 
 
 " You say your uncle was mixed up in a lawsuit of 
 some kind concerning the Thane family?" 
 
 " I remember it distinctly. It was five or six years 
 ago, before my mother died. He wrote her a letter 
 about it when he found out that the Thanes originally 
 came from this neighbourhood. I don't remember what 
 it was all about, but I think it was some kind of a 
 rumpus over money." 
 
 " Well, you write tonight, Angie," ordered Mr. Web- 
 ster ; " and remember it ain't Cedar, or Oak, or Ma- 
 hogany. It's Pine, the stuff you make boxes of." 
 
 Much to Courtney's dismay, Alix remained in town 
 over night. He went up to the house that evening,
 
 190 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 only to receive this disconcerting bit of information. 
 Halfway home, he stopped short in the road, con- 
 fronted by a most astonishing doubt. Had she really 
 stayed in town? Could it be possible that she was at 
 home and did not care to see him? Was it an excuse? 
 He compressed his lips. With lightning rapidity cer- 
 tain bits of circumstantial evidence raced through his 
 mind. In the first place, there was Sergeant, the police 
 dog. He wished he could remember whether he had 
 seen the animal in the car with her that morning. It 
 was her custom to take the dog with her when she went 
 up for the day. One thing was certain: Sergeant was 
 now at home. Did that mean she had returned from 
 the city? 
 
 And then there was another extraordinary thing, 
 something to which he had not given a thought till now. 
 The dog was on the terrace when he strode up the 
 walk. Not only was he there, but he interposed his lean, 
 bristling body between him and the porch-steps, growl- 
 ing ominously and showing his teeth. He did not bark. 
 He merely stood there, daring him to approach. Court- 
 ney remembered saying to himself: 
 
 " There's one thing sure, you and I can't live in 
 the same house, you filthy brute. You'd better learn 
 how to say your prayers, my amiable friend." 
 
 It was not so much the presence of the dog or his 
 inimical attitude that troubled him now as the fact 
 that Mrs. Strong opened the front door without having 
 been summoned by the bell. What did that signify? 
 But one thing: either she or some one else had been 
 waiting and watching for his arrival, waiting behind 
 the window curtains of a darkened room ! 
 
 44 Well, I'm damned ! " he swore to himself, as the
 
 THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL 191 
 
 blood rushed furiously to his head. For an instant he 
 saw red. " Good Lord, what have I done to deserve 
 such a slap in the face as this? What can be But, 
 what the devil's the matter with me? Of course, she's 
 in town! I must be going batty. Certainly she's in 
 town. She but, even so, why should she have gone 
 off like this without saying a word to me about it?. 
 She didn't mention it last night. Not a word. And 
 she must have known then she was planning to spend the 
 night, why, by gad, I wonder if she calls that being 
 fair with me? Letting me trail up here tonight, ex- 
 pecting Any way you want to look at it, it's rotten, 
 just plain rotten!"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SUSPICION 
 
 EARLY the next morning she called him up from 
 the city. She explained everything. The little 
 daughter of her best friend had fallen down- 
 stairs, injuring herself badly, perhaps fatally. She 
 felt it her duty to remain with the distracted mother, 
 she hoped he would understand. And she was in such 
 a hurry to reach the city after the child's father had 
 called her on the telephone that she really did not have 
 the time to stop and explain. He would understand 
 that, too, wouldn't he? And she thought perhaps she 
 would stay over another night. She couldn't leave 
 Mar j one, at least, not until something definite was 
 known. 
 
 He was vastly relieved. All his worry for nothing! 
 He wished now that he had remained in his room in- 
 stead of going out a second time last night to tramp 
 about the dark, lonely village, driven forth by an ugly 
 fit of temper. 
 
 " But Mrs. Strong didn't say anything about the 
 accident," he said over the wire. " She simply said you 
 were in town for the night." 
 
 " I can't understand that," replied Alix. " She knew 
 why I came up to town, and I telephoned her during 
 the afternoon that I would stay overnight. 
 
 "She might have told me," he complained. "It 
 would have relieved my mind enormously. I I was 
 192
 
 SUSPICION 193 
 
 horribly unhappy. Never closed my eyes. I thought 
 you, that is, I wondered if I had done anything to 
 offend you. My Lord, you'll never know how happy I 
 am this minute. My heart is singing. And to think 
 it was like a lump of lead all last night. Do try to 
 come out this evening." 
 
 She did not answer at once, but he could plainly 
 hear her breathing. Then she said softly : 
 
 " If if the child is better. I can't leave Marjorie 
 until until " 
 
 " I understand," he cried heartily. " What a selfish 
 beast I am. Don't give me another thought. Your 
 place is there. Because you are an angel ! " 
 
 Later on he sauntered over to the postoffice. A num- 
 ber of men and women were congregated in front of 
 the drug store, among them Charlie Webster and A. 
 Lincoln Pollock. The latter had his "pad" in hand 
 and was writing industriously. 
 
 "What's the excitement?" Courtney inquired, com- 
 ing up to Charlie. 
 
 " Somebody poisoned Henry Brickler's collie last 
 night," replied Charlie. There was a dark scowl on 
 his chubby face. 
 
 " You don't mean that corking dog up at the white 
 house on the " 
 
 "Yep. That's the one," replied Charlie harshly. 
 " Anybody that would poison a dog ought to be tarred 
 and feathered." 
 
 "Who did it?" 
 
 " You don't suppose a man mean enough to give an 
 unsuspectin' dog a dose of poison would be kind enough 
 to pin his card on the gatepost, do you? I should say 
 not ! "
 
 194 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " But why on earth should any one want to poison 
 that big beautiful dog? " cried Courtney indignantly. 
 "Had he bitten anybody?" 
 
 " Not as anybody knows of. Henry says he never 
 harmed a living soul. That dog " 
 
 " By George ! " exclaimed Courtney suddenly. " This 
 reminds me of something. I passed a couple of men 
 last night down at the corner where you turn up to 
 Miss Crown's. They were leaning against the fence on 
 the opposite side of the road, and I had the queerest 
 sort of feeling about them. I felt that they were watch- 
 ing me. I remember turning my head to look back at 
 them. They were still standing there. It was too dark 
 to see what they looked like " 
 
 " Wait a second," broke in Charlie. " Here's Bill 
 Foss, the constable. Tell it to him, Court." 
 
 The town constable, vastly excited, came up the 
 street, accompanied by two or three stern-visaged 
 citizens. 
 
 " Well, by thunder ! " growled the officer, wiping his 
 forehead. " Somebody's been making a wholesale job 
 of it. Dick Hurdle's 'Jackie' and Bert Little's 
 * Prince' are dead as doornails. That makes three. 
 Now, who the hell, " 
 
 "Just a second, just a second," cried A. Lincoln 
 Pollock, elbowing his way into the thick of the new 
 group. "Let me get the facts. You first, Dick. 
 Where did you find your dog's remains? Now, take 
 it calm, Dick. Don't cuss like that. I can't print a 
 word of it, you know, not a word. Remember there 
 are ladies present, Dick. You've got to " 
 
 Mr. Hurdle said he didn't give a cuss if all the 
 women in town were present, he was going to say what
 
 SUSPICION 195 
 
 he thought of any blankety-blank, and so on at great 
 length, despite the fact that the ladies crowded even 
 a little closer, evidently reluctant to miss a word of his 
 just and unbridled blasphemy. 
 
 The occasion demanded the sonorous efficiency of 
 Mr. Richard Hurdle. In all Windomville there was 
 no one so well qualified to do justice to the situation 
 as he. (Later on, Charlie Webster was heard to re- 
 mark that " as long as these dogs had to be killed, it's 
 a great relief that Dick's was one of 'em, because he's 
 got the best pair of lungs in town. He can expand 
 his chest nearly seven inches, and when he fills all that 
 extra space up with words nobody ever even heard of 
 before, people clear over in Illinois have to rush out 
 and shoo their children into the house and keep 'em 
 there till it blows over.") 
 
 Doctor Smith came rattling up in his Ford, hopped 
 out, and started to enter the drug store. Catching sight 
 of the druggist in the crowd, he stopped to bawl out: 
 
 " Who's been buying prussic acid of you, Sam Fos- 
 ter? What do you mean by selling " 
 
 " I ain't sold a grain of prussic acid in ten years," 
 roared Mr. Foster. " Or any other kind of poison. 
 Don't you accuse me of " 
 
 "Anything new, Doc? Anything new?" cried the 
 editor of the Sun, rushing up to the doctor. 
 
 "They got that dog of Alix Crown's. I tried to 
 save him, but he was as good as dead when I got there. 
 Of all the damnable outrages " 
 
 "Miss Crown's dog?" cried Courtney, aghast. 
 " Good God ! Why, why, it will break her heart ! She 
 loved that dog ! Men ! We've got to find the scoundrel. 
 [We've got to fix him. He ought to be strung up. Has
 
 196 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 any one called Miss Crown up, Doctor? She is in the 
 city. She" 
 
 " Mrs. Strong called her up. The automobile started 
 for town fifteen or twenty minutes ago to bring her 
 home." 
 
 " Keep your shirt on, Court," warned Charlie Web- 
 ster. " You'll bust a blood vessel. Cool off ! There's 
 no use talkin' about getting him. Whoever it was that 
 planted these dog-buttons around town was slick enough 
 to cover up his tracks. We'll never find out who did it. 
 It's happened before, and the result is always the same. 
 Dead dogs tell no tales." 
 
 " But those two fellows I saw down at the corner 
 last night" 
 
 " Would you be able to identify them? " 
 
 " No, hang it all ! It was too dark. It was about 
 half-past nine. Why, earlier in the evening I was at 
 Miss Crown's. I saw the dog. He was on the terrace. 
 He growled at me, he always growled at me. He 
 didn't like me. Mrs. Strong came to the door and called 
 him into the house. I am sure he was all right then. 
 When is he supposed to have got the poison, Doctor? " 
 
 " This morning. She let him out of the house about 
 seven o'clock. Paid no attention to him till he came 
 crawling around to the kitchen door some time after- 
 ward. He just laid down and kicked a few times, i 
 that's what makes me think it was prussic acid. It 
 knocks 'em quick." 
 
 " Come on, Charlie," cried Courtney, clutching the 
 other's arm. " We must go up to the house. There 
 may be some trace, something that will give us a clue.'^ 
 
 He was at the house when the car returned without 
 Alix. She had sent the chauffeur back with instruc-
 
 SUSPICION 197 
 
 tions to bury the dog. She could not bear looking at 
 him. She wanted it to be all over with before she came 
 home. 
 
 " I don't blame her," said Charlie soberly. " Shows 
 how much she thought of Sergeant when she's willing 
 to pay five hundred dollars reward for the capture of 
 the man or men who poisoned him." 
 
 "Where did you hear that?" demanded Courtney, 
 surprised. 
 
 " Ed Stevens says she told him to authorize Bill 
 Foss to have reward notices struck off over at the Sun 
 office, offering five hundred cash. She always said that 
 'dog was the best friend she had on earth." 
 
 "But five hundred dollars! Why, good Lord, you 
 can buy a dozen police dogs for that amount of " 
 
 " You couldn't have bought Sergeant for ten times 
 five hundred," interrupted Charlie. " You see, as a 
 matter of fact, he didn't actually belong to Alix." 
 
 " You must be crazy. She has had him since he was 
 a puppy three months old." 
 
 " Sure. But, all the same, he didn't belong to her. 
 He belonged to David Strong. Davy got him in France 
 in the spring of 1918 and sent him clear over here for 
 his mother to take care of for him." 
 
 Courtney was silent for a moment. " It's strange 
 Miss Crown never told me this," he said, biting his lip. 
 
 " Well," said Charlie quaintly, " far as that goes, I 
 don't suppose it ever occurred to her to tell Sergeant 
 he belonged to somebody else, but even if she had I don't 
 reckon it would have made a darn' bit of difference to 
 him. He would have gone on loving her, just the same, 
 ! and workin' twenty-four hours a day for her, Sun- 
 clays and holidays included. A dog don't care who he
 
 198 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 belongs to, Court, but he's mighty darned particular 
 about who belongs to him." 
 
 " I can't understand why he never seemed to like me," 
 mused Courtney. 
 
 "Well, maybe," began Charlie soberly, " maybe, 
 after all, he did sort of know that he was Davy Strong's 
 dog." 
 
 II 
 
 For three days Windomville talked of nothing but 
 the " dog murders." The Sun came out on Thursday 
 with a long and graphic account of the mysterious af- 
 fairs of Monday night, including the views and the- 
 ories of well-known citizens. It also took occasion to 
 "lambast" Constable Foss with great severity. The 
 Constable, being a Republican, (and not a subscriber 
 to the Sun), was described as about the most incom- 
 petent official Windomville had ever known, and that 
 it would have been quite possible for the miscreant or 
 miscreants to have poisoned every dog in town, in broad 
 daylight, accompanied by a brass band, without Bill 
 ever " getting onto it." 
 
 It goes without saying that everybody in town was 
 stimulated to prodigious activity by the reward offered 
 by Miss Crown. Notices were stuck up in the postoffice 
 and on all the telephone poles. A great many em- 
 barrassing incidents resulted, and three fist-fights of 
 considerable violence occurred, for the gentlemen ac- 
 cused of the crimes took drastic and specific means of 
 establishing complete and satisfactory alibis. 
 
 Courtney Thane chafed under the prolonged absence 
 of Alix Crown. Valuable time was being wasted. He
 
 SUSPICION 199 
 
 had assisted at the burial of Sergeant, and had shed 
 tears with Mrs. Strong while Ed Stevens, the chauffeur, 
 was filling in the grave up back of the orchard; and 
 he had done further homage to the dead by planting 
 a small American flag at the head of the mound and, 
 as an afterthought, the flag of Belgium at the foot. 
 
 He felt that he had done very well by a dog that 
 would have torn him to pieces if encouraged by the 
 merest whisper of the words " sic 'im ! " 
 
 Alix returned late on Friday afternoon. He had a 
 box of roses, ordered from the city for him by Miss 
 Flora Grady, awaiting her, and with them a tender 
 little note of sympathy. 
 
 She sat for a long time with Mrs. Strong. Her dark 
 eyes softened and filled with tears as David's mother 
 gently stroked her hair and sought by words to con- 
 vince her that David would understand. 
 
 " It wasn't your fault, Alix darling," she protested. 
 " David won't mind, not in the least. Sergeant didn't 
 really mean anything to him. He was yours more than 
 he was David's. Don't you worry about David's feel- 
 ings, dear. He " 
 
 " You don't understand, Aunt Nancy, you don't 
 understand at all," Alix repeated over and over again 
 in her distress. 
 
 " You're just worrying yourself sick over it," said 
 the older woman. " Why, you look all tuckered out, 
 child, I was shocked when you first came in. Now, 
 don't be foolish, dear. I tell you it will be all right 
 with David. I wrote him all about it, and what's that 
 you are saying? " 
 
 " You don't suppose he will think I think I did it, 
 Aunt Nancy? " Alix whispered bleakly.
 
 200 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Think you for the land's sake, Alix, what on eartK 
 are you saying? Are you stark, staring crazy? You 
 come right upstairs and get into bed this minute. My 
 land, I I believe you're going to be sick. You've got 
 the queerest look in your eyes. Come on, now, deary, 
 and" 
 
 " I am sick, just sick with unhappiness, Aunt 
 Nancy," sobbed the girl. " You don't know, you 
 don't understand. Oh, he couldn't believe I would do- 
 such a thing as that! He couldn't think me so cruel> 
 and wicked and and spiteful." 
 
 "Now, listen to me," said Mrs. Strong sternly. 
 " What is the meaning of all this? What has happened 
 between you and David that makes you talk like this? 
 Tell me, tell me this minute, Alix Crown." 
 
 " Hasn't he told you written you about anything! '* 
 cried the girl. 
 
 " I don't know what you are driving at, Alix, but 
 whatever it is I know David hasn't got anything against 
 you that would make you say such things as you've 
 just been saying." She hesitated a moment and then 
 laid her hand on Alix's head. "I've been wondering 
 a whole lot of late, Alix. Have you and David had a - 
 a misunderstanding? " 
 
 We we don't like each other as as we used to, 
 Aunt Nancy," said the girl, lifting her head almost de- 
 fiantly to look David's mother full in the eyes. 
 
 "Is it David's fault?" asked Mrs. Strong after a 
 moment. 
 
 "I I wish you wouldn't ask me anything more 
 about it. At least, not now." 
 
 "Is it David's fault?" demanded the other once 
 more, insistently.
 
 SUSPICION 201 
 
 " I will say this much ; it isn't my fault," replied 
 Alix stiffly. 
 
 Mrs. Strong smiled, a tender, loving smile. 
 
 " I think I could straighten everything out if David 
 were only here," she said. " I would take you both 
 across my knee and give you a good sound spanking. It 
 used to work beautifully when you were children, and 
 I think it would work now. I I wonder if it would 
 help matters any if I were to spank No, I'm sure it 
 wouldn't. To do any good at all David would have 
 to be here to see me spanking you and to beg me to let 
 you off and give it to him just twice as hard." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Nancy," cried Alix eagerly, " if you only 
 would! How I wish I were a little girl again! And 
 David a little boy 1 " 
 
 Then she fled from the room. Nancy Strong put her 
 hand over her eyes and sighed. 
 
 " I wish David were here," she said to herself. " If 
 he were only here today." 
 
 During dinner that evening Alix was strangely re- 
 pressed. It was plain to Mrs. Strong that she was 
 inwardly agitated. After they left the table she be- 
 came visibly nervous. She was " fidgety," to speak the 
 thought of her perplexed companion. Time and again 
 she started and appeared to be listening intently, and 
 always there was a queer little expression in her eyes 
 as of expectancy. Once or twice Mrs. Strong surprised 
 a flash of anxiety, aye, even fear, in them. 
 
 " You haven't read your letters yet, Alix," she said 
 at last, seeking for some means to divert the girl's 
 thoughts. " There is quite a pile of them there on the 
 table." 
 
 " I don't feel like reading letters tonight," said Alix.
 
 202 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " They can wait till tomorrow." She arose, however, 
 and hurriedly ran through the pile. " I wrote to David 
 before dinner, Aunt Nancy," she said suddenly. " A 
 long letter about Sergeant's death. I wanted him to 
 know how miserably I feel about it." 
 
 " Bless your heart, he'll know that without your tell- 
 ing him, child. I am glad you wrote to him, however." 
 
 Alix came to a letter addressed in an unfamiliar 
 hand, a bold, masculine scrawl. The postmark was 
 Chicago. She tore it open. It began with "Dear 
 Alix." She quickly turned to the last page. It was 
 signed " Addison Blythe." A " thank you " letter, of 
 course. 
 
 Her back was to Mrs. Strong as she stood beside the 
 table, bending slightly forward to get the full light 
 from the library lamp. She read the letter through to 
 the end ; then she walked over to the fireplace and threw 
 it into the flames. Her face had lost every vestige of 
 colour : 
 
 DEAR ALIX: [it began] You will no doubt throw this 
 letter into the fire the instant you have finished reading it, 
 and you will hate me for having written it. Nevertheless, 
 I am doing so because I think it is my duty. I offer no 
 apology. I only ask you to believe that my intentions are 
 good. It is best to come straight to the point. I have 
 talked it all over with Mary and she approves of this let- 
 t-T. What I am about to sav still requires official con- 
 firmation. I do not speak with authority, you must under- 
 stand. I am merely giving you certain bits of information 
 I have obtained from men who were in France in 1915 and 
 1916. It rests with you to believe or disbelieve. In any 
 case, if you are wise, you will at least take the trouble to 
 investigate. I am at your service. If I can help you in
 
 SUSPICION 203 
 
 any way, please call upon me. If you desire it, I will 
 provide you with the names of at least three men who were 
 in Ambulance, all of whom have answered my letters of 
 inquiry. One of these men met Courtney Thane in Paris 
 in November, 1915. He was living at the Hotel Chatham 
 with his mother. She had a husband up at the front, 
 fighting with the French. This husband was a count or 
 something of the sort and a good many years her junior. 
 My informant writes me that young Thane, who drank a 
 great deal and talked quite freely of family affairs, told 
 him that his mother had married this young Frenchman a 
 few months before the war broke out and went to Paris 
 to live with him. He went so far as to say that the 
 Frenchman married her for her money and he hoped the 
 Germans would make a widow of her again before it was 
 too late. According to this chap, Thane had also been in 
 Paris since the beginning of the war. He spent money like 
 a drunken sailor and touched nothing but the high spots. 
 The second or third time he met him, Thane said he would 
 like to get into the Ambulance. His mother, however, was 
 bitterly opposed to his joining up. The last time he saw 
 him, he had on an Ambulance uniform and was as drunk 
 as a lord in one of the cafes. My friend had it straight 
 from fellows out at Neuilly that Thane hadn't worn the 
 uniform a week before it was taken away from him and he 
 was kicked out of the service in disgrace. 
 
 One of the other chaps has written me, saying that he 
 was at the base hospital when Thane was stripped of his 
 uniform. He was not a witness to this, but he heard other 
 fellows and the nurses talking about it. Not only was his 
 uniform taken away, but he was ordered to get out of Paris 
 at once. They heard afterward that he went to Madrid 
 with his mother. He was never at Pont-a-Mousson. It is 
 obvious that he was not in the Vosges sector, in view of the 
 fact that he lasted less than a week in the Ambulance, and 
 did a vast amount of carousing in a uniform that I revere.
 
 204 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 It is up to you, Alix. The records of the American 
 Ambulance are available. You can obtain all the informa- 
 tion you desire, and I beg of you to get into communication 
 with Mr. Hereford or Mr. Andrew or some other official at 
 once. I append below the addresses of several persons to 
 whom you may write. They were high in authority. They 
 will give you facts. 
 
 I was convinced that Thane was not on the level when I 
 met him that day. His stories did not jibe. I said nothing 
 to you at the time, because I could not be sure of my ground. 
 I think I am reasonably sure now. 
 
 I may add that I have written to Col. Andrew and 
 others on my own hook. If you care to see their replies, 
 when I get them, I shall send them to you. All you have 
 to do is to say the word. In any case, I ask you to believe 
 that my devotion and Mary's deep and honest love are the 
 excuse for this letter, which you may show to Mr. Thane 
 if you see fit. I have no right to question his statement 
 that he served in the Royal Air Force. I know nothing 
 to the contrary. I speak only of the Ambulance. I am, 
 dear Alix, 
 
 Yours devotedly, 
 
 ADDISON BLYTHE.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 
 
 MRS. STRONG, observing her pallor, arose 
 quickly and went to Alix's side. 
 " What is it, dear? " she cried. What was 
 in that letter? You are as white as a ghost." Receiv- 
 ing for answer a pitiful little smile that was not so 
 much a smile as a grimace of pain, she placed her hand 
 on the girl's shoulder. " Why did you destroy it? " 
 
 " I I don't know," murmured Alix through set, 
 rigid lips. 
 
 " Yes, you do know," said the other firmly. 
 
 Alix looked dumbly into her old friend's eyes for a 
 moment, and then her honest heart spoke : " I destroyed 
 it, Aunt Nancy, because I was afraid to read it again. 
 It was from Addison Blythe. He has been making in- 
 quiries concerning Courtney Thane. In that letter he 
 said things which, if true, make Courtney out to be a 
 most a most unworthy person." 
 
 She turned to look into the fire, her eyes narrowing. 
 The black, flaky remnants of the letter were still flut- 
 tering on the hearth. As she watched, the draft caught 
 them and sent them swirling up the chimney. 
 
 A high wind was blowing outside. It whistled mourn- 
 fully around the corners of the house. Somewhere on, 
 the floor above a door, buffeted by the wind from an, 
 open window, beat a slow and muffled measure against 
 its frame. 
 
 David's mother saw the colour slowly return to her 
 205
 
 206 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 companion's face. She waited. Something akin to joy 
 possessed her. She was afraid to speak for fear that 
 her voice would betray her. At last she said: 
 
 We know nothing about Mr. Thane except what 
 he has told us, Alix." 
 
 The girl looked searchingly into her eyes. 
 
 You do not like him, Aunt Nancy. I have felt ] 
 from the beginning. Is it because you are David's 
 mother? " 
 
 Mrs. Strong started. The direct question had struck 
 home. She was confused. 
 
 \vhy, Alix, I what a silly thing to ask. What 
 has David to do with it?" 
 
 Alix was still looking at her, broodingly. "Why 
 don't you like him, Aunt Nancy? " 
 
 " Have I ever said I didn't like him? " 
 
 " No. But I know. I know that Charlie Webster does 
 not like him. I knew that Addison did not like him." 
 
 Mrs. Strong could not resist the impulse to add: 
 " And Sergeant did not like him." 
 
 "And you think that convicts him?" said the girl, 
 half ironically. 
 
 " I have a good deal of faith in dogs," muttered Mrs. 
 Strong, flushing. 
 
 Alix's gaze went to the huge vase of roses on the 
 table. Then she turned quickly to look once more into 
 her companion's eyes. 
 
 "You believe that Courtney poisoned him, don't 
 you?" 
 
 " I have no more reason for believing it than you 
 have, Alix," returned Mrs. Strong calmly. 
 
 "Why, why do you say that?" cried the girl, 
 startled.
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 207 
 
 " Because you would not have asked the question if 
 you hadn't been well, wondering a little yourself, 
 Alix." 
 
 " Oh, I don't want to think it," cried Alix miser- 
 ably. " I don't want to think of it ! " 
 
 " No more do I want to think it. Listen to me, Alix. 
 I confess that I do not like this man. I have no way 
 of explaining my feeling toward him. He has always 
 been polite and agreeable to me. He has never done 
 a thing that I can call to mind that would set me 
 against him. Maybe it's because he is not of my world, 
 because he comes from a big city, because deep in his 
 heart he probably looks down on us Hoosiers. I will 
 go farther, Alix, and say that I do not trust him. That 
 is a nasty thing to say. It is none of my business, but 
 I I wish you did not like him so well, Alix." 
 
 '* It would appear that my friends are taking more 
 than an ordinary interest in my welfare," said Alix 
 slowly, and with some bitterness. " Is it possible that 
 you all believe me incapable of taking care of myself? " 
 
 " Smarter women than you, Alix Crown, have been 
 fooled by men," said the other sententiously. " Oh, I 
 don't mean the way you think, my child, so don't 
 glare at me like that. I know you can take care of 
 yourself that way, but how about falling in love? 
 And getting married? And finding out afterward that 
 roses don't grow on cactus plants? That's how women 
 are fooled, and you're no different from the rest of 
 us." 
 
 " I think, I am quite sure that he is in love with 
 me, Aunt Nancy," said Alix, somewhat irrelevantly. 
 There was no sign of gladness, however, nor of triumph, 
 in her dark, brooding eyes.
 
 208 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " That's easy to understand. The point is, Alix,-^ 
 are you in love with him?" 
 
 Alix did not answer at once. The little frown in her 
 eyes deepened. 
 
 " I don't think so, Aunt Nancy," she said at last. 
 " I don't believe it is love. That is what troubles me 
 so. It is something I cannot understand. I don't 
 know what has come over me. I will be honest with you, 
 and with myself. I do not really trust him. I don't 
 believe he is all that he claims to be. And yet, - 
 and yet, Aunt Nancy, I, I " 
 
 " Don't try to tell me," broke in the older woman 
 gently. " My only sister thought she was in love with 
 Terry Moore, a fellow who had been in the peniten- 
 tiary once for stealing, and was a drunkard, 8 gam- 
 bler, and a bad man with women, and all that. She was 
 crazy about him. She ran off with him and got mar- 
 ried. She never was in love with him, Alix. She hated 
 him after a few weeks. He just cast some kind of 
 a spell over her not a mental spell, you may, be sure. 
 It was something physical. He was slick and smart 
 and good looking, and he just made up his mind to 
 get her. A man can be awful nice when he has once 
 set his heart on getting a girl, and that's what fools 
 'em, great and small. All the mistakes are not made 
 by ignorant, scatter-brained girls, my dear. My father 
 used to say that the more sense a woman has, the more 
 likely she is to do something foolish. Now, Alix dear, 
 I know just how it is with you. Courtney Thane has 
 cast a spell over you. I believe in spells, same as the 
 old New Englander used to believe in witchcraft. You 
 don't love him, you don't actually believe in him. You
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 209 
 
 you are sort of like a bird that is being charmed by 
 a snake. It knows it ought to fly away and yet it can't, 
 because it's so interested in what the snake is going to 
 do next. Thane is attractive. He is, far as I know, 
 a gentleman. At any rate, he would pass for one, and 
 that's about all you can expect in these days. The 
 thought has entered both our minds that he put Ser- 
 geant out of the way. Well, my dear, I don't believe 
 either of us would ever dream of connecting him with 
 it if there wasn't something back in our minds that has 
 been asking questions of us ever since he came here. 
 You say you were afraid to read Mr. Blythe's letter 
 again. Does that mean you are afraid everything he 
 says is true? " 
 
 " Oh, I can't believe it, I must not allow myself to 
 even think it," cried the girl. " Why, if what Addi- 
 son says is true, Courtney Thane is not fit to There 
 must be some mistake, Aunt Nancy. There were two 
 men of the same name. I will not believe it! " 
 
 The two tall women stood tense and rigid, side by 
 side, their backs to the fire, gazing straight before them 
 down the lamp-lit room. 
 
 " Has Addison Blythe any reason for lying to you, 
 Alix? " asked the elder quietly. 
 
 " Of course not," Alix answered impatiently. u There 
 is some mistake, that's all." 
 
 " Do you mind telling me what he says? " 
 
 " Mr. Thane is coming to see me tonight," said the 
 girl, uneasily. " He may come at any moment now. 
 What time is it?" 
 
 " Ten minutes of eight. He never comes before half- 
 past." She waited a moment, and then went on de-
 
 210 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 liberately: "I always had an idea it was because he 
 wanted to be sure Sergeant was in the house and not 
 out in the yard." 
 
 Alix closed her eyes for a second or two, as if by 
 doing so it were possible to shut out the same thought 
 that had floated through Mrs. Strong's mind. 
 
 " But he need not be afraid of Sergeant now," she 
 said, with a little tremor in her voice. " He will come 
 earlier tonight." The unintentional sarcasm did not 
 escape Mrs. Strong. "Wait till tomorrow, Aunt 
 Nancy. Then I may tell you." 
 
 " You are trembling, dear. I wish you would let 
 me make your excuses to him when he comes. Don't 
 see him tonight. Let me tell him " 
 
 Alix turned squarely and faced her. There was a 
 harassed, haunted expression in her eyes, and yet 
 there was defiance. 
 
 " I stayed away five days," she said huskily. " For 
 five days I kept away from him. Then I I gave up. 
 I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to come home. 
 Now, you have the truth. I just simply had to see 
 him, Aunt Nancy, I just liad to." 
 
 " Then, then it is a spell," cried the other, dismay 
 in her voice. " You are not yourself, Alix. This is not 
 you who say these things." 
 
 "Oh, yes, it is!" cried the girl recklessly. "I 
 wanted to come home. I wanted to see him. I don't 
 love him, but I wanted to be with him. I don't trust 
 him, but here I am. Now you have it all ! I want to 
 see him ! " 
 
 Mrs. Strong was looking past her. She stared hard 
 at the window in the far end of the room, her eyes 
 narrowed, her chin thrust slightly forward. Then sud-
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 211 
 
 denly she clutched the girl's arm, her eyes now wide- 
 spread with alarm. 
 
 " Look ! " she whispered shrilly, pointing. 
 
 The flush faded from Alix's face ; the reckless, defiant 
 light left her eyes, and in its place came fear. 
 
 II 
 
 Plainly outlined in the window was the face of a 
 masked man. A narrow black mask, through which a 
 pair of eyes gleamed brightly. 
 
 The exposed lower portion of the face, save for the 
 heavily bearded upper lip, was ghastly white. Brief as 
 this glimpse was, they were able to see that he wore a 
 cap, pulled well down over his forehead. 
 
 For a few seconds the two women stood as if pet- 
 rified, their eyes wide and staring, their hearts cold, 
 their tongues paralyzed. They were gazing straight 
 into his shining eyes. Suddenly he turned his head 
 for a quick, startled glance over his shoulder. The next 
 instant he was gone, vanishing in the blackness that 
 hung behind him like the magician's curtain in a thea- 
 tre. They heard rapid footsteps on the veranda, the 
 crash of a chair overturned, then a loud shout, and 
 again the sound of flying footsteps across the brick- 
 paved terrace. Another shout, and still another, far- 
 ther away. 
 
 " Quick ! " screamed Alix, the first to recover her 
 voice. " The telephone! Call the drug store. Bill Foss 
 is there." 
 
 She ran swiftly out into the hall. 
 
 " Come back ! " cried Mrs. Strong. " What are you 
 doing? Don't open that door ! He's got a pistol, 
 Alix!"
 
 212 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Even as she spoke, the report of a pistol shot came 
 to their ears. As Alix stopped short, her hand out- 
 stretched to clutch the door knob, a second report came. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " she cried. " He has killed Court- 
 ney ! He has shot Courtney ! " 
 
 By this time, her companion had reached her side. 
 She dragged her back from the door. 
 
 "Killed Courtney? What's the matter with you? 
 Why do you say he has killed " 
 
 "Don't you see can't you understand? It was 
 Courtney who surprised him. That's why he ran. He 
 shot, oh, let go of me ! Let go of me, I say ! " 
 
 "I'll do nothing of the sort," cried Mrs. Strong. 
 " Do you want to get shot ? Come away from this 
 door!" 
 
 A door slammed against the wall at the back of the 
 house. Some one came running through the dining- 
 room. First the cook, then the little waitress, dashed 
 into the hall. 
 
 " Wha-what is it? What's the matter? " shouted the 
 former. " What was that shootin' " 
 
 " Where is Stevens ? " demanded Mrs. Strong, as she 
 fairly pushed Alix into the living-room. " Call him ! 
 Isn't he out there in " 
 
 " He went out, half hour ago, out," stuttered the 
 waitress. "Who's been what's happened to Miss 
 Alix?" 
 
 "Nothing! Go and yell for Ed! Thieves! On the 
 porch. Don't stand there, Hilda. Go out back and 
 scream ! " 
 
 "Oh, my God! Ed's killed! He's been shot! My 
 husband's been shot ! " It was the cook who sent this 
 lamentation to the very roof of the house.
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 213 
 
 Mrs. Strong whispered fiercely in Alix's ear: " That's 
 it! Ed is the one who surprised him. Courtney noth- 
 ing! Now, you stay here! I'll telephone. Don't you 
 dare go outside, Alix Crown. A stray bullet " 
 
 Far away sounded the third shot, muffled by dis- 
 tance and the shriek of the wind. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Strong was off somewhere trying to telephone. 
 Shrill voices, out back, were screaming. Alix stood 
 alone in the middle of the long room, staring at the 
 window in which the sinister face had appeared. She 
 had not moved in what seemed to be an age. A strange, 
 incredible thing was creeping through her mind, a 
 thought that was not a part of her, something that 
 seemed to shape itself outside of her brain and force 
 its way in to crowd out the fear and anxiety that had 
 gripped her but a few short moments before. 
 
 What would it mean to her if Courtney Thane were 
 dead out there in the night? 
 
 It was not the question but the answer that fixed 
 itself in her mind. She was unconscious of the one, 
 but vividly aware of the other. His death would mean 
 emancipation ! For one brief instant she actually 
 longed for the word that he was dead! The reaction 
 was swift, overwhelming. 
 
 " God ! " she gasped, shutting her eyes and clench- 
 ing her hands in an ecstasy of revulsion. " What a 
 beast, what a horrible beast I am ! What a coward ! " 
 
 Her knees trembled ; an icy perspiration seemed to 
 start out all over her body. She had wished him dead ! 
 She had grasped at that as the solution! Her heart 
 had leaped joyously! It was as if some great weight 
 suddenly had been lifted from it. Now she was numb 
 with horror. What devilish power had taken posses-
 
 214 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 sion of her in that brief, soul-destroying instant? She 
 shuddered. She was afraid to open her eyes. She 
 reached out with her hand for the support of the table. 
 She had longed for some one to come and tell her 
 that he was dead ! 
 
 Some one was pounding on the outer door. She had 
 a dim, vague impression that this pounding had been 
 going on for some time. A sort of paralysis benumbed 
 her sensibilities. Her eyes were now wide open, star- 
 ing. Had her wish come true? Was some one come 
 to tell her that her horrible wish had come true? Sud- 
 denly the fetters fell away. She rushed frantically to 
 the door and turned the knob. The driving wind flung 
 it open with a force that almost swept her off her feet. 
 
 Thane stood on the threshold, hatless, panting. The 
 light from the hall, falling upon his face, revealed a 
 long red stain that ran from temple to chin. As she 
 drew back, alarmed, he staggered into the hall, limping 
 painfully, and pushed the door shut behind him. 
 
 " Oh ! " she gasped. 
 
 He shot a swift, searching glance down the hall and 
 into the living-room. Then he held out his arms to 
 her. She was gazing spell-bound into his eager, shin- 
 ing eyes. He waited. She came to him as if drawn 
 by some overpowering magnet. His arms closed about 
 her. . . . She was crushed against his body, she 
 seemed a part of him. His arms were like smothering 
 coils that pressed the life out of her; his hungry lips 
 were fastened upon hers, hot and lustful. 
 
 Presently she began to struggle. Shame, a vast, 
 
 sickening shame, possessed her. She was conscious 
 
 the wild, increasing lust that mastered him. She 
 
 tried to tear herself from contact with his body, as
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 215 
 
 from something base, unclean, revolting. His kisses 
 held her. She was powerless to resist the passion that 
 swept over her. Once more she surrendered, and then 
 came the shame, the overwhelming shame. She was de- 
 based, defiled ! She put her hand to his face and pushed 
 frantically to release herself from those consuming, 
 unholy lips. 
 
 Suddenly he freed her, and sprang back, panting but 
 triumphant. She heard him whisper, hoarsely, rap- 
 turously : 
 
 "God!" 
 
 Some one was coming. He had caught the sound of 
 footsteps, somewhere. Alix sank breathless, rigid, 
 almost fainting, upon the hall-seat. 
 
 " Darling ! " he whispered passionately. She half 
 arose, caught once more by the irresistible spell that 
 had first swept her into his embrace. He shook his 
 head. Then she heard him speak. He was looking past 
 her. 
 
 " I'm all right, Mrs. Strong. Don't mind me. Tele- 
 phone for help." 
 
 " I have telephoned," cried Mrs. Strong, coming to- 
 ward them quickly. " Help is coming. Good heavens ! 
 You are bleeding ! Were you hit ? " 
 
 III 
 
 The question aroused Alix. She was aware of some- 
 thing wet and sticky on the palm of her hand. She 
 looked. It was covered with blood. Then she remem- 
 bered putting her hand against his cheek. As if fas- 
 cinated she stared for a second or two before her wits 
 returned. Mrs. Strong must not see that bloody hand.
 
 216 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 She would know! Guiltily she clenched her fingers 
 again and thrust her hand behind her back. She shud- 
 dered at the feel of the moist, sticky substance, and 
 turned suddenly sick. Her one thought was to get to 
 her room where she could wash away the tell-tale evi- 
 dence. Again she heard him speaking, and hung on 
 
 his words. . 
 
 Nothing but a scratch. I fell while chasing him. 
 He got the start of me. My overcoat bothered me. 
 I got it off, but not in time. It's out there somewhere. 
 My rotten old leg is the worst. I twisted it when I 
 jumped over the fence. That's when I fell. Tripped 
 over some bushes or something. I was gaining on him. 
 Up in the woods, you see. He was making for the 
 road above. Oh, if this leg of mine was any good, I 
 would have " He broke off short to grip his knee 
 with both hands, his face twitching with pain. The sen- 
 tences came jerkily, breathlessly. 
 
 " Send for Dr. Smith ! " Alix cried out suddenly. " Be 
 quick! He has been shot, I know he has been shot. 
 Go" 
 
 " It's a scratch, I tell you, Alix," he protested. " He 
 didn't get me. He fired at me, but it was dark. I'm 
 all right. There is no time to lose. If they get after 
 him at once they'll catch him. I can show them which 
 way he went. Where the devil are they? We ought 
 to have every man in town out there in the woods. Did 
 you tell 'em to bring guns? He's armed. He " 
 
 " You are hurt," cried Alix. " You must have the 
 doctor. Oh, for heaven's sake, do something! " The 
 last was directed impatiently to Mrs. Strong. 
 
 " I'll give him a basin of water, and some court 
 plaster," said the older woman, who had looked closely
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 217 
 
 at the scratch on the young man's cheek. " It doesn't 
 amount to anything, if that's all, Mr. Thane? " 
 
 "That's all, except my knee, and that will be all 
 right in a few minutes. Let me sit down here a minute. 
 Not in there, I'm covered with dirt and burrs and, 
 I might get some of this filthy blood on, that's all 
 right, Mrs. Strong, thank you. I'll be able to go out 
 with the gang as soon as they come. Gad ! It's going 
 to be great sport. Man-hunting ! " 
 
 Alix was leaning against the end of the hall-seat, 
 watching him as if fascinated. He bent an ardent, sig- 
 nificant look upon her, and her eyes widened slightly 
 under the contact. 
 
 " I'll get some water ready for you in the kitchen, 
 and* a " began Mrs. Strong, but Alix, suddenly alive, 
 intercepted her with a cry. 
 
 " No ! I will go, Aunt Nancy, I insist ! " And 
 before Mrs. Strong could offer a word of protest, she 
 flashed past her and was running up the stairs. 
 
 A look of chagrin leaped into Courtney's eyes. He 
 had counted on another minute or two alone with her. 
 Under his breath he muttered an oath. 
 
 Alix's bedroom door opened and closed. Mrs. Strong 
 was still looking in astonishment up the staircase. 
 
 " I she's pretty badly upset, Mr. Thane," she said 
 at last. " That face in the window, and everything." 
 
 " Good Lord, you don't mean to say you saw 
 him?". 
 
 " Yes, looking in that window over there. Only 
 for a second. You must have scared him away." 
 
 " Then, by George, you can identify him ! " 
 
 " He had a mask on. Didn't you see his face? " 
 
 " No. It was dark. Masked, you say. That's bad.
 
 218 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 It will be hard to swear Still, I saw his figure. 
 Short, heavy fellow. Wore a cap." 
 
 She continued to look anxiously up the stairs. 
 
 " Wait here," she said shortly. " I must go up to 
 her. Go to the kitchen if you like, and wash the blood 
 off. I'll be back in a jiffy." 
 
 He waited till she was out of sight, and then limped 
 into the living-room, but with a swiftness incredible 
 in one with a twisted knee. Going direct to the fire- 
 place, he took something out of his coat pocket and, 
 after a glance at door and window, quickly consigned 
 it to the flames. A small black object it was, that 
 crumpled softly in his palm and was consumed in a 
 flash by the flames. A moment later he entered the 
 kitchen, bringing consternation to the two excited do- 
 mestics, both of whom sent up cries of alarm at the 
 sight of his bloody face. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Strong had surprised Alix in her 
 bathroom, frantically washing her hands. She looked 
 up and saw the housekeeper standing in the door be- 
 hind her. The bowl was half full of reddish water. The 
 expression of disgust in her eyes remained for a mo- 
 ment and then gave way to confusion. Neither spoke 
 for some time. 
 
 " What are you doing? " asked Mrs. Strong. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Nancy ! " came in a choked voice from the 
 girl's lips. 
 
 "Is that blood?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Alix, looking away. 
 
 " I I understand. Oh, Alix, Alix. ! " 
 
 "I don't know what made me do it, I couldn't 
 help myself. I Oh, it was terrible! I don't love 
 him, I don't love him! As long as I live, as long
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 219 
 
 as I live, I shall never forget it. I shall never know 
 anything like it again. I could feel my soul being 
 dragged out of my body, Oh, Aunt Nancy ! What 
 am I to do? What is to become of me? " 
 
 " There's only one thing for you to do now," said 
 the other, slowly, levelly. " Stay in this room. Lock 
 the door. Don't see him again. Keep away from him. 
 He's he's bad, Alix!" 
 
 " But he is not a coward ! " cried the girl eagerly. 
 " He followed that man, he chased him, he was shot 
 at, that is not what a coward would do. Addison 
 Blythe is mistaken. Those men are mistaken. He " 
 
 " I hear people downstairs, and out in the yard. 
 You must obey me, Alix. You must not see him again 
 tonight. God in heaven, what kind of a spell has he 
 cast upon you? The spell of the devil! Child, child, 
 don't you understand? That's what it is. The spell 
 that makes women helpless ! Stay here ! I will send 
 Hilda up to you." 
 
 "Why do you blame him for everything?" cried 
 the girl hotly. " Doesn't a woman ever cast this spell 
 you speak of? What defence has a man against " 
 
 " Do you call yourself an evil woman ? Nonsense ! 
 Dont talk like that. I am not blaming him. He can't 
 help himself. He loves you. That's not his fault. 
 But you do not love him. You are afraid of him. 
 You would run from him if you could. He must go 
 away. You must send him away. Tell him of Blythe's 
 letter. Face him with it. Tomorrow, not tonight. 
 You are not yourself tonight. Trust me, dearest Alix. 
 Do as I tell you. Promise." 
 
 " I will not come down," said Alix slowly, and Mrs. 
 Strong went out. She heard the key turn in the door.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ROSABEL 
 
 ALL night long bands of men scoured the woods 
 and fields, with lanterns and dogs and guns. 
 Courtney Thane, thrilled by that one glorious, 
 overpowering moment of contact, sallied forth with the 
 first of the searchers. He showed them where the 
 masked man vaulted over the porch rail, and the course 
 he took in crossing the terrace, below which Courtney's 
 coat was found where he had cast it aside at the be- 
 ginning of the chase. The first shot was fired as the 
 man climbed over the fence separating the old-fashioned 
 garden from the wooded district to the west, the sec- 
 ond following almost immediately. Thane was over the 
 fence and picking himself up from the ground after 
 tripping when the last shot was fired. He ran forty 
 or fifty yards farther on and then his knee gave out. 
 Realizing that pursuit was useless under the circum- 
 stances, he hurried back to the house to give the alarm. 
 It appears that he first saw the man as he was near- 
 ing the top of the steps leading to the terrace. The 
 fellow's figure, in a crouching position, was distinctly 
 outlined against the lighted window. 
 
 " Kind of a funny time for a robber to be monkeyin' 
 around a house," said Charlie Webster, after Courtney 
 had concluded his brief story. " Eight o'clock is no 
 time to figure on breaking into a house." 
 
 "He probably figured that the occupants would be 
 220
 
 ROSABEL 221 
 
 at dinner," said Courtney. " Or maybe he was getting 
 the lay of the land while there were lights to guide him. 
 That is most likely the case. Lord, how I wish I had 
 had a gun ! " 
 
 " Maybe it's lucky you didn't," said Charlie. " Guns 
 are pretty treacherous things to monkey with, Court. 
 You might have shot yourself." 
 
 " Oh, I guess I know how to handle a gun, Charlie," 
 retorted Thane, after a perceptible pause. 
 
 " Anyhow," remarked Constable Foss, " we now know 
 why that dog of Alix's was killed. This robber had 
 things purty well sized up. He knowed he had to fix 
 that dog first of all, and that goes to show another 
 thing. He is purty well posted around these parts. 
 He knowed all about that dog. He ain't no tramp or 
 common stranger. The chances are he ain't even a 
 perfessional burglar. Maybe some dago, or, by gosh, 
 somebody we all know." 
 
 A chosen group waited at the roadside above the 
 Windom place for automobiles which were to be used 
 in the attempt to head off the invader. This was 
 Courtney's idea. He suggested a wide cordon of ma- 
 chines and men as the only means of cutting off the 
 fellow's escape. 
 
 " You're not likely to get anywhere, Foss, by keep- 
 ing up a stern chase," he argued. " He has got too big 
 a lead Our only chance is to rush a lot of men out 
 ahead of him in cars, and then work back through the 
 woods." 
 
 A boy came up with Courtney's fedora hat, which he 
 had picked up in the brush near the fence. 
 
 " There's a bullet hole through it, Mr. Thane," he 
 cried in great excitement. " Lookee here ! "
 
 222 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Sure enough there was a hole in the crown of the hat. 
 
 " Whew ! " whistled Courtney, staring at the hat 
 blankly. "I never dreamed Why, good Lord, a 
 couple of inches lower and he'd have got me. I remem- 
 ber my hat blowing off as I got up, but I thought it was 
 the wind. Where did you find it, kid? " 
 
 " Back there by the fence." 
 
 " We must have that hat for evidence," said the 
 constable. " Shows the calibre of the bullet, and all 
 that. Bring it down to the office in the morning, Mr. 
 Thane. Better put it on now. You'll ketch cold out 
 here bareheaded." 
 
 By this time the lane and grounds were alive with 
 excited people, men, women and children. Several 
 automobiles approached, sounding their horns. Men 
 were shouting directions, dogs were barking, small chil- 
 dren were squalling lustily. Shadowy, indistinct figures 
 scuttled through the darkness, here and there coming 
 into bold relief as they passed before the lamps of 
 automobiles or entered the radius of light shed by an 
 occasional lantern. Half the town was already on the 
 scene, and the belated remainder was either on the way 
 or grimly guarding cash drawers in empty, deserted 
 stores. 
 
 Courtney reluctantly announced that he did not feel 
 up to accompanying the searchers, his leg was bother- 
 ing him so. No, he didn't need a doctor. The con- 
 founded thing simply gave out on him whenever he got 
 the least bit reckless, but it seldom if ever amounted to 
 anything. Only made him realize that he couldn't " get 
 gay" with it. He'd be all right in a day or two. 
 Hobble a little, that's all, like a lame dog. More 
 scared than hurt, you know, etc., etc.
 
 ROSABEL 223 
 
 He picked his way through the ever-increasing crowd 
 of agitated people, avoiding rampant automobiles and 
 inquisitive citizens with equal skill, and approached 
 Alix's gate. His blood was rioting. The memory of 
 that triumphant moment when her warm body lay in 
 his arms, when her lips were his, when his eager 
 hand pressed the firm, round breast, ah, the memory 
 of it all set fire to his blood. She had come to him, she 
 had clung to him, she had kissed him ! He had won f 
 She was his ! He must see her again tonight, hold her 
 once more in his arms, drink of the rapture that came 
 through her lips, caress the throbbing heart she had 
 surrendered to him. Anticipation sent the blood rush- 
 ing to his head. He grew strangely dizzy. He nar- 
 rowly escaped being struck by a car. 
 
 " The darned fools 1 " he muttered, as he leaped aside 
 into the shallow ditch. 
 
 A figure separated itself from a group near the gate 
 and approached him. There were no lights near and 
 the lane was dark. He could not see the face of the 
 woman who halted directly in front of him, barring 
 the path. 
 
 " It is I, Courtney, Rosabel," came in low, tremu- 
 lous tones. 
 
 He stood stockstill, peering intently. 
 
 " Rosabel ! " he repeated vacantly. 
 
 " I I saw you. The auto lamp shone on your 
 face." 
 
 Her teeth were chattering. Her voice was little 
 more than a whisper. 
 
 " You you poor child! " he cried. " What are you 
 doing here? How do you happen to be " 
 
 " I came over to spend the night with Annie Jordan.
 
 224 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 I I do that quite often, Courtney. Aren't aren't 
 you ever coming to see me again ? " 
 
 " I was planning to come over tomorrow, Rosie, to- 
 morrow sure. I've been meaning to run over to your 
 house " 
 
 " I I thought you had forgotten all about us," she 
 broke in, pathetically. " You wouldn't do that, would 
 you? Didn't you get my letters? I wrote four or five 
 times and you never answered. You you haven't 
 forgotten, have you ? " 
 
 " Bless your heart, no ! I should say not. I've been 
 so busy. Working like a dog on my book. The one 
 we talked about, Rosie. The story of my experiences 
 over in France, you know." 
 
 "Oh, Courtney, are you really, truly writing it?" 
 she cried eagerly. 
 
 " Sure," he replied. " It's a tough job, believe me. 
 I've been so busy I haven't even had time to write let- 
 ters. Mother complains that I never write to her. Dear 
 old mater, I ought to be kicked for neglecting her. 
 Stacks of unanswered letters. Really, it's appalling. 
 But I've just got to finish this work. The publisher 
 wants it before Christmas." 
 
 " You promised to read it to me as you wrote it, 
 Courtney," she murmured wistfully. " Don't you 
 remember ? " 
 
 " Just as soon as I've got it in little better shape, 
 Rosie. You see, it's an awful mess now. I'm trying 
 so hard to concentrate. It would be different if I were 
 an experienced writer. But I'm a terrible duffer, you 
 know. The least little thing throws mo off. I "" 
 
 " I wouldn't interfere for the world, Courtney. I 
 will wait. I don't want to bother you. Please don't
 
 ROSABEL 225 
 
 think about reading it to me now. But, oh, Court- 
 ney, I have wanted to see you so much. You will come 
 over, won't you. Or would you rather have me 
 come " 
 
 " I'll be over, Rosie, tomorrow," he said hastily. 
 " Or the day after, sure. I'm all done up. I can hardly 
 stand on this leg. Did they tell you? I chased the 
 robber up through the woods. Had a bad fall. Bunged 
 up this rotten old knee again." 
 
 " You poor boy," she cried. " Yes, I heard them 
 talking about how brave you were. And he shot at 
 you, too. I saw the plaster on your face when the light 
 shone on it a while ago. I was frightened. I forgot 
 to ask you how bad it is. I forgot everything but 
 but just speaking to you. Is it dangerous? Is it a 
 bad wound? " 
 
 " I don't know. The doctor is waiting for me up at 
 Miss Crown's. They sent me back, the other fellows 
 did. I wanted to go with the gang, but I was weak 
 and Oh, I'll be all right. Don't you worry, little 
 girl. Dr. Smith may slap me into bed, 
 
 " You must not be foolish, Courtney. Do what the 
 doctor says. You must get well oh, you must get 
 well!" 
 
 She had come quite close to him and was peering at 
 his face. Even in the darkness he could see her big, 
 dark eyes. Her teeth no longer chattered, but there 
 was a perilous quaver in her low, tense voice. She put 
 out a hand to touch him. He drew back. 
 
 " I'll be as fit as a fiddle in no time at all," he said 
 hurriedly. " See you tomorrow, Rosie, or as soon as 
 the blamed old doctor turns me loose. I've got to be 
 on my way now. He's waiting for me up there. May
 
 226 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 have to put a stitch in my mug, and yank my leg 
 like the devil, but " 
 
 She still blocked his path. 
 
 " Courtney, I'm I'm terribly unhappy. I want to 
 see you, very soon." 
 
 " I hear you have been ill, Rosie. Some one was tell- 
 ing me you were looking thin and and all that sort of 
 thing. I hope you're feeling better." 
 
 She waited a moment. When she spoke it was with 
 difficulty. 
 
 " I'm awfully worried, Courtney," she cried, her 
 voice little more than a whisper. He was silent, so after 
 a little while she went on: "I wish I could die, I wish 
 I could die ! " 
 
 " Come, come ! " he said reassuringly. " You must 
 not talk like that, Rosie. Cheer up! You're too young 
 to talk about dying. Think what I've been through, 
 and I'm still alive! I'll run over tomorrow, or next 
 day, and try to cheer you up a bit, little girl. So 
 long. I've got to see the doctor. I'm I'm suffering 
 like the dickens." 
 
 " 1 mustn't keep you, Courtney," she murmured, 
 stepping aside to let him pass. " Good night ! You 
 you Kitt come, won't you? Sure? " 
 
 " Sure ! " he replied, and limped painfully away. 
 
 A little later Annie Jordan found her standing be- 
 side the road, where he had left her. She was looking 
 up at the brightly lighted house at the top of the lane. 
 
 " Goodness ! " cried Annie. " I thought you were 
 lost, Rosie. Where on earth have you been ? " 
 
 '* Maybe I am lost," replied the girl, and Annie, 
 failing to see anything cryptic in the words, laughed 
 gaily at the quaintness of them.
 
 ROSABEL 227 
 
 " Come on," she said, thrusting her arm through 
 Rosabel's, " let's go back home. There's nothing doing 
 here. And that wind cuts through one like a knife. 
 Gee, it's fierce, isn't it?" 
 
 " I don't want to go in yet," protested Rosabel, 
 hanging back. " Let's wait awhile. Let's wait till 
 Dr. Smith comes out. He's up there with with Alix 
 Crown. Maybe he can tell us how " 
 
 " Doc Smith isn't up there. He's gone up the road 
 in his car with Dick Hurdle and why, Rosie, you're 
 shivering like a leaf. Have you got a chill? Come on 
 home. We'll have Dr. Smith in as soon as he gets 
 back to " 
 
 " I don't want the doctor," cried Rosabel fiercely. 
 " I won't have one, I tell you. I won't have one ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 SHADOWS 
 
 GREATLY to Courtney's chagrin, his triumphal 
 progress was summarily checked when he pre- 
 sented himself at the door. He could hardly 
 believe his ears. Miss Crown was in her room and 
 would not be able to see any one that night. She was 
 .very nervous and " upset," explained the maid, and 
 had given orders to admit no one. Of course, Hilda 
 went on to say, if Mr. Thane wanted to come in and 
 rest himself, or if there was anything she or the cook 
 could do for him, but Courtney brusquely interrupted 
 her to say that he was sure Miss Crown did not mean 
 to exclude him, and directed Hilda to take word up to 
 her that he was downstairs. 
 
 " It won't do any good," said Hilda, who was direct 
 to say the least. " She's gone to bed. My orders is 
 not to disturb her." 
 
 "Are they her orders or Mrs. Strong's orders?" 
 (demanded Courtney, driven to exasperation. 
 
 " All I can say, sir, is they're my orders, sir," re- 
 plied Hilda, quite succinctly. 
 
 "All right," said he curtly. Then, as an after- 
 thought : " Please say that I stopped in to see if I could 
 be of any further service to Miss Crown, will you, 
 Hilda?" 
 
 He was very much crestfallen as he made his way 
 228
 
 SHADOWS 229 
 
 down the steps to the lane. This wasn't at all what 
 he had expected. 
 
 There were a number of people near the gate. In- 
 stead of going directly down the walk, he turned to the 
 right at the bottom of the terrace and cut diagonally 
 across the lawn. Coming to one of the big oaks he sat 
 down for a moment on the rustic seat that encircled 
 its base. Sheltered from the wind he managed to strike 
 a match and light a cigarette. Assured that no one 
 was near, he leaned over and felt with his hand under 
 the bench. His fingerg closed upon an object wedged 
 between the seat and one of the slanting supports. 
 Quickly withdrawing it, he dropped it into his over- 
 coat pocket, and, after a moment, resumed his progress, 
 making for the carriage gate in the left lower corner of 
 the grounds. 
 
 He had a sharp eye out for Rosabel Vick. He heard 
 Annie Jordan's high-pitched voice in the road ahead 
 of him and slackened his pace, In due time he limped 
 up the steps of Dowd's Tavern, 
 
 Several women were in the " lounge," chattering like 
 magpies in front of the fire. There were no men about. 
 He went in and for ten minutes listened to the singing 
 of his praises. Then, requesting a pitcher of hot water, 
 he hobbled upstairs, politely declining not only the 
 Misses Dowd's offer to bathe and bandage his heroic 
 knee, but Miss Grady's bottle of witchhazel, Miss Mil- 
 ler's tube of Baumc Analgesique and old Mrs. Nichols* 
 infallible remedy for qvery ailment under the sun, 
 a flaxseed poultice. 
 
 The first thing he did on entering his room was to 
 open his trunk and deposit therein the shiny object lie 
 had recovered from its hiding-place under the tree-seat.
 
 230 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Before hanging his hat on the clothes-tree in the corner 
 of the room, he thoughtfully examined the bullet hole 
 in the crown. 
 
 " Thirty-eight calibre, all right," he reflected. Pok- 
 ing his forefinger through the hole, he enlarged it to 
 some extent. "More like a forty-four now," he said 
 in a satisfied tone. 
 
 Margaret Slattery brought up the hot water and 
 some fresh firewood for his stove, in which the fire 
 burned low. 
 
 " Would you be liking a drink of whiskey, Mr. 
 Thane?" she inquired, with a stealthy look over her 
 shoulder. "You're all done up, and half-frozen, I 
 guess." 
 
 "Whiskey?" he exclaimed. "There ain't no sitch 
 animal," he lamented dolefully. 
 
 " Miss Jennie's got some cooking brandy stuck away 
 in the cellar," whispered Margaret. " We use it at 
 Christmas time, for the plum pudding, you know. I 
 guess it's the same thing as whiskey, ain't it?" 
 
 " Well, hardly. Still, I think I could do with a nip 
 of it, Maggie." 
 
 " I'll see what I can do," said Margaret, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 She did not return, for the very good reason that 
 Miss Jennie apprehended her in the aet of pouring 
 something from a dark brown bottle into a brand new 
 fruit jar. 
 
 "What are you doing there, Maggie?" demanded 
 Miss Dowd from the foot of the cellar stairs. 
 
 Miss Slattery's back was toward her at the time. She 
 was startled into hunching it slightly, as if expecting 
 the lash of a whip, an attitude of rigidity maintained
 
 SHADOWS 231 
 
 during the brief period in which her heart suspended 
 action altogether. 
 
 " I'm I'm getting some vinegar for Mr. Thane to 
 gargle with, Miss Jennie," she mumbled. " He's he's 
 got a sore throat." 
 
 " Let me smell that stuff, Maggie," said Miss Jennie 
 sternly. One sniff was sufficient. " You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself, Margaret Slattery, leading a 
 young man into temptation like this. You may be 
 starting him on the road to perdition. It is just such 
 things as this that " 
 
 " Oh, gosh ! " exclaimed Margaret, recovering her- 
 self. " Don't you go thinking he's as good as all that. 
 From what he was telling me at breakfast the other 
 day, he used to make the round trip to purgatory every 
 night or so, only he said it was paradise. Keep your 
 old brandy. He wouldn't like it anyway. Not him! 
 He says he's swallered enough champagne to float the 
 whole American Navy." 
 
 " The very idea ! " exclaimed Miss Jennie. " Go to 
 your room, Maggie. It's bad enough for you to be 
 stealing but when you make it worse by lying, I " 
 
 " I'm quitting you in the morning," said Margaret, 
 her Irish up. 
 
 " It won't be the first time," said Miss Jennie, im- 
 perturbably. 
 
 Courtney sat for a long time before the booming 
 little stove. He forgot Margaret Slattery and her 
 mission. 
 
 " I guess it took her off her feet," he reflected aloud. 
 " That's the way with some of them. They get pan- 
 icky. Go all to pieces when they find out what it really 
 means to let go of themselves. God! She's wonder-
 
 232 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 ful ! " He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes ; 
 a smile settled on his lips. For a long time he sat 
 there, fondling the memory of that blissful moment. A 
 slight frown made its appearance after a while. He 
 opened his eyes. His thoughts had veered. " What 
 rotten luck ! If it could only have been Alix instead of 
 that " He arose abruptly and began pacing the 
 floor. After a long time he sighed resignedly. "I 
 mustn't forget to telephone her tomorrow." Then he 
 began to undress for bed. 
 
 He looked at his knee. There was a deep, irregular 
 scar on the outside of the leg, while on the inside a 
 knuckle-like protuberance of considerable size provided 
 ample evidence of a badly shattered joint, long since 
 healed. Along the thigh there was another wicked 
 looking scar, with several smaller streaks and blemishes 
 of a less pronounced character. He placed some hot 
 compresses on the joint, gave it a vigorous massage, 
 and, before getting into bed, worked it up and down 
 for several minutes. 
 
 "Clumsy ass!" he muttered. "Next time you'll 
 watch your step. Don't go jumping over fences in the 
 dork. Gad, for a couple of minutes I thought I'd put 
 it on the blink for keeps." 
 
 The next morning, up in the woods above Alix's 
 house, the crude black mask was found, and some dis- 
 tance farther on an old grey cap, from which the lining 
 and sweatband had been ripped. The search for the 
 man, however, was fruitless. Constable Foss visited 
 the camp of a gang of Italian railroad labourers near 
 Hawkins and was reported to be bringing several in- 
 dignant " dagoes " over to Windomville to see if Court-
 
 SHADOWS 233 
 
 ney or the two ladies could identify them. He was very 
 careful to choose men with thick black moustaches. 
 
 Bright and early, Courtney repaired to the house on 
 the hill. His progress was slow. Aside from the effort 
 it cost him to walk, he was delayed all along the route 
 by anxious, perturbed citizens who either complimented 
 him on his bravery or advised him to " look out for that 
 cut " on his cheek, or he'd have " a tough time if blood- 
 poisoning set in." 
 
 Mrs. Strong admitted him. 
 
 " Well, when will she be able to see me? " he de- 
 manded on being informed that Alix was in no con- 
 dition to see any one. 
 
 " I can't say," said Mrs. Strong shortly. 
 
 *' Have you had the doctor in to see her? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Well, that's rather strange, isn't it?" 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Thane. She isn't ill. She has had 
 a shock, same as I have, had, and she'll get over it 
 in good time.'* 
 
 " You seem to have survived the shock remarkably 
 well, Mrs. gtrong," he said with unmistakable irony. 
 
 " How is the scratch on your face?" she asked, ig- 
 noring the remark. 
 
 "Amounts to nothing," he replied, almost gruffly. 
 " I'll write a little note to Alix, if you'll be so good as 
 to take it np to her." 
 
 " Very welL I'll see that she gets it. Will you write 
 it here?" 
 
 " If you (don't mind. I'll wait in case she wants to 
 send down an answer." 
 
 " I'll get you some paper and pen and ink," said she.
 
 234 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Some paper, that's all. I have a fountain pen." 
 
 He dashed off a few lines, folded the sheet of note 
 paper and handed it to Mrs. Strong. He had written 
 nothing he was unwilling for her to read. In fact, he 
 expected her to read it as soon as she was safely out 
 of his sight. 
 
 " She thinks she may feel up to seeing you tomorrow, 
 or next day," reported the housekeeper on her return 
 from Alix's room. 
 
 His rankling brain seized upon the words " to- 
 morrow next day." He had used them himself only 
 ihe night before. " Tomorrow, or next day ! " He 
 frowned. Hang it all, was she putting him off? He 
 experienced a slight chill. 
 
 " I will run in again in the morning," he said, man- 
 aging to produce a sympathetic smile. " And I'll tele- 
 phone this evening to see how she is." 
 
 All the way down the walk to the gate, he kept re- 
 peating the words " tomorrow, or next day." In 
 some inexplicable way they had fastened themselves 
 upon him. At the gate he turned and looked up at 
 Alix's bedroom windows. The lace curtains hung 
 straight and immovable. It pleased him to think that 
 she was peering out at him from behind one of those 
 screens of lace, soft-eyed and longingly. Moved by a 
 sudden impulse, he waved his hand and smiled. 
 
 His guess was right. She was looking down through 
 the narrow slit between the curtains. Her eyes were 
 dark and brooding and slightly contracted by the per- 
 plexity that filled them. She started back in confusion, 
 her hand going swiftly to her breast. Was- it possible 
 that he could see through the curtains? A warm flush
 
 SHADOWS 235 
 
 mantled her face. She felt it steal down over her body. 
 Incontinently she fled from the window and hopped 
 back into the warm bed she had left on hearing the 
 front door close. 
 
 " How silly ! " she cried irritably. She sat bolt up- 
 right and looked at her reflection in the mirror of her 
 dressing-table across the room. Her night-dress had 
 slipped down from one shapely shoulder; her dark, 
 glossy hair hung in two long braids down her back ; her 
 warm, red lips were parted in a shy, embarrassed smile. 
 
 " I wonder But of course he couldn't. Unless, " 
 and here the smile faded away, " unless he possesses 
 some strange power to see through walls and Some- 
 times I feel that he has that power. If he could not 
 see me, why did he wave his hand at me ? " 
 
 There came a knock at her door. She was seized by 
 a sudden panic. For a moment she was unable to speak. 
 
 "Alix! Are you awake?" 
 
 It was Mrs. Strong's voice. A vast wave of relief 
 swept through her. 
 
 " Goodness ! " she gasped, and then : " Come in, Aunt 
 Nancy?" 
 
 " Courtney Thane has just been here," said the 
 housekeeper as she approached the bed. 
 
 "Has he?" inquired Alix innocently. 
 
 " He left a note for you." 
 
 " Read it to me," said the girl. 
 
 " ' Dearest : I am grieved beyond words to hear that 
 you are so awfully done up. I am not surprised. It 
 was enough to bowl anybody over. I did not sleep a 
 wink last night, thinking about it. I have been living 
 in a daze ever since. I cannot begin to tell you how
 
 236 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 disappointed I am in not being able to see you this 
 
 morning. Perhaps by tonight you will feel like letting 
 
 me come. Ever yours, Courtney.' " 
 
 l " Well? " said Mrs. Strong, sitting down on the edge 
 
 of the bed. 
 
 A fine line appeared between Alix's eyes. She was 
 
 deep in thought. 
 
 "Have they caught the man?" she asked, after a 
 moment. ' 
 
 " Not that I know of. What's more, they'll never 
 catch him. Bill Foss sent word up he was bringing 
 several Italians here to see if we could identify one of 
 them as the man." 
 
 " How can we be expected to identify a man whose 
 face was covered by a mask? " 
 
 ' " Well, Bill is doing his best," replied Mrs. Strong 
 patiently. " We've got to say that much for him. 
 Charlie Webster was here early this morning to say 
 that the police up in town have been notified, and 
 they're sending a detective out. But he won't be any 
 better than Bill Foss, so it's a waste of time. What 
 we ought to have is a Pinkerton man from Chicago." 
 
 Despite the calm, deliberate manner in which she 
 spoke, there was an odd, eager light in Mrs. Strong's 
 eyes. 
 
 " I wish you would go down to the warehouse, Aunt 
 Nancy, and ask Charlie to take the car and go up to 
 the city. Tell him to call up the Pinkerton offices in 
 Chicago and ask them to send the best man they have. 
 No one must know about it, however. Impress that 
 very firmly upon Charlie. Not even the police or 
 Bill Foss. Have him arrange to meet the man in town 
 and give him directions and all the information pos-
 
 SHADOWS 237 
 
 siblo. Please do it at once, and tell Ed to have the 
 car ready." 
 
 " That's the way I like to hear you talk," cried Mrs. 
 Strong. 
 
 Half an hour later, Charlie Webster was on his way 
 to the city. He had an additional commission to per- 
 form. Mrs. Strong was sending a telegram to her son 
 David. 
 
 II 
 
 The next day a well-dressed, breezy-looking young 
 man walked into Charlie's office and exclaimed: 
 
 "Hello, Uncle Charlie!" 
 
 " Good Lord! " gasped Charlie Webster. " It can't 
 be why, by gosh, if it ain't Harry ! Holy smoke ! " 
 He jumped up and grasped the stranger's hand. Pump- 
 ing it vigorously, he cried: "I'd know that Conkling 
 nose if I saw it in Ethiopia. God bless my soul, you're 
 you're a man! It beats all how you kids grow up. 
 How's your mother? And what in thunder are you do- 
 ing here ? " 
 
 *' I guess I've changed a lot, Uncle Charlie," said the 
 young man, " but you ain't? You look just the same 
 as you did fifteen years ago." 
 
 " How old are you ? My gosh, I can't believe my 
 eyes." 
 
 '* I was twenty-four last birthday. You " 
 
 *' If ever a feller grew up to look like his father, 
 you have, Harry. You're the living image of George 
 Conkling, and you don't look any more like your 
 mother than you look like me." 
 
 " Well, you and Mother look a lot alike, Uncle 
 'Charlie. She's thinner than you are but "
 
 238 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Well, I should hope so," exploded Charlie. " Take 
 a chair, Harry and tell us all about yourself. Wait 
 a minute. Sam, shake hands with my nephew, Harry 
 Conkling, Mr. Slutterback, Mr. Conkling. Harry; 
 lives up in Laporte. His mother " 
 
 "Guess again, Uncle Charlie. No more Laporte 
 for me. I've been living in Chicago ever since I got 
 married. Working for " 
 
 "Married? You married? A kid like you? Well, 
 I'llbedarned ! " 
 
 "Sure. And I'm not Harry, Uncle Charlie. I'm 
 Wilbur. Harry's two years older than I am. He's 
 married and got a kid three years old. Lives in Gary." 
 
 " You don't mean to say you're little Wilbur? Little 
 freckle-faced Wilbur with the pipe-stem legs? " 
 
 Mr. Webster's nephew took a chair near the stove, 
 unbuttoned his overcoat, and held his hands to the 
 fire. He was a tall, rather awkward young man, with 
 large ears, a turned-up nose and a prominent " Adam's 
 Apple." 
 
 " I'm working for one of the biggest oil companies 
 in the world. We've got six hundred thousand acres 
 of the finest oil-producing territory in the United 
 States, and we control most of the big concessions in 
 Honduras, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia and thirty mil- 
 lion dollar concern, that's all it is. Oh, you needn't 
 look worried. I'm not going to try to sell you any 
 stock, Uncle Charlie. That is, not unless you've got 
 fifty thousand to invest. I'll tell you what I'm here for. 
 My company wants to interest Miss Crown in " 
 
 " Hold on a minute, Wilbur," interrupted Charlie 
 firmly. "You might just as well hop on a train and 
 go back to Chicago. If you're expecting me to help
 
 SHADOWS 239 
 
 you unload a lot of bum oil stock on Miss Alix Crown 
 you're barking up the wrong tree, I don't give a cuss 
 if you are my own sister's son. Miss Crown is my " 
 
 The young man held up his hand, and favoured his 
 uncle with a tolerant smile. 
 
 " I'm not asking your help, old chap. I've got a 
 letter to her from Mr. Addison Blythe, one of our big- 
 gest stockholders. All I'm asking you to do is to put 
 me up at your house for a day or two while I lay the 
 whole matter before Miss Crown." 
 
 " I haven't got any house," said Charlie, rather help- 
 lessly. " Wait a second ! Let me think. How long 
 do you expect to be here, Wilbur? " 
 
 " I wouldn't be here more than half an hour if I could 
 get Miss Crown to say she'd take " 
 
 " Well, she's sick and can't see anybody for a couple 
 of days, 'specially book agents or oil promoters. I 
 was just thinking I might fix something up for you over 
 at the Tavern where I'm staying. It won't cost you a 
 cent, my boy. I'd be a darned cheap sort of an uncle 
 if I couldn't entertain my nephew when he comes to 
 our town, out of a clear sky, you might say. I'll be 
 mighty glad to have you, Wilbur, but you've got to 
 understand I won't have Miss Crown bothered while 
 she's sick." 
 
 " Permit me to remind you, Uncle Charlie, that I 
 am a gentleman. I don't go butting in where I'm not 
 wanted. My instructions from the General Manager 
 are very explicit. I am to see Miss Crown when con- 
 venient, and give her all the dope on our gigantic enter- 
 prise, that's all." 
 
 " By the way, er, is that your automobile out 
 there?"
 
 240 QUILL'S WINDOTY 
 
 " It's one I hired in the city." 
 
 "You er didn't happen to bring your wife witK 
 you, did you? Because it would be darned awkward 
 if you did. She'd have to sleep with Angle Miller or 
 Flora" 
 
 " She's not with me, Uncle Charlie, so don't worry. 
 Of course, if it isn't convenient for you to have me for; 
 a day or two, I can motor in and out from the city. 
 Money's no object, you know. Fve got a roll of ex- 
 pense money here that would choke a hippopotamus." 
 
 " Come on over to the Tavern, Wilbur. We'll see 
 Miss Molly Dowd and fix tilings up. Sam, if anybody 
 asks for me, just say I'll be back in fifteen minutes." 
 
 And that is how " Mortie " Gilfillan, one of the ablest 
 operatives in the Pinkerton service, made his entry into 
 the village of Windomville. Inasmuch as he comes to 
 act in a strictly confidential capacity, we will leave 
 him to his own devices, content with the simple state- 
 ment that he remained two full days at Dowd's Tavern 
 as the guest of his "Uncle Charlie"; that he suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining an interview with the rich Miss 
 Crown, that he " talked " oil to everybody with whom. 
 he came in contact, including Courtney Thane ; that he 
 declined to consider the appeals of at least a score of 
 citizens to be " let in on the ground floor " owing to 
 the company's irrevocable decision to sell only in blocks 
 of ten thousand shares at five dollars per share; that 
 he said good-bye to Mr. Webster at the end of his second 
 day and departed not for Chicago but, very cleverly 
 disguised, to accept a job as an ordinary labourer with 
 Jim Bagley, manager of the Crown farms.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 
 
 THREE days passed. The village had recovered 
 from its excitement. The Weekly Swn ap- 
 peared with a long and harrowing account of 
 the " vile attempt to rifle the home of our esteemed 
 and patriotic citizeness," and sang the praises of Court- 
 ney Thane, whose " well-known valour, acquired by 
 heroic services during the Great War," prevented what 
 might have been " a most lamentable tragedy." 
 
 Those three days were singularly unprofitable to the 
 *' hero." He was unable to see Alix crown. He made 
 daily visits to her home but always with the same result. 
 Miss Crown was in no condition to see any one. 
 
 " But she saw this fellow Conkling," he expostulated 
 on the third day. " He sold her a lot of phony^ oil stock. 
 If she could see him, I " 
 
 " He came all the way from Chicago to see her, 
 with a letter from Mr. Blythe," explained Mrs. Strong. 
 " She had to see him. I guess you can wait, can't 
 you, Mr. Thane?" 
 
 " Certainly. That isn't the point. If I had seen her 
 in time I should have warned her against buying that 
 stock. She's been let in for a whale of a loss, that's 
 all I can say, and it's too late to do anything about 
 it. Good Lord, if ever a woman needed a man around 
 the house, she does. She " 
 
 " I will tell her what you say," said Mrs. Strong 
 calmly. 
 
 241
 
 242 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Don't you do anything of the kind," he exclaimed 
 hastily. "I was speaking to you as a friend, Mrs. 
 Strong. She means a great deal to both of us. You 
 understand how it stands with Alix and me, don't you? 
 I I would cheerfully lay down my life for her. More 
 than that, I cannot say or do." 
 
 " She will be up by tomorrow," said Mrs. Strong, im- 
 pressed in spite of herself by this simple, direct appeal. 
 (All that day she caught herself wondering if he had 
 cast his spell over her!) 
 
 " Please give her my love, and say that I am think- 
 ing about her every second of the day," said he gravely, 
 and went away. 
 
 Alix had received another letter from Addison 
 Blythe. Enclosed with it was a communication from 
 an official formerly connected with the American Am- 
 bulance. It was brief and to the point: 
 
 Courtney Thane volunteered for service in the American 
 Ambulance in Paris in November, lp!5. He was accepted 
 and ordered to appear at the hospital at Neuilly-sur-Seine 
 for instructions. His conduct was such that he was dis- 
 nfcissed from the service before the expiration of a week, his 
 uniform taken away from him, and a request made to the 
 French Military authorities to see that he was ordered to 
 leave the country at once. Our records show that he left 
 hurriedly for Spain. He was a bad influence to our boys 
 in Paris, and there was but one course left open to us. We 
 have no account of his subsequent movements. With his 
 dismissal from the service, he ceased to be an object of 
 concern to us. 
 
 Alix did not destroy this letter. She locked it away 
 in a drawer of her desk. She had made up her mind 
 to confront Thane with this official communication. It
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 243 
 
 was an ordeal she dreaded. Her true reason for re- 
 fusing to see him was clear to her if to no one else: 
 she hated the thought of hurting him 1 Moreover, she 
 was strangely oppressed by the fear that she would 
 falter at the crucial moment and that her half-guarded 
 defences would go down before the assault. She knew 
 his strength far better than she knew his weakness. 
 She had had an illuminating example of his power. Was 
 she any stronger now than on that never-to-be-forgotten 
 night? . . . She put off the evil hour. 
 
 And on the same third day of renunciation, she had 
 a letter from David Strong. She wept a little over it, 
 and driven finally by a restlessness such as she had 
 never known before, feverishly dressed herself, and set 
 forth late in the afternoon for a long walk in the open 
 air. She took to the leaf-strewn woodland roads, and 
 there was a definite goal in mind. 
 
 II 
 
 Courtney remembered Rosabel Vick. 
 
 " I guess I'd better call her up," he said to himself. 
 " I ought to have done it several days ago. Beastly 
 rotten of me to have neglected it. She's probably been 
 sitting over there waiting ever since Gad, she may 
 have some good news. Maybe she is mistaken.** 
 
 He went over to the telephone exchange and called 
 up the Vick house. Rosabel answered. 
 
 "That you, Rosie? . . . Well, I couldn't. I've 
 been laid up, completely out of commission ever since 
 I saw you. . . . What? . . . I I didn't get that, 
 Rosie. Speak louder, closer to the telephone." 
 
 Very distinctly now came the words, almost in a 
 wail:
 
 244 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 "Oh, Courtney, why why do you lie to me?" 
 " Lie to you? My dear girl, do you know what you 
 
 A low moan, and a harsh, choking sob smote his 
 ear, and then the click of the receiver on the hook. 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged!" he muttered angrily. 
 " That's the last time I'll call you up, take it from me." 
 
 And it was the last time he ever called her up. 
 
 Then he, too, ravaged by uneasy thoughts, struck 
 off into the country lanes, the better to commune with 
 himself. In due course, he came to the gate leading up 
 to the top of Quill's Window. Here he lagged. His 
 gaze went across the strip of pasture-land to the de- 
 serted house above the main-travelled road. He started. 
 His gaze grew more intense. A lone figure traversed 
 the highway. It turned in at the gate, and, as he 
 watched, strode swiftly up the path to the front door. 
 r . . .. He saw her bend over, evidently to insert a key 
 in the lock. Then the door opened and closed behind 
 her. 
 
 HI 
 
 Every word of David's letter was impressed on Alix's 
 brain. Over and over again she repeated to herself 
 certain passages as she strode rapidly through the 
 winding lanes. She spoke them tenderly, wonderingly, 
 and her eyes were shining. 
 
 DEAREST Aux: 
 
 I have always loved you. I want you to know it. There 
 Las never been an hour in all these years that I have not 
 thought of you, that your dear face has not been before me. 
 In France, here, everywhere, always I am looking into 
 your eyes, always I am hearing your voice, always I am
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 245 
 
 feeling the gentle touch, of your hand. Now you know. I 
 could not have told you before. I am the blacksmith's 
 son. God knows I am not ashamed of that. But I cannot 
 forget, nor can you, that a blacksmith's son lies buried at 
 the top of that grim old hill, and that he was not good 
 enough for the daughter of a Windom. I hear that you 
 have given your heart to some one else. You will marry 
 him. But to the end of your days, and I hope they may- 
 be many, I want you to know that there is one man who 
 will love you with all his heart and all his soul to the end 
 of his days. I hope you will be happy. It is my great- 
 est, my only wish. Once upon a time, we stole away, you 
 and I, to write romances of love and adventure. Even then, 
 you were my heroine. I was putting you into my poor 
 story, but you were putting your dreams into yours, and I 
 was not your dream hero. Then we would read to each 
 other what we had written. Do you remember how guard- 
 edly we read and how stealthy we were so as not to arouse 
 suspicion or attract attention to our lair? I shall never 
 forget those happy hours. Every line I wrote and read to 
 you, Alix dear, was of you and for you. You were my 
 heroine. My hero, feeble creature, told you how much I 
 loved you, and you never suspected. 
 
 I am telling you all this now, when my hope is dead, so 
 that you may know that my love for you began when you 
 were little more than a baby, and has endured to this 
 day and will endure forever. I pray God you may always 
 be happy. And now, in closing, I can only add the trite 
 sentence, which I recall reading in more than one novel 
 and which I was imitative enough to put into my own un- 
 finished masterpiece: If ever you are in trouble and despair 
 and need me, I will come to you from the ends of the 
 earth. I mean it, Alix. With all the best wishes in the 
 world, I am and will remain 
 
 Yours devotedly, 
 
 DAVID.
 
 246 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 P.S. I have just looked up from this letter to catcH 
 sight of myself in a mirror across the office. I have to 
 smile. That beastly but honourable glass reveals the true 
 secret of my failure to captivate you. How could any 
 self-respecting heroine fall in love with a chap with a nose 
 like mine, and a mouth that was intended for old Goliath 
 himself, and cheek bones that were handed down by Te- 
 cumseh, and eyes that squint a little but I daresay that's 
 because they are somewhat blurred at this particular in- 
 stant. I am reminded of the " Yank " who had his nose 
 shot off at Chateau Thierry. He said that now that the 
 Germans didn't have anything visible to train their artil- 
 lery on, the war would soon be over. He had lost his nose 
 but not his sense of the ridiculous. I have managed to 
 retain both. 
 
 Up in that bare, dust-laden room, with the two 
 candles burning at her elbows, sat Alix. There were 
 tears in her eyes, a wistful little smile on her lips. 
 She was reading again the clumsy lines David had 
 written in those long-ago days of adolescence. Now 
 they meant something to her. They were stilted, com- 
 monplace expressions; she would have laughed at them 
 had they been written by any one else, and she still 
 would have been vastly amused, even now, were it not 
 for the revelations contained in his letter. And the 
 postscript, how like him to have added that whimsical 
 twist! He wanted her to smile, even though his heart 
 was hurt. 
 
 Ten years! Ten years ago they had sat opposite 
 each other at this dusty table, their heads bent to 
 the task, their brows furrowed, their hands reaching 
 out to the same bottle of ink, their souls athrill with 
 romance. And she was writing of a handsome, incred-
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 247 
 
 ibly valiant hero, whilst he he was writing of her! 
 Time and again his hand, in seeking the ink, had 
 touched the hand of his heroine, she remembered once 
 jabbing her pen into his less nimble finger as she went 
 impatiently to the fount of romance, and he had ex- 
 claimed with a grimace : " Gee, you must have struck a 
 snag, Alix ! " She recalled the words as of yesterday, 
 almost as of this very moment, and her arrogant re- 
 joinder, "Well, why can't you keep your hand out of 
 the way?" 
 
 She was always hurting him, and he was always pa- 
 tient. She was always sorry, and he was always for- 
 giving. She was superior in her weakness, he was gentle 
 in his strength. 
 
 And his heroine? She read through the mist that 
 filled her eyes and saw herself. The lofty heroine wooed 
 by the poor and humble musician who crept up from un- 
 utterable depths to worship unseen at her feet ! " The 
 Phantom Singer ! " The lover she could not see because 
 her starry eyes were fixed upon the peak! And yet 
 he stood beneath her casement window and sang her 
 to sleep, lulled her into sweet dreams, and went his 
 lonely way in the chill of the morning hours, only to 
 return again at nightfall. 
 
 She looked up from the sheet she held. She stared, 
 not into space, but at the face of David Strong, sitting 
 opposite, the phantom singer. It was as plain to her 
 as if he were actually there. She looked into his deep 
 grey eyes, honest and true and smiling. 
 
 What was it he said in his letter? About his nose 
 and mouth and eyes? They were before her now. That 
 keen, boyish face with its coat of tan, its broad, whim- 
 sical mouth and the white, even teeth that once on a
 
 2 48 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 elarc had cracked a walnut for her; its rugged jaw 
 and the long, straight nose; its wide forehead and 
 the straight eyebrows ; and the thick hair as black as 
 the raven's wing, rumpled by fingers that strove des- 
 perately to encourage a recalcitrant brain; and those 
 big, bony hands, so large that her little brown paws 
 were lost in them; and the broad shoulders hunched 
 over the table, supported by widespread elbows that 
 encroached upon her allotted space so often that she 
 had to remind him: "I do wish you'd watch what 
 you're doing," and he would get up and meekly recover 
 the scattered sheets of paper from the floor. Ugly? 
 David ugly? Why, he was beautiful! 
 
 Suddenly her head dropped upon her arms, now rest- 
 ing on David's manuscript ; she sobbed. 
 
 " Oh, Davy, Davy, I wish you were here I I wish 
 you were here now ! " 
 
 The creaking of the stairs startled her. She half 
 arose and stared at the open door, expecting to see 
 the ghost! Goose-flesh crept out all over her. The 
 ghost that people said came to 
 
 The very corporeal presence of Courtney Thane ap- 
 peared in the doorway. 
 
 For many seconds she was stupefied. She could see 
 his lips moving, she knew he was speaking, she could 
 see his smile as he approached, and yet only an unintel- 
 ligible mumble came to her ears. 
 
 " and so I cut across the field and ventured in where 
 angels do not fear to tread," were the first words that 
 possessed any degree of coherency for her. 
 
 She hastily thrust the precious manuscript into the 
 drawer. He stopped several feet away and looked 
 about the room curiously, his gaze coming back to her
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 249 
 
 after a moment. The light of the candles was full on 
 her face. 
 
 " Well, of all the queer places," he said. " What in 
 the world brings you here? I thought no one ever 
 entered this house, Alix." 
 
 " I have not been inside this house in ten years," 
 she said, struggling for control of herself. " I came 
 today to to look for some papers that were left here. 
 I was on the point of leaving when you came up." She 
 picked up her gloves from the table. 
 
 " It's cold here. Do you think it was wise for you to 
 sit here in this chilly Gad, it's like an ice-house or a 
 tomb. Better let me give you my coat." He started 
 to remove his overcoat. There was an anxious, solici- 
 tous expression in his eyes. 
 
 " No, no, thank you. I am quite warm, and I 
 shall be as warm as toast after I've walked a little way. 
 I must be going now, Mr. Thane." She took a few 
 steps toward the door. 
 
 " Are you going away without blowing the candles 
 out? " he inquired. 
 
 She halted. She felt herself trapped. She did not 
 want to be alone in the dark with him. 
 
 " If you will go ahead while there is light, I will 
 follow " The solution came suddenly. " How stupid I 
 There is nothing to prevent us carrying the candles 
 downstairs with us, is there? Will you take one, 
 please? " 
 
 She returned to the table and took up one of the 
 candlesticks. 
 
 " I've been terribly worried about you, Alix," he 
 said, without moving. " How wonderful it is to see you 
 again, to see what is really you and not the girl I've
 
 250 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 seen in dreams for the past few endless nights. You 
 in the flesh, you with your beautiful eyes, you whose 
 lips oh, God, I I have been nearly mad, Alix. A 
 thousand times I have felt you in my arms, you've 
 never been out of them in my thoughts. I " 
 
 " Please please! " she cried, shrinking back and put- 
 ting her hands to her temples. 
 
 Still he did not move. There was a gentleness in his 
 voice, a softness that disarmed her. It was not the 
 voice of a conqueror, rather it was that of a suppliant. 
 
 " I am not worthy to touch the hem of your gar- 
 ment," he went on, an expression of pain leaping swiftly 
 to his eyes. " I am most unworthy. My life has not 
 been perfect. I have done many things that I am 
 ashamed of, things I would give my soul to recall. But 
 my love for you, Alix Crown, is perfect. All the good 
 that God ever put into me is in this feeling I have for 
 you. You are the very soul of me. If you tell me to 
 go away, I will go. That is how I love you. You do 
 believe I love you with all my heart and soul, don't 
 you, Alix? You do believe that I would die for you? " 
 
 Now she was looking into his eyes across the candle 
 flames. David's features had vanished. She saw noth- 
 ing save the white, drawn face of the man whose voice, 
 sweet with passion, fell upon her ears like the murmur 
 of far-off music. She felt the warm thrill of blood rush- 
 ing back into her icy veins, surging up to her throat, 
 to her trembling lips, to her eyes. 
 
 " I I don't know what to think I don't know what 
 to believe," she heard herself saying. 
 
 He came a step or two nearer. Her eyes never left 
 his. She tried to look away. 
 
 " I want you to me mine forever, Alix. I want you
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 251 
 
 to be my wife. I want you to be with me to the end 
 of my life. I cannot live without you. Do not send 
 me away now. It is too late." 
 
 Her knees gave way. She sank slowly to the bench, 
 ! and still she looked into his gleaming eyes. 
 
 He came to her. She was in his arms. His face 
 was close to hers, his breath was on her cheek. . ... . 
 
 *' No ! No ! " she almost shrieked, and wrenched her- 
 self free. " Not now ! Not here ! Give me time give 
 me tune to think ! " 
 
 She had sprung to her feet and was glaring at him 
 with the eyes of an animal at bay. He fell back in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " You you had no right to follow me here," she 
 was crying. " You had no right ! This place is sacred. 
 It is sanctuary." Her voice broke. " My mother was 
 born in this room. She died in this room. And I was 
 born here. Go ! Please go ! " 
 
 He controlled himself. He held back those words 
 that were on his tongue, ready to be flung out at her: 
 " Yes, and in this room you behaved like hell with 
 David Strong ! " But he checked them in time. He 
 lowered his head. 
 
 " Forgive me, Alix," he staid abjectly. " I I did 
 not know. I was wrong to follow you here. I could not 
 help myself. I was mad to see you. Nothing could 
 have stopped me." Ho looked up, struck by a sudden 
 thought. " You call this sanctuary. It is a sacred 
 place to you. Will you make it sacred to me? Promise 
 here and now, in this sanctuary of yours, to be my 
 wi^ and all my life it shall be the most sacred spot 
 on earth." 
 
 She turned her head quickly to look at David Strong.
 
 252 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 A startled, incredulous expression leaped into her eyes. 
 He was not there. By what magic had he vanished? 
 She had felt his presence. He was sitting there a mo- 
 ment ago, his tousled head bent down over the pad of 
 paper, she was sure of it ! Then she realized. A wave 
 of relief surged over her. He was not there to hear 
 this man making love to her in the room where he had 
 poured out his soul to her. She experienced a curious 
 thrill of exultation. David could never take back 
 those unspoken words of love. She had them safely 
 stored away in that blessed drawer! 
 
 A flush of shame leaped to her cheeks. She could 
 not banish the notion that he, honest, devoted David, 
 had seen her in this man's arms, clinging to him, giv- 
 ing back his passionate kisses with all the horrid rap- 
 ture of a She stiffened. Her head went up. She 
 faced the man who had robbed David. 
 
 " I cannot marry you," she said quietly. The spell 
 was gone. She was herself again. " I do not love you.'* 
 
 He stared, speechless, uncomprehending. 
 
 " You you do not love me? " he gasped. 
 
 " I do not love you," she repeated deliberately. 
 
 " But, good God, you you couldn't have kissed me 
 as you " 
 
 "Please!" 
 
 " as you did just now," he went on, honestly be- 
 wildered. "You put your arms around my neck, 
 you kissed me " 
 
 " Stop! Yes, I know I did, I know I did. But it 
 was not love, it was not love ! I don't know what it 
 was. You have some dreadful, appalling power to 
 Oh, you need not look at me like that ! I don't care that 
 for your scorn. Call me a fool, if you like, call me
 
 MR. GILFILLAN IS PUZZLED 253 
 
 anything you like. It is all one to me now. What's 
 done, is done. But it can never happen again. I will 
 not even say that I am ashamed, for in saying so I 
 would be confessing that I was responsible for my ac- 
 tions. I was not responsible. That is all, Mr. Thane. 
 No doubt you are sincere in asking me to be your 
 wife. No doubt your love for me is sincere. I should 
 like to think so always. It would help me to forget my 
 own weakness. I am going. I want you to leave this 
 house before I go, Mr. Thane." 
 
 She spoke calmly, evenly, with the utmost self-pos- 
 session. 
 
 " I can't let you go like this, Alix 1 I can't take 
 this as final. You you must care for me. How can I 
 think otherwise? In God's name, what has happened 
 to turn you against me? You owe me more of an 
 explanation than " 
 
 ** You are right," she interrupted. " I do owe you 
 an explanation. This is not the time or the place to 
 give it. If you will come to see me tomorrow, I will 
 tell you everything. It is only fair that you should 
 know. But not now." 
 
 " Has some one been lying about me? " he demanded, 
 his eyes narrowing. 
 
 She waited an instant before replying. 
 
 " No, Mr. Thane," she said ; " no one has been lying 
 about you." 
 
 He took up his hat from the table. 
 
 " I will come tomorrow," he said. At the door he 
 paused to say : " But I am not going to give you up, 
 Alix. You mean too much to me. I think I under- 
 stand. You are frightened. I I should not have come 
 here."
 
 254 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Yes, I teas frightened," she cried out shrilly. " I 
 was frightened, but I am not afraid now." 
 
 She had moved to Thane's side of the table, and 
 there she stood until she heard his footsteps on the 
 little porch outside. 
 
 She was in an exalted frame of mind as she hurried 
 from the house. The short October day had turned 
 to night. For a moment she paused, peering ahead. 
 A queer little thrill of alarm ran through her. She 
 had never been afraid of the dark before. But now: 
 she shivered. A great uneasiness assailed her. She 
 listened intently. Far up the hard gravel road she 
 heard the sound of footsteps, gradually diminishing. 
 He was far ahead of her and walking rapidly. 
 
 At the gate she stopped again. Then she struck out 
 resolutely for home, the Phantom Singer was beside 
 her. She was not afraid. 
 
 A farm-hand, leaning on the fence at the lower cor- 
 ner of the yard, scratched his head in perplexity. 
 
 "Well, here's a new angle to the case," he mused 
 sourly. " I'm up a tree for sure. Why the devil should 
 Miss Crown be meeting him out there in this old de- 
 serted house. My word, it begins to look a trifle spicy. 
 It also begins to look like a case that ought to be 
 'dropped before it gets too hot. I guess it's up to me 
 to see my dear old Uncle Charlie What's-His-Name." 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan set off in the wake of the 
 girl who had employed him to catch the masked invader.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BRINGING UP THE PAST 
 
 WEBSTER wore a troubled expres- 
 sion when he appeared for dinner that same 
 
 ^^ evening. He was late. If such a thing were 
 believable, his kindly blue eyes glittered malevolently 
 as they rested upon the face of Courtney Thane, who 
 had taken his place at table a few minutes earlier. The 
 fat little man was strangely preoccupied. He was even 
 gruff in his response to Mr. Pollock's bland inquiry as 
 to the state of his health. 
 
 " How's your liver, Charlie? " inquired the genial 
 editor. This amiable question was habitual with Mr. 
 Pollock. He varied it a little when the object of his 
 polite concern happened to be of the opposite sex; 
 then he gallantly substituted the word " appetite." It 
 was never necessary to reply to Mr. Pollock's ques- 
 tion. In fact, he always seemed a little surprised when 
 any one did reply, quite as if he had missed a portion 
 of the conversation and was trying in a bewildered sort 
 of way to get the hang of it again. 
 
 " Same as it was yesterday," said Charlie. " I 
 don't want any soup, Maggie. Yes, I know it's bean 
 soup, but I don't want it, just the same." 
 
 " Going on a hunger strike, Charlie? " inquired Doc 
 Simpson. 
 
 " Sh ! He's reducing," scolded Flora Grady. 
 
 ^ Chat's on your mind, Charlie?" asked Courtney. 
 255
 
 256 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Charlie swallowed hard. He made a determined ef- 
 fort and succeeded in recovering some of his old-time 
 sprightliness. 
 
 " Nothing, now that I've got my hat off." 
 
 "Have you heard the latest news, Charlie?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Pollock, a thrill of excitement in her voice. 
 
 He started, and looked up quickly. " There's been 
 so blamed much news lately," he muttered, " I can't 
 keep track of it." 
 
 " Well, this is the greatest piece of news we've had 
 in ages," said the poetess. " Wedding bells are to ring 
 in our midst. Somebody you know very well is going 
 to be married." 
 
 Mr. Webster's heart went to his boots. He stared 
 open-mouthed at the speaker. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord ! " he almost groaned. " Don't tell 
 me she has promised to marry " He broke off to 
 glare venomously at Thane. 
 
 " Don't blame me for it, Charlie," exclaimed the 
 latter. " I am as innocent as an unborn babe. Charge 
 it to woman's wiles." He laughed boisterously, un- 
 naturally. 
 
 Mr. Pollock spoke. " The next issue of the Sun will 
 contain the formal announcement of the engagement 
 of the most popular and beloved young lady in Win- 
 domville. No doubt it will be old news by that time, 
 next Thursday, but publication in the press gives it 
 the importance of officialty." 
 
 " We may congratulate ourselves, however, that we 
 are not to lose her," said Mrs. Pollock. " She is to 
 remain in " 
 
 "Whe-when is it to take place?" groaned Charlie, 
 moisture starting out on his brow.
 
 BRINGING UP THE PAST 257 
 
 "That," began Mr. Pollock, "is a matter which 
 cannot be definitely announced at present, owing to cer- 
 tain family er ah conditions. In addition to this, 
 I may say that there is also the children to consider, 
 as well as the township trustee and, to an extent, the 
 taxpayer. The " 
 
 " All I've got to say," grated Charlie, " is that the 
 police ought to be consulted, first of all." 
 
 " The police ! " exclaimed Angie Miller. 
 
 "The the what?" gasped Furman Hatch, lifting 
 his head suddenly. He was very red in the face. " I'd 
 like to know what the devil the police have to do with 
 it?" 
 
 Charlie took a look at Angie Miller's face, and then 
 the truth dawned upon him. He sank back in his chair 
 so suddenly that the legs gave forth an ominous crack. 
 
 " Don't do that ! " cried Margaret Slattery sharply. 
 " You know them chairs are not made of iron. And I 
 don't want you flopping all over me when I'm passing 
 the stew " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " boomed Charlie, who had collected his 
 wits by this time, and was pointing his finger accus- 
 ingly at Mr. Hatch. " The police have simply got to 
 be called. It's going to take half the force, including 
 Bill Foss, to keep me from drinking the heart's blood of 
 my hated rival. Ladies and gents, that infernal, low- 
 down villain over there has come between me and 
 But nobody shall say that Charles Darwin Webster is 
 a poor loser ! Say what you please about him, but do 
 not say he is a short sport. It breaks my heart to do 
 it, but I'm coming around there to shake hands with 
 you, old Tintype. I'm going to congratulate you, but 
 I'm never going to get through hating you."
 
 258 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 He arose and bolted around the table. Mr. Hatch 
 got to his feet and the long and the short man clasped 
 hands. 
 
 " Put her there, old boy 1 I've already made up my 
 mind what my wedding present is going to be. The 
 day before the wedding I'm coming in and order a dozen 
 photographs of myself, pay for 'em in advance. And 
 I'm going to give every darned one of 'em to the bride, 
 so's she can stick 'em up all over the house just to make 
 you feel at home, you blamed old bachelor. And as for 
 you, Miss Angelina Miller, the very topmost height of 
 my ambition will be reached in less than two minutes 
 after the ceremony. Because, then and there, I'm. 
 going to kiss you. Bless you, my children. As old Rip 
 Van Winkle used to say, ' may you live long and 
 brosper.' " 
 
 Having delivered himself of this felicitous speech, the 
 somewhat relieved Mr. Webster wiped his brow. 
 
 " What did he say? " quaked old Mrs. Nichols, put- 
 ting her hand to her ear. 
 
 " Says he hoped they'd be happy," bawled. old Mr. 
 Nichols, close to her ear. 
 
 "Pass the bread, Doc," said Mr. Hatch, getting 
 pinker and pinker. 
 
 " When's it to take place, Angie? " inquired Charlie, 
 resuming his seat. He cast a sharp look at Courtney. 
 The young man shifted his gaze immediately. 
 
 *' As I explained to Mr. Pollock, everything depends 
 on my aunt," said Angie composedly. " She is very 
 old, eighty-three, in fact." 
 
 " You don't mean to say your aunt objects to your 
 marrying old Tintype," exclaimed Charlie. 
 
 " Not at all," replied Angie, somewhat tartly.
 
 BRINGING UP THE PAST 259 
 
 " You see, it's this way," volunteered Mr. Pollock. 
 " Miss Angie is the sole support of a venerable and 
 venerated aunt who lives in Frankfort. That is a 
 thing to be considered. Her duty to her father's 
 sister " 
 
 Courtney interrupted, chuckling. " It's too much to 
 ask of any woman. I suppose it must take nearly all 
 you earn, Miss Miller, to support your aged relative, 
 so naturally you do not feel like taking on Mr. Hatch 
 immediately." 
 
 There was a moment's silence around the table. 
 
 " I see by the Chicago Tribune," said Mr. Pollock, 
 after a hurried gulp of coffee, " that there's likely to 
 be a strike of the street-car men up there." 
 
 " You don't say so," said Doc Simpson, looking so 
 concerned that one might have been led to suspect that 
 he was dismayed over the prospect of getting to his 
 office the next day. 
 
 " What's the world coming to? " sighed Maude Baggs 
 Pollock nervously. " Strikes, strikes everywhere. 
 'Murder, bloodshed, robbery, revolution " 
 
 " Next thing we know," put in Charlie Webster, with- 
 out looking up from his plate, '* God will strike, and 
 when He does there'll be hell to pay, begging your par- 
 lion, ladies, for using a word that sounds worse than 
 it tastes." 
 
 " I use it every day of my life," said Miss Flora 
 Grady. "It's a grand word, Charlie," she added, a 
 little defiantly. 
 
 "Times have changed," remarked Mr. Pollock 
 blandly. " It wasn't so very long ago that women 
 said * pshaw ' when they wanted to let off steam. Then 
 they got to saying ' shucks,' and from that they pro-
 
 260 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 gressed to * darn/ and now they say * damn ' without 
 a quiver. Only yesterday I heard my wife say some- 
 thing that sounded suspiciously like ' dammit to hell * 
 when she upset a bottle of ink on her desk. She hasn't 
 stubbed her toe against a rocking-chair lately, thank 
 goodness." 
 
 Doc Simpson stopped Courtney as he was starting 
 upstairs after dinner. The dentist was unsmiling. 
 
 " Say, Court, I'm running a little close this week. 
 Been so much excitement a lot of patients have for- 
 gotten all about their teeth. Can you let me have that 
 ten you borrowed last week? " 
 
 " Sure," said Courtney, in his most affable manner. 
 " I'll hand it to you tomorrow. I'll give it to you now 
 if you'll wait till I run upstairs and get it out of my 
 trunk. That's my bank, you know." 
 
 " Tomorrow'll do all right," said Doc, a trifle 
 abashed. 
 
 " Can I see you a second, Mr. Thane? " called Miss 
 Grady, when he was halfway up the stairs. 
 
 He stopped and smiled down at her. " I hope you'll 
 forgive me if I don't come down, Miss Flora. My knee 
 is still on the blink. It hurts worse to go downstairs 
 than it does up." 
 
 " I'll come up," said Miss Grady promptly. " You 
 remember those roses I ordered for you last week? 
 Well, I had to pay cash for them, including parcel 
 post. You owe me seven dollars and thirteen cents." 
 
 " I'm glad you spoke of it. I hadn't forgotten it, 
 of course, but I simply neglected to square it up with 
 you. Have you change for a twenty, Miss Flora? " 
 
 " Not with me." 
 
 " I'll hand it to you tomorrow. Seven-thirteen, you
 
 BRINGING UP THE PAST 261 
 
 say? Shall we make it seven-fifteen?" He favoured 
 her with his most engaging smile, and Miss Grady, who 
 thought she had steeled her heart against his blandish- 
 ments, suffered a momentary relapse and said, " No 
 hurry. I just thought I'd remind you." 
 
 He failed completely, however, to affect the sus- 
 ceptibilities of Miss Mary Dowd, who presently 
 rapped at his door, and rapped again when he called 
 out " Come in." He opened the door. 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Thane, for coming up to speak to 
 you about your bill. Will it be convenient for you 
 to let me have the money this evening? " 
 
 She did not soften the dun by offering the usual 
 excuse about " expenses being a little heavier this 
 month than we expected," or that she "hated to ask 
 him for the amount." 
 
 "Is it three or four weeks, Miss Molly? " he in- 
 quired, taking out an envelope and a pencil. 
 
 " Four weeks today." 
 
 " Sixty dollars." He jotted it down. " I cannot let 
 this opportunity pass to tell you how thoroughly satis- 
 fied I have been with everything here, Miss Molly. The 
 table is really extraordinarily good. I don't see how 
 you can do it for fifteen dollars a week, including 
 room." He replaced the envelope in his pocket, and 
 smiled politely, his hand going to the door knob. 
 
 " We couldn't do it, Mr. Thane, unless we stuck 
 pretty closely to our rule, that is, of asking our 
 patrons to pay promptly at the end of every week." 
 
 " It's really the only way," he agreed. 
 
 " So if you will be kind enough to let me have the 
 amount now, I will be very much obliged to you." 
 
 He stepped to the head of the stairs, ostensibly to
 
 268 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 be nearer a light, and took out his purse. While count- 
 ing out the bills, he cast frequent glances down into the 
 lower hall. The buzz of conversation came up from the 
 /"lounge." 
 
 " I think you will find the proper amount here, Miss 
 Molly," he said, after restoring the purse to his pocketf 
 She took the bank-notes and counted them. 
 "Quite correct, Mr. Thane. Thank you. By the 
 way, I have been meaning to ask how much longer you 
 contemplate remaining with us. Pastor Mavity has 
 been inquiring for room and board for his sister, who 
 is coming on from Indianapolis to spend several months 
 in Windomville. If by any chance you are thinking of 
 vacating your room within the next few days, I would 
 be obliged if you would let me know as soon as possible 
 in order that I may give Mr. Mavity an answer." 
 
 " I think I shall be leaving shortly, Miss Dowd. I 
 can let you know in a day or two," said he stiffly. " I 
 am afraid your winters are too severe for me. Good 
 night, and thank you for being so patient, Miss 
 Dowd." 
 
 Meanwhile, Miss Angie Miller had taken Charlie 
 Webster off to a corner of the " lounge " remote from 
 the fireplace. She was visibly excited. 
 
 " I had a letter in this afternoon's mail from my 
 uncle, Charlie," she announced in subdued tones. " My 
 goodness, you'll simply pass away when you read it." 
 
 "Where is it?" demanded Charlie eagerly. 
 
 " I haven't even shown it to Furman," said she, look- 
 ing over her shoulder. " I've been wondering whether 
 I ought to let him read it first." 
 
 " Not at all," said he promptly. " It's none of his
 
 BRINGING UP THE PAST 263 
 
 business. This is between you and me, Angie. Let's 
 have a look at it." 
 
 " I don't think you'd better read it here," she whis- 
 pered nervously. "It it is very private and con- 
 fidential." 
 
 " That's all right," said Charlie. " I'll sneak up- 
 stairs with it, Angie." 
 
 " Well, act as if you are looking out of the window," 
 she said, and when his back was turned she produced 
 the letter from its hiding place inside her blouse. 
 
 II 
 
 Charlie retired to his room a few minutes later. 
 There he perused the following letter, written on the 
 stationery of Beck, Blossom, Fredericks & Smith, At- 
 torneys-at-law, New York City: 
 
 MY DEAR NIECE: 
 
 Pardon my delay in replying to your letter of recent 
 date. I have been very busy in court and have not been 
 in a position to devote even a little of my time to your 
 inquiry. Your second letter reached me yesterday, and 
 I now make amends for my previous delinquency by an- 
 swering it with a promptness most uncommon in lawyers. 
 
 The firm of which I am a member appeared in 1912 for 
 the plaintiff in the case of Hitter vs. Thane. Our client 
 was a young woman residing in Brooklyn. The defendant 
 was Courtney Thane, the son of Howard Thane, and no 
 doubt the young man to whom you refer. In any case, 
 he was the grandson of Silas Thane, who lived in your 
 part of the State of Indiana. We were demanding one 
 hundred thousand dollars for our client Miss Hitter was 
 a trained nurse. Young Thane had been severely injured 
 in an automobile accident. If your Courtney Thane is the
 
 264 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 same as mine, he will be walking with a slight limp. His 
 left leg was badly crushed in the accident to which I 
 refer. For several months he was unable to walk. Upon 
 his removal from St. Luke's Hospital to his father's home 
 in Park Avenue, a fortnight after the accident, our client 
 was employed as a nurse on the case. This was early in 
 the spring of 1912. In June the Thane family went to 
 the Berkshires, where they had rented a house for the 
 summer. Our client accompanied them. Prior to their 
 departure, Thane, senior, had settled out of court with 
 the occupants of the automobile with which his son's car 
 had collided in upper Broadway. His son was alone in 
 his car when the accident occurred, but there were a num- 
 ber of witnesses ready to testify that he was driving at a 
 high rate of speed, regardless of traffic or crossings. If 
 my memory serves me correctly, his father paid something 
 like twenty-five thousand dollars to the three persons in- 
 jured. That, however, is neither here nor there, except to 
 illustrate the young man's disregard for the law. 
 
 Miss Hitter had been on the case a very short time before 
 he began to make ardent love to her. She was an ex- 
 tremely pretty girl, two years his senior, and, I am con- 
 vinced, a most worthy and exemplary young woman. She 
 became infatuated with the young man. He asked her to 
 marry him. (Permit me to digress for a moment in order 
 to state that while Courtney Thane was in his freshman 
 year at college his father was obliged to pay out quite a 
 large sum of money to a chorus-girl with whom, it appears, 
 he had become involved.) To make a long story short, our 
 client, trusting implicitly to his honour and submitting to 
 the ardour of their joint passion, anticipated the marriage 
 ceremony with serious results to herself. When she dis- 
 covered that he had no intention of marrying her, she at- 
 tempted suicide. Her mother, on learning the truth, went 
 to Thane's parents and pleaded for the righting of the 
 wrong. Howard Thane had, by this time, lost all patience
 
 BRINGING UP THE PAST 265 
 
 with his son. He refused to have anything to do with the 
 matter. The young man's mother ordered Miss Hitter's 
 mother out of the apartment and threatened to have her 
 arrested for blackmail. Shortly after this episode, we were 
 consulted by Mrs. Hitter, much against the wishes of her 
 daughter, who shrank from the notoriety and the disgrace 
 of a lawsuit. The elder Thane was adamant in his decision 
 that his son should marry the girl, who, he was fair 
 enough to admit, was a young woman of very superior 
 character and who, he was convinced, had been basely 
 deceived. The mother, on the other hand, was relentlessly 
 opposed to the sacrifice of her son. We took the matter to 
 court. On the morning of the first day of the trial, before 
 the opening of court, the defendant's counsel came to us 
 with a proposition. They offered to settle out of court for 
 twenty-five thousand dollars. In the end, we accepted fifty 
 thousand, and the case was dismissed. Afterwards counsel 
 for the other side informed us that the elder Thane turned 
 his son out of his home and refused to have anything more 
 to do with him. I understand the young man went to 
 Europe, where he subsisted on an allowance provided by 
 his mother. Thane, senior, died shortly after this. Our 
 client, I am pained to say, died with her babe in child- 
 birth. 
 
 You may be interested to know, my dear niece, that 
 Mrs. Thane married soon after her husband's death. Her 
 second husband was a young French nobleman, many years 
 her junior. He was killed in the war, I think at Verdun. 
 I understand she is now living in this city. Her present 
 name escapes me, but I know that her widowhood has been 
 made endurable by a legacy which happens to be one in 
 name only. In other words, he left her the title of 
 Countess. 
 
 If I can be of any further service to you, my dear niece, 
 pray do not hesitate to call upon me. Believe me to be . . . 
 etc., etc.
 
 266 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Within ten minutes after the perusal of this very 
 convincing indictment, Charlie Webster was on his way 
 to Alix's home. He was quite out of breath when he 
 presented himself at the front door, and his first words 
 to Alix were: 
 
 " While I'm getting my breath, Alix, you might pre- 
 pare yourself for a shock."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 
 
 EARLY the next morning, the telephone in town- 
 ship assessor Jordan's house rang. Annie Jor- 
 dan was " setting " the breakfast table. She 
 waited for the call to be repeated; she was not sure 
 whether the bell had rung thrice or four times. Their 
 call was " Party J, ring four." Four sharp rings came 
 promptly. She looked at the kitchen clock. It lacked 
 five minutes of seven. 
 
 " Gee," she grumbled, " I didn't know anybody had 
 to get up as early as I do." Taking down the receiver 
 she uttered a sweet " hello," because, as she said, 
 " You never know who's at the other end, and it's just 
 as likely to be him as not." 
 
 " Is that you, Annie? This is Mrs. Vick. May I 
 speak to Rosabel? " 
 
 " Why, Rosabel isn't here, Mrs. Vick." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Rosabel isn't here." 
 
 There was a short silence. Then: "Are you joking 
 with me, Annie? If she isn't up yet, please tell her 
 to" 
 
 " Honest to goodness, Mrs. Vick, she's not here. I 
 haven't seen her since day before yesterday." 
 
 " She said she was going over to spend the night 
 with you. She left home about four yesterday. Oh,
 
 268 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 m y goodness, I I is there any one else she might 
 have, I'm sure she said you, though, Annie. Can you 
 think of any one else? She took her nightdress and 
 things." 
 
 " She always comes here, Mrs. Vick," said Annie, and 
 felt a little chill creeping over her. " Still she may have 
 gone to Mrs. Urline's. She and Hattie are good 
 friends. Shall I call up and ask? I'll ring you up in 
 a couple of minutes." 
 
 That was the beginning. Within the hour the whole 
 of Windomville was talking about the strange dis- 
 appearance of the pretty daughter of Amos Vick, 
 across the river. Old Jim House, the handy-man at 
 Dowd's Tavern, inserted his shaggy head through the 
 dining-room door and informed the editor of the Sun 
 in a far from ceremonious manner that he had an 
 " item " for the paper. 
 
 " I'll be out as soon as I've finished breakfast," said 
 Mr. Pollock. 
 
 "Well, you can't say I didn't tell ye," said Jim, 
 and withdrew his head. " No wonder there ain't ever 
 anything worth readin' in that pickerune paper of his, 
 Maggie," he growled to Margaret Slattery. " If ever I 
 do subscribe for a paper, it's goin' to be one that's got 
 some git up and go about it. Some Injinapolis er Cin- 
 cinnaty paper, b'gosh. There's Link Pollock settin' 
 in there eatin' pancakes while a girl is bein' missed from 
 one end of the township to the other. Bill Foss has " 
 
 " What girl? " demanded Margaret. 
 
 " That girl of Amos Vick's. They ain't seen hide 
 er hair of her sence yesterday afternoon. Amos is over 
 to the drug store, nearly crazy with suspicion. I got 
 it all figgered out. One of two things has happened.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 269 
 
 She's either run off to get married er else she's been 
 waylaid and er execrated by some tramp. Like as 
 not the very feller that peeped in at Alix Crown's win- 
 der the other night. 'Twouldn't surprise me a particle 
 if she was found some'eres er other with her head beat 
 in or somethin' ! And Link Pollock jest sits in there 
 stuffin' pan " 
 
 Margaret Slattery having disappeared abruptly into 
 the dining-room, Jim grunted and edged over to the 
 kitchen range, where Miss Jennie Dowd was busilyj 
 engaged. 
 
 " I ain't got nothin' personal ag'in Link Pollock, Jen- 
 nie," he said, sniffing the browning batter with pleasur- 
 able longing, " but if you was to ask me I'd say his wife 
 is twice the man he is, and a little over. The minute 
 that woman is a widder I'm goin' to subscribe for the 
 paper, 'cause I know she'll What say, Jennie ? " 
 
 " Bring me another scuttle of coal, and, for good- 
 ness' sake, don't smoke that pipe in my kitchen." 
 
 " What's the matter with this here pipe? " demande'd 
 Mr. House in some surprise. 
 
 " Never mind. I'm busy." 
 
 " Yes, cookin' pancakes for that all right, all 
 right, I'll get your coal fer ye. I ought to be out helpin* 
 Arnos Vick to investigate fer his daughter, that's where 
 I ought to be. First thing you know, he'll be offerin* 
 twenty-five er fifty dollars fer her and say, it seems to 
 me you ought to be more interested in that pore lost 
 girl than makin' pancakes fer Link Pollock." He pre- 
 pared to sit down. " There's a lot of people in this 
 here town payin' him two dollars a year fer to git the 
 news, and all he does is to All right, I wasn't goin' 
 to set down anyways. I was jest movin' this cheer out
 
 270 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 o' the way a little, so's Maggie Yes, and with coal 
 as high as it is now and a lot of pore people starvin' 
 and freezin' to death, it exaggerates me considerable to 
 see you wastin' Well, is he still eatin', Maggie? " 
 
 " He's beat it upstairs to change his carpet slippers,'* 
 announced Margaret Slattery excitedly. " You needn't 
 make any more, Miss Jennie. They're all beatin' it, 
 all except Mr. Thane, and he says he don't want any 
 more. He says he ain't feelin' well and thinks he'll go 
 up to his room and lay down for a while." 
 
 "Well, seein's you don't need that coal, Jennie, I 
 guess I'll mosey along and see if I c'n be any help to 
 Amos. This jest goes to show what an ijit I'd ha' been 
 to let my pipe go out." 
 
 Courtney Thane hung over the little stove in his room, 
 shivering as with a chill. About ten o'clock some one 
 knocked at his door. He started up from the chair, 
 his gaze fixed on the door. With an effort he pulled 
 himself together and inquired who was there. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Thane ? " 
 asked Miss Molly Dowd, outside. 
 
 " Nothing, thank you." After a moment's inde- 
 cision, he crossed over and opened the door. " It's 
 awfully good of you, Miss Molly. There's nothing 
 really the matter with me. I was awake most of the 
 night with a pain in my back, something like lumbago, 
 I suppose. I was afraid at first it was my old pleurisy 
 coming back for another visit, but it seems to be lower 
 down. .1 feel much better, thank you. The fresh air 
 will do me good. I think I'll go out and see if I can be 
 of any assistance to poor Vick. Have they had any. 
 news of Rosabel?"
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 271 
 
 " I think not. They have telephoned to the city to 
 ask the police to watch out for her, especially at the 
 trains. She's been terribly depressed, they say, since 
 her brother went to the Navy training school up near 
 Chicago. Amos thinks she may have taken it into her 
 head to go up there somewhere to be near him." 
 
 " It is possible. She was devoted to her brother. I 
 hope nothing worse has happened to her. She is a 
 sweet, lovable girl, and they worshipped her." 
 
 Later on, as he was standing in front of the post- 
 office, smoking a cigarette, Vick came up in Alix 
 Crown's automobile. 
 
 The former had been to the city to consult with the 
 police. He inquired anxiously if any word had been 
 received from the men who had volunteered to search 
 in the woods and along the river bank for the girl. Re- 
 ceiving a reply in the negative from several of the 
 hangers-on, he turned to give an order to the chauffeur. 
 As he did so, his gaze fell upon Courtney, who was on 
 the outer edge of the little group surrounding the car. 
 
 After a moment of indecision, the young man pushed 
 his way forward, an expression of deep concern in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Morning, Courtney," greeted the older man, ex- 
 tending his hand. " I'm glad to see you. I suppose 
 you've heard about Rosabel?" 
 
 Thane shook hands with Rosabel's father. 
 
 " I wouldn't be worried if I were you, Mr. Vick. 
 She'll turn up all right. I feel sure of it. If there is 
 anything in the world I can do, I wish you would say 
 so, Mr. Vick. Anything, sir. There is nothing I 
 wouldn't do for you and Mrs. Vick and Rosabel. I 
 adore that child. Why, I get positively sick all over
 
 272 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 when I let myself think that but, it's impossible! I 
 feel it in my bones she'll come home sometime today." 
 
 Vick pressed the young man's hand. 
 
 " I wish I could be sure of that, God, I wish I could 
 be sure," he said, with a little catch in his gruff voice. 
 " I don't see what got into her to run away like this. 
 She ain't been very chipper since Cale went away, you 
 know. Sort of sick and down in the mouth. Her 
 mother's heard her crying a good bit lately up in her 
 room. I promised her only a couple of days ago to 
 take her up to Chicago for a spell, so's she could see 
 Cale every once in a while. So it can't be she's gone 
 off on her own hook to see him, knowin' that either me or 
 her mother was planning to go up with her next week. 
 Thank you, Courtney, for offering to help us. If there's 
 anything, I'll let you know. We've been telegraphin' 
 and telephonin* everywhere to see if we can get track 
 of her, and we've been to all her friends' homes to ask 
 if they've seen her. I wish, if you feel like it, you'd 
 go over and see Mrs. Vick. Maybe you can cheer her 
 up, encourage her or something. She's terribly worried. 
 I I think it would break her heart if anything hap- 
 pened to to " His lips twisted as with pain. He 
 bent over and picked a burr from his trousers' leg. 
 
 " Buck up, old fellow," said Courtney, a ringing note 
 of confidence in his voice. He laid his hand on Vick's 
 arm. " Tell me all about it. When did she leave the 
 house, and where did she say she was going? " 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon. She said she was going to 
 spend the night at the Jordans'. She kissed her mother 
 good-bye, just as she always does, and we ain't seen 
 or heard anything of her since. Nobody in Windom- 
 ville saw her. Bill Foss is afraid she may have been
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 273 
 
 waylaid by hoboes down along the river road. If if 
 that happened there'll be something worse than lynchin' 
 if I ever lay hands on " 
 
 Thane broke in with an oath. 
 
 " By God, I'll do the job for you if I get hold of 
 him first, Vick. I could set fire to a devil like that and 
 see him burned alive without moving a muscle." 
 
 " I can't let myself believe she's met with any such 
 horrible fate as that, Courtney. I simply can't bear 
 to think of my pretty little Rosie in the hands of " 
 
 " Don't think about it, Vick. I believe she will turn 
 up safe and sound and By the way, has it occurred 
 to you that she may have eloped? Was she in love with 
 anybody? Was she interested in any young fellow that 
 you didn't approve of? " 
 
 " She never spoke of being in love with anybody. 
 She never even gave us an inklin' of such a thing. She 
 would have told her mother. Why, good heavens, 
 Courtney, she wasn't much more'n a little girl! She 
 was eighteen her last birthday, and we never thought 
 of her as anything but a child just out of short dresses. 
 Did she ever speak to you about being gone on any of 
 these young fellows that come to see her? She liked 
 you tremendous, Courtney, and I didn't know but 
 what maybe she might have mentioned something to you 
 about it when you were off on those long walks to- 
 gether. Some of the times when you used to take a 
 lunch basket and go off " 
 
 " Not a word," broke in Courtney. " Why, she was 
 just like a kid, laughing and singing and begging me to 
 tell her stories about the war, and life in New York, and 
 all that sort of thing. She used to read to me, bless 
 her heart, read by the hour while I smoked, or went
 
 274 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 to sleep. If she was in love with anybody she cer- 
 tainly never took me into her confidence." 
 
 " I I guess there's nothing in that theory," said 
 Amos Vick, shaking his head. " She didn't run away 
 with anybody. That's out of the question. I'm work- 
 ing on the theory that she sort of went out of her head 
 or something and wandered away. You read about 
 cases like that in the papers. I forget what they call 
 the disease, but there's " 
 
 " Aphasia," supplied Courtney absently. His gaze 
 was fixed on a graceful, familiar figure down the street. 
 
 Alix Crown had just dismounted from her horse in 
 front of the library. She stood, straight and slim, on 
 the sidewalk awaiting the approach of Editor Pollock, 
 who was hurrying up from Assessor Jordan's house 
 where he had been " interviewing " Annie. 
 
 A warm glow shot through Courtney's veins. He had 
 held that adorable, boyish figure tight in his arms ! 
 Nothing could rob him of that rapturous thought, 
 nothing could deprive him of those victorious moments. 
 Amos Vick's voice recalled him. 
 
 " I'll have to be on the move, Courtney. Here comes 
 Bill Foss. He's been telephonin' to Litchtown, down 
 the river. I do wish you'd go over and see Lucinda. 
 She'll be mighty grateful to you." 
 
 " Don't fail to call on me, Mr. Vick, if there's any- 
 thing I can do," called out Courtney after the moving 
 machine. 
 
 He did not take his eyes from Alix until she dis- 
 appeared through the library door. The horse, a very 
 fine animal, was wet with sweat. He could see, even at 
 that distance, the " lather " on her flanks.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 275 
 
 " Any news? " he inquired of Pollock, as that worthy 
 came up panting. 
 
 " Nope. Alix Crown is just back from Jim Bagley's. 
 Some one said a hired man of his had seen a woman 
 walking across the pasture yesterday just before dark 
 out near the old Windom place, but it couldn't have 
 been Rosie Vick because she had no way to get across 
 the river except by the ferry, and she didn't come that 
 way, Joe Burk swears. Alix saw this hired man and he 
 says it was almost dark and he couldn't be sure whether 
 it was a man or a woman." 
 
 A greyish pallor spread over Courtney's face. He 
 turned away abruptly and hurried down the street. He 
 remembered the "skiff" that belonged to young Cale, 
 salvaged some years before on the abatement of a Feb- 
 ruary flood. On more than one occasion he had taken 
 Rosabel out on the river in this clumsy old boat, twice 
 at least to the base of Quill's Window where she had 
 refused to land because of the dread she had for the 
 gruesome place. 
 
 Cale kept his boat down among the willows, chained 
 to a pole he had driven deep in the bed of the river. 
 It was one of his treasures. He had fished from it up 
 and down the stream ; he had gone forth in it at day- 
 break for wild ducks and geese. 
 
 Yes, Thane remembered the "skiff." Strange that no 
 one else had thought of it. Strange that even Amos 
 Vick was satisfied she could not have crossed the river 
 except by the ferry. He wondered whether it was tied 
 up in its accustomed place over yonder, or was it now 
 on this side of the river? He felt a strange chill in 
 his blood. 
 
 He was nearing the library when Alix came out. If
 
 276 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 she saw him she gave no sign. She crossed the side- 
 walk, threw the bridle rein over the horse's neck, and 
 swung herself gracefully into the saddle. Without so 
 much as a glance over her shoulder, she rode off at a 
 brisk canter in the direction of the ferry. He knew she 
 was on her way to see Mrs. Vick. 
 
 The R. F. D. postman making his rounds, came to 
 Amos Vick's shortly after noon that day. He volun- 
 teered a bit of information. Rosabel had given him a 
 letter when he stopped the day before. It was ad- 
 dressed to Caleb Vick. She asked him how long he 
 thought it would take the letter to reach its destina- 
 tion. When he told her that it might be delivered to 
 Cale early the next day, she thanked him and returned 
 to the house. 
 
 He thought at the time that she looked " kind of 
 white around the gills." 
 
 II 
 
 Jim Bagley and his new "hired man," pursuing a 
 suggestion made by the latter, went to the top of Quill's 
 Window for a bird's-eye view of the river and the sur- 
 rounding country. The sharp eyes of the Pinkerton 
 man descried the rowboat under the willows along the 
 opposite bank of the stream. 
 
 Half an hour later, Bagley and several companions 
 came upon the boat. On one of the seats lay Rosabel 
 Vick's heavy coat and the black fur collar she was 
 known to have worn when she left home. Under the 
 seat in the stern was a small paper bundle. It con- 
 tained a nightgown, a pair of black stockings, and 
 several toilet articles. 
 
 Across the river, several hundred yards above Quill's
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICE 277 
 
 Window, a small gravelly " sand-bar " reached out 
 into the stream. Here the practised eyes of Gilfillan 
 found unmistakable indications of a recent landing. 
 The prow of the boat, driven well out upon the bar, 
 had left its mark. Also, there were two deep cuts in 
 the sand where an oar had been used in pushing off. 
 It was impossible to make out footprints in the loose, 
 shifting grave, 
 j Mr. Gilfillan pondered deeply. 
 
 " That boat crossed over here yesterday," he re- 
 flected. " It's pretty clear that it belongs over on that 
 side. If the Vick girl came over in it, there's no use 
 looking for her on this side of the river. That boat 
 couldn't have got back to the other side unless some- 
 body rowed it over. If it was a woman I saw walking 
 across the pasture in the direction of the river, it must 
 have been this girl. Now one of two tilings happened 
 in case it was the Vick girl. Either she was up near 
 that old house before I got there, or she saw me when 
 she was approaching, and turned back. In either case, 
 she had an object in hanging around that house. Now 
 we come to the object. Was she going there to meet 
 some one? If so, it would naturally be a man. 
 
 " Now let's get this thing straight. Thane crossed 
 the pasture from this direction. That's positive, 
 because I followed him. It is a dead certainty he did 
 not meet the Vick girl. I would have witnessed any 
 such meeting. The fact that he lived at her father's 
 house for several weeks may have something to do with 
 the case, but that's guesswork. What we want is 
 facts. This much is certain. I did not see Miss Crown 
 go into that house, but I did see her come out. I 
 never was so paralysed in my life. It is clear, there-
 
 278 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 fore, that she was in there before either I or Thane- 
 came upon the scene. Now the question is, was she 
 there to meet Thane? I doubt it. Things begin to look 
 a little clearer to me. Suppose, for instance, he went 
 out to that big hill to meet some one else, presumably 
 the Vick girl, and that they had planned to go to that 
 old deserted house. He was late. So, thinking she 
 had gone on, he hustled across the field and received the 
 surprise of his life. Now, we'll say the Vick girl was 
 over there waiting for him when Miss Crown came to 
 the house, a thing they couldn't have foreseen in view 
 of the fact that she shunned the place. Our hero comes 
 up and enters the house as if he owned it. The other 
 girl hangs around outside till it gets dark enough for 
 her to risk making a getaway without attracting my 
 attention, in case she saw me. She beats it back to 
 the river, and then, being afraid that I saw and recog- 
 nized her, she concludes to beat it to somebody's house 
 over in the next county, so's she'll have an alibi if I go 
 to Miss Crown with the story. Now, that's one way to 
 look at it. The other angle is that she was jealous and 
 trailed Thane to his rendezvous, as my old friend Nick 
 Carter would say. In that case, By thunder ! " He 
 gave vent to a soft whistle. 
 
 " In that case, she may have jumped into the river 
 and No, that doesn't hang together. She wouldn't 
 have gone to the trouble to row back to the other side. 
 Wait a second! Now, let me think. Here's an idea. 
 We'll suppose somebody waylaid her over there on the 
 other side of the river, put the quietus on her and 
 chucked her into the water. Then he rowed across here 
 and started for the turnpike. Seeing me and also 
 Thane, he turns back. It's a man I see in the dark-
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICE 279 
 
 ness instead of a woman. He goes back to the boat, 
 rows over to the other side again and Holy Mack- 
 erel! Here's a new one. That girl's body may be 
 lying up there in the underbrush at this instant. 
 Dumped there by the murderer, who turned back after 
 seeing me I'll take a look ! " 
 
 For an hour Gilfillan searched through the under- 
 brush along the bank. Finally he gave it up and started 
 toward the village. He found the town in a state of 
 great excitement. Everybody was hurrying down to 
 the river. Overtaking an old man, he inquired if there 
 was any news of the missing girl. 
 
 " They say she's been drownded," chattered the an- 
 cient. " My daughter says they found her things in 
 a boat, but no sign of her. Did you ever see the beat? 
 They's been more goin' on in this here town in the last 
 week than " 
 
 Gilfillan hurried on. He caught Charlie Webster as 
 he was leaving the warehouse. 
 
 " I want to see Miss Crown as soon as possible, Web- 
 ster," he said. *' Do you suppose she will go up in the 
 air if I mention the fact that I know she was with Thane 
 yesterday up in that old house? It's a rather ticklish 
 thing to spring on her if she " 
 
 " It's all right," interrupted Charlie. " I talked with 
 her about it last night. She had no idea he was coming 
 there. He told her he saw her from across the pasture 
 and hustled over. She was surprised almost out of her 
 skin when he popped in on her. She tells me she 
 ordered him out of the house." 
 
 The detective was thoughtful. " I wonder if it has 
 occurred to Miss Crown that Thane might have mis- 
 taken her for some one else at that distance."
 
 280 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Not so's you'd notice it," declared Charlie. " He 
 knew it was Alix all right. She isn't in any doubt on 
 that score." 
 
 " It begins to take shape," mused Gilfillan. " He 
 didn't wait for her, that's all." 
 
 "What say?" 
 
 " I was just thinking," replied the other. " Where is 
 Thane at the present moment, Webster? " 
 
 " He just went off in an automobile with Dick Hurdle 
 and a couple of fellows to stretch one of Joe Hart's big 
 fish nets across the river down at the Narrows, five or 
 six miles below here." 
 
 " Would you mind inviting me up to your room at 
 the Tavern for a little while, Webster? " 
 
 " Well, I was going down to the ferry. There are half 
 a dozen skiffs down " 
 
 " See here, Webster, as I understand it, my real 
 job is to find out all I can about this chap Thane. I am 
 really working for you, not for Miss Crown, although 
 she is putting up the money. I am just as thoroughly 
 convinced as you are that Thane staged that masked 
 robber business himself. It's an old gag, especially with 
 lovers and occasionally with husbands." 
 
 Charlie grinned sheepishly, a guilty flush staining his 
 rubicund face. 
 
 " I guess I might as well confess that I was guilty of 
 something of the sort when I was about seventeen," he 
 said. " That's how I came to figger out that maybe 
 he was up to the same kind of heroism." 
 
 " Nearly every kid has done the same thing. It's boy 
 nature." 
 
 " I reckon that's right. I fixed it for a boy friend 
 of mine to jump out of a dark place one night when I
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 281 
 
 was walkin' home from a church sociable with my girl. 
 He had false whiskers on. I helped him glue them 
 on, and he had an awful time getting 'em off. Course 
 when he jumped out and growled ' hands up,' I just 
 sailed into him and the fur flew for a few seconds. Then 
 he run like a whitehead. It didn't work out very well, 
 however. That kid's sister got onto the trick and told 
 my girl about it, and well, I almost had to leave town. 
 But it ain't a game for a grown-up man to play, and 
 that's what I think this feller Thane has been pulling." 
 
 " What you want to find out, before it's too late, is 
 whether Thane is all that he professes to be," said the 
 other. " Well, I'm simply sitting tight on the job, 
 stalling along until I hear from our people in New 
 York. They have cabled England to find out whether 
 he was connected with the British air forces. Now, 
 what I want to do is to get into that fellow's room for 
 ten or fifteen minutes. Can you fix it?" 
 
 "It it wouldn't be legal," protested Charlie. 
 " You've got to get out a search warrant." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I'm not planning to steal any- 
 thing," exclaimed Gilfillan. " I merely want to get into 
 his room by mistake. That happens frequently, you 
 know." 
 
 Charlie was finally persuaded. He cast an apprehen- 
 sive glance down the road leading to the ferry, searched 
 the Main Street for observers, and then led the way 
 over to the practically deserted Tavern. 
 
 Half an hour later Mr. Gilfillan re-entered Charlie's 
 room. 
 
 " Remember I don't know where you've been or what 
 you were up to," warned the fat man firmly. " I'm not 
 a party to this nefarious "
 
 282 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 "Righto!" said the detective cheerily. "Your 
 skirts are clear. They are immaculate. Let's beat it." 
 
 "Well, what did you find out?" inquired Charlie, 
 when they were in the street once more. He was burst- 
 ing with curiosity. 
 
 " In as much as you don't know where I was or what 
 I've been doing, it will not compromise you if I say 
 that I found a thirty-eight calibre revolver with three 
 empty shells in the cylinder. I also found a theatrical 
 make-up box, with grease paints, gauze, and all that. 
 Also currency amounting to about three hundred dol- 
 lars. Nothing incriminating, nothing actually crooked. 
 Simply circumstantial as relating to recent events in 
 your midst, Mr. Webster." 
 
 " Makes it look mighty certain that he was the feller 
 with the mask, don't it? Only three shots were fired, 
 you know. I've been thinking a lot about what you said 
 awhile ago. You don't think that he had anything to 
 do with with putting the Vick girl out of the way? 
 You spoke about him being mistaken in the woman." 
 
 "He had nothing to do with it, Webster. I told 
 you I saw a figure in the pasture after he had gone 
 into the house. If it was the Vick girl, she was cer- 
 tainly alive then. He went straight home after leaving 
 that house. He didn't go out of the Tavern again last 
 night, that's positive. Now, what I want to find out is 
 this: was the girl in love with him? Was there any- 
 thing between them? If she's at the bottom of the 
 river down there, it's a plain case of suicide, my friend, 
 and people do not take their own lives unless there's 
 a mighty good reason. With a young girl it's usually 
 a case of unrequited love, or worse. According to 
 that letter Miss Miller had from New York, Thane is
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK 283 
 
 Stot above betraying 1 ft girl. Of coarse, if the Vick girl 
 is dead and left nothing behind to implicate Thane, it 
 will be out of the question to charge him with being 
 even indirectly responsible for her death." 
 
 " The main thing," said Charlie, who had turned a 
 shade paler during this matter-of-fact, cold-blooded 
 analysis, " is to keep Alix Crown from falling into his 
 clutches. He's a bad egg, that feller is, and he's made 
 up his mind to win her by fair means or foul." 
 
 " Well y if she falls for him after reading that law- 
 yer's letter and when she hears what I believe to be 
 the truth about that heroic episode the other night, 
 why, she ought to get what's coming to her, that's all 
 I have to say," said Mr. Gilnllan flatly. * I've dis- 
 covered one thing, Mr.. Webster. If a woman makes 
 up her mind to marry a man, hell-fire and brimstone 
 can't stop her. The older I get and the more I see of 
 women, the more I am convinced that vice is its own 
 reward. I guess we'd better 'stroll down to the river 
 and see what's doing." 
 
 "I've been thinking," said Charlie as they walked 
 along, " that if Thane wasn't in the British Army and 
 wasn't in our army, then he must be a slacker and 
 wanted by the government for " 
 
 " Nothing doing on that line. You forget he was 
 crippled long before the war. He couldn't get by a 
 medical board. They'd turn him down in a second. 
 If he was in this country at the time of the draft, he 
 would have had no trouble getting an exemption. What 
 I can't understand is why he, a New Yorker, should be 
 hiding out here in the jungles of Indiana. There's 
 something queer about that, my friend." 
 
 "Kind of fishy," said Charlie darkly. [Then upon
 
 284. QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 reflection, he added with considerable vehemence: 
 "Damn him!" 
 
 Already half a dozen rowboats were out in the 
 stream, with men peering over the sides into the defep, 
 slow-moving water. Burk's Ferry did a thriving busi- 
 ness. It plied back and forth from one " road-cut " 
 to the other, crowded with foot passengers, all of whom 
 studied the water intently. Men, women and children 
 tramped close to the edge of both banks. People spoke 
 in subdued voices ; an atmosphere of the deepest solem- 
 nity hung over the scene. 
 
 The sky itself was overcast; a raw wind moaned, 
 through the trees, sighing a requiem. The drab, silent 
 river went placidly, mockingly on its way down to the 
 sea, telling no tales : if Rosabel Vick was rolling, glid- 
 ing along the bottom, gently urged by the current, the 
 grim waters covered well the secret. 
 
 The word went from lip to lip that motor-boats were 
 on the way down from the city, with police officers and 
 grappling-hooks and men experienced in the gruesome 
 business of " dragging." The boss of the railway con- 
 struction gang at Hawkins, where the new bridge was 
 being built, had started for Windomville with a quan- 
 tity of dynamite to be exploded on the bottom of the 
 river in the hope and expectation of bringing the body 
 to the surface.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 AL afternoon the search continued. At intervals 
 and at widely separated points dull explosions 
 took place on the bed of the river, creating 
 smooth, round hillocks that lasted for the fraction of a 
 second and then dissolved into swift-spreading wave- 
 lets, stained a dirty yellow by the upheaval of sand and 
 mud, and went racing in ruffles to the banks which they 
 tenderly licked before they died. White-bellied fish, 
 killed by the shock of the explosions, came to the sur- 
 face and floated away, scores of them, large and small. 
 Spider-like grappling hooks, with their curving iron 
 prongs, raked the bottom from side to side, moving 
 constantly /downstream, feeling here, there and every- 
 where with insensate fingers for the body of Rosabel 
 Vick. 
 
 A pall settled over the river; it reached far beyond 
 the environs of Windomville, for Amos Vick was a man 
 known arid respected by every farmer in the district. 
 
 Night came. Courtney Thane, considerably shaken 
 by the tragedy, set out immediately after dinner for 
 the home of Alix Crown. He had been silent and de- 
 pressed at dinner, taking his little part in the conver- 
 sation, which dealt exclusively with the incomprehen- 
 sible act of young Rosabel Vick. 
 
 " What possible reason could that pretty happy 
 285
 
 286 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 young girl have had for killing herself?" That was 
 the question every one asked and no one answered. Mrs. 
 Maude Baggs Pollock repeatedly asked it at dinner, and 
 once Thane had replied: 
 
 " I still don't believe she killed herself. It is beyond 
 belief. If she is out there in the river, as they suspect, 
 it is because there "was foul play. Some fiend attacked 
 her. I will never believe anything else, Mrs. Pollock. 
 I knew her too well. She would never dream of killing 
 herself. She loved life too wll. I can't help feeling 
 that she is alive and well somewhere, that they will 
 hear from her in a day or two, and that " 
 
 " But how about the things they found in that 
 boat?" demanded Doc Simpson. *' She wouldn't be so 
 heartless as to play a trick like that on her folks." 
 
 Courtney's answer was a gloomy shake of the head. 
 
 His heart was pounding heavily as he trudged up the 
 walk to Alix's door. He knew that the crisis in his af- 
 fairs was at hand. She had asked him to come. He had 
 not given up hope. He was still confident of his power 
 to win in spite of lier amazing perversity. Inconsist- 
 ency, he called it. Of one thing he was resolved: he 
 would brook no delay. She would have to marry him at 
 once. He wanted to get away from Windomville as 
 soon as possible. He loathed the place. 
 
 Hilda came to the door. 
 
 " Miss Crown is over at Mr. Vick's," she announced. 
 u She's not at home." 
 
 He stiffened. ** I had an appointment with her for 
 this evening, Hilda. She must be at home." 
 
 " She ain't," said the maid succinctly. 
 
 " Did she leave any word for me? " 
 
 ^ Not with me, sir. She telephoned to Mrs. Strong
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 287 
 
 this evening to say she was going' to stay with Mrs. 
 
 "AH night?" 
 
 " No, sir. The car's going down to meet her at the 
 ferry about ten o'clock." 
 
 He departed in a very unpleasant frame of mind. 
 This was laying it on a bit thick, he complained. If she 
 thought she could treat him in this cavalier fashion 
 she'd soon find out where she " got off." What busi- 
 ness had she, anyhow, over at the Vicks? All the old 
 women in the neighbourhood would be there to An 
 idea struck him suddenly. 
 
 " I'll do it," he muttered. " I'll have to go over some 
 time, so why not now? It's the decent thing to do. I'll 
 go tonight." 
 
 He hurried up to his room. Opening his trunk, he 
 took out his revolver, replaced the discharged shells and 
 stuck it into his overcoat pocket. Picking up the little 
 package of bank-notes, he fingered them for a moment 
 and then, moved by an impulse for which he had no 
 explanation, he not only counted them but quickly 
 stuffed them into his trousers' pocket. Afterwards he 
 was convinced that premonition was responsible for this 
 incomprehensible act. 
 
 He crossed the ferry with several other people. The 
 moon had broken through the clouds. Its light upon 
 the cold, sluggish water produced the effect of polished 
 steel. It reminded him of the grey surface of an an- 
 cient suit of armour. The crossing was slow. He could 
 not repress a shudder when he looked downstream and 
 saw lights that seemed to be fixed in the centre of the 
 river. He closed his eyes. He could not bear to look 
 at the cold, silent water. The soft splashing against
 
 288 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 the broad, square bow of the old-fashioned ferry served 
 to increase his nervousness. The horrid fancy struck 
 him that Rosabel Vick was out there ahead clawing at 
 the slimy timbers in the vain effort to draw herself out 
 of the water. ... He wished to God he had not come. 
 
 He was the first person off the ferry when it came to 
 a stop on the farther side of the river. Ahead of him 
 lay the road through the narrow belt of trees that lined 
 the bank. He knew that a scant hundred yards lay 
 between the river and the open road beyond and yet a 
 vast dread possessed him. He shrank from that black 
 opening in the wall of trees where dead leaves rustled 
 and the wind whispered secrets to the barren branches. 
 
 He fell in behind a couple of men who strode fear- 
 lessly into the dark avenue. After him came two men 
 and a woman. They were all strangers to him, so far 
 as he could make out, but he felt a sense of security in 
 their nearness. He gathered that they were bound for 
 Amos Vick's. Presently they came to the open road 
 beyond the trees. The half moon rode high and clear; 
 the figures of his companions took shape, dusky and 
 ghost-like ; the fences alongside the road became visible, 
 while straw-ricks, lone trees and other shadowy objects 
 emerged from the maw of the night. Here and there 
 in the distance points of light indicated the presence of 
 invisible farmhouses, while straight ahead, a mile or 
 more away, a cluster of lights marked the house of 
 Amos Vick. 
 
 As he drew nearer, Thane was able to count the 
 lights. He looked intently for the sixth window, an 
 upstairs corner room was where it would be, but there 
 were lights in only five. The corner window was dark.
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 289 
 
 He knew that window well. ... He wished he had a 
 stiff drink of whiskey. 
 
 Half a dozen automobiles stood at the roadside in 
 front of the house. He stopped beside one of them to 
 look at his wrist-watch. It was half-past eight. Alix 
 would be starting home in less than an hour. No doubt 
 it had been arranged that one of these cars was to take 
 her down to the ferry. He had seen her saddle horse 
 late that afternoon standing in front of the black- 
 smith's shop, evidently waiting to be re-shod. 
 
 If he had his way, and he was determined to have 
 it, Alix would walk with him to the ferry. 
 
 As he turned in at the gate he observed that the 
 woman and her two companions, after pausing for a 
 moment to look at the house, continued their way up the 
 road. The men who had preceded him all the way were 
 already on the front porch. He followed the disap- 
 pearing trio with his eyes. The woman, he noticed for 
 the first time, was very tall, quite as tall as the men. 
 She wore a shawl over her head, and some sort of a long 
 cloak. 
 
 Setting his jaw he strode up the walk, looking neither 
 to right nor left, mounted the steps where many a night 
 he had sat with Rosabel beside him, and after passing 
 a group of low-voiced neighbours, knocked on the closed 
 door. He was admitted by an elderly woman who 
 looked askance at this well-dressed stranger. 
 
 " I am Mr. Thane, a friend," he said. Will you 
 tell Mrs. Vick, please? " 
 
 " She's upstairs, and I I " 
 
 " I think she is expecting me. But, wait. I 
 thought I might be able to comfort her, but I can see
 
 290 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 by jour expression that she isn't feeling up to seeing 
 people. I came over primarily to see if there is any- 
 thing I can do, Madam. You see, Rosabel and I were 
 great pals." His voice broke a little, and he bit his 
 nether lip. 
 
 " We've finally got her to lie down," said the woman. 
 " She's she's nearly crazy with the suspense and 
 everything. If you'll wait a little bit, I'll find out if she 
 feels like seeing you. Alix Crown is with her. She 
 coaxed her to stretch out on the bed. Miss Crown 
 understands these things. She did some hospital work 
 (during the war " 
 
 " Yes, I know Miss Crown," he interrupted. 
 
 " and saw a lot of suffering, 'specially among 
 mothers who came to see their crippled and sick sons 
 in the hospitals." 
 
 " Perhaps if you were to tell Miss Crown that I am 
 here she could but no, I sha'n't even bother Miss 
 Crown. She's got her hands full. I will sit down and 
 wait awhile, however. If by any chance, you should 
 be able to get word to Mrs. Vick that I am here, I 
 think she might feel like seeing me." 
 
 " I'll see," said the woman dubiously, and went away. 
 
 Courtney sat down on a sofa in the parlour. He 
 looked around the lamp-lit room. . , . Over in the 
 corner was the upright piano on which Rosabel used to 
 play for him. He could see her now the shapely, girl- 
 ish back; the round, white neck and the firm young 
 shoulders ; the tilt of her head ; the strong, brown hands, 
 he could see her now. And she used to turn her head 
 and smile at him, and make dreadful grimaces when this 
 diversion resulted in a discord. ... He got up sud- 
 denly and walked out into the dining-room.
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 291 
 
 Beyond, in the kitchen, he heard the rumble of men's 
 voices. He hesitated for a moment, and then opened 
 the door. There were half a dozen men in the kitchen, 
 and one of them was Amos Vick. They were preparing 
 to go out into the night. Vick's face was haggard, his 
 garments were muddy, his long rubber boots were cov- 
 ered with sludge and sand. Catching sight of Thane 
 in the doorway, the farmer went toward him, his hand 
 outstretched. 
 
 "I'm glad you came, Courtney," he said, his voice 
 hoarse but steady. ** Lucinda will be pleased. Does 
 she know you're here? " 
 
 " I sent word up, but if she doesn't feel like " 
 
 " She'll want to see you. We're starting out again. 
 Down the river." (His voice shook a. little.) "My 
 soul, boy, you look as white as a sheet. Here, take 
 a good swig of this. It's some rye that Steve White 
 brought over. We all needed it. Help yourself. You've 
 been overdoing a little today, Courtney, You're not 
 fit for this sort of That's right! That will brace 
 you up. You needed it, my boy." Courtney drained 
 half a tumbler of whiskey neat. He choked a little. 
 
 " I guess we'd better be starting, Amos," said Steve 
 White. 
 
 " Take me along with you, Mr. Vick," cried Court- 
 ney, squaring his shoulders. " I can't stand being idle 
 while " 
 
 " YouM catch your death of cold," interrupted Vick, 
 laying his hand on the young man's shoulder. " It' 
 mighty fine of you and I I sha'n't forget it. But 
 you're not fit for an all night job like this. I feel sort 
 of responsible for you, my boy. Your mother would 
 never forgive me if anything happened to you, and this
 
 292 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 is a time when we've got to think about the mothers. 
 Good night, God bless you, Courtney." 
 
 " Good night, Amos." 
 
 The men trooped heavily out of the kitchen door. 
 
 Presently he heard the chugging of automobile en- 
 gines and then the roar as they sped off down the road. 
 He returned to the parlour. The whiskey had given 
 him fresh confidence. 
 
 The elderly woman was talking to a couple of men 
 in the hall. From the scraps of conversation he was 
 able to pick up, he gathered that they were reporters 
 from the city. She invited him into the room. 
 
 " We would prefer a very recent picture," one of the 
 men was saying. " Something taken within the last few 
 weeks, if possible. A snap-shot will do, Madam." 
 
 The speaker was a middle-aged man with horn- 
 rimmed spectacles. His companion was much the 
 younger of the two. The latter bowed to Thane, who 
 had taken a position before the fireplace and was re- 
 garding the strangers with interest. 
 
 " I'll have to speak to Mrs. Vick," murmured the 
 woman. " I don't know as she would want Rosabel's 
 picture printed in the papers." 
 
 " It would be of incalculable assistance, Madam, in 
 case she has run away from home. We have an idea 
 that she may have planted those garments in the boat 
 in order to throw people off the track." 
 
 " Oh, she she wouldn't have done that," cried the 
 woman. " She couldn't be so heartless." 
 
 " You overlook the possibility that her mind may be 
 affected. Dementia frequently takes the form of er 
 you might say unnatural cunning."
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 293 
 
 " I'll speak to Mrs. Vick. There's a scrap-book of 
 Kodak pictures there on the table. I was looking 
 through it today. She and her brother, Cale, made 
 heaps of pictures. You might be looking through it 
 while I go upstairs." 
 
 Thane was lighting a cigarette. 
 
 " Have you told Miss Crown that I am here? " asked 
 he, as she started toward the stairs. 
 
 " She says she'll be down in a few minutes. Mrs. Vick 
 wants to see you before you go." 
 
 The two reporters were examining the contents of the 
 scrap-book. The younger of the two was standing at 
 the end of the little marble-topped table, his body 
 screening the book from Courtney's view. 
 
 There were a number of loose prints lying between 
 the leaves toward the end of the book. Rosabel had 
 neglected to paste them in. The man with the horn- 
 rimmed spectacles ran through them hastily. He 
 stealthily slipped two of these prints up his sleeve. 
 
 Thane would have been startled could he have seen 
 those prints. They were not pictures of Rosabel Vick, 
 but fair-sized, quite excellent likenesses of himself! 
 
 The woman returned to say that Mrs. Vick was very 
 much upset by the thought of her daughter's picture 
 appearing in the paper, and could not think of allowing 
 them to use it. 
 
 The elder man bowed courteously. " I quite under- 
 stand, Madam. We would not dream of using the pic- 
 ture if it would give pain to the unhappy mother. 
 Please assure her that we respect her wishes. Thank 
 you for your kindness. We must be on our way back 
 to town. Good night, Madam."
 
 294 QUILI/S WINDOW 
 
 "These reporters are awful nuisances," remarked 
 Courtney as the front door closed behind the two men. 
 "Always butting in where they're not wanted." 
 
 " They seemed Tery nice," observed the woman. 
 
 " I've never seen one that wasn't a sneak," said he, 
 raising his voice a little. The whiskey was having its 
 effect. 
 
 Mrs. Vick and Alix entered the room together. The 
 former came straight toward the young man. Her 
 rather heavy face was white and drawn, but her eyes 
 were wide and bright with anxiety. There was no trace 
 of tears. He knew there would be no scene, no hys- 
 terics. Lucinda Vick was made of stern, heroic stuff. 
 As he advanced, holding out his hands, he noticed that 
 she was fully dressed. She could be ready at a mo- 
 ment's notice to go- to her daughter. 
 
 " Oh, Courtney ! " she cried, and a little spasm of 
 pain convulsed her face for a fleeting second or two. 
 Her Toice was husky, tight with strain. 
 
 He took her eold, trembling hands in his. 
 
 a It's inconceivable," he cried. " I can't believe it, 
 I won't believe it.. You poor, poor thing! " 
 
 "It's true. She'a gone. My little girl is gone. I 
 could curse God." She spoke m a low, emotionless 
 Toice. " Wny should He have taken her in this way? 
 What have we done to deserve this cruelty? Why 
 couldn't He have let her die in my arms, with her head 
 upon my breast, where it belongs ? " 
 
 " Don't give up yet," he stammered, confounded by 
 this amazing exhibition of self-control. " There is a 
 chance, yea, there is a ehanee, Mrs, Vick. Don't give 
 up. Be be brave."
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 295 
 
 She shook her head. " She is dead," came from her 
 stiff lips, and that was all 
 
 He laid his arm across her shoulder. " I wish to God 
 it was me instead of her," he cried fervently. " I would 
 take her place willingly, Mrs. Vick." 
 
 " I I know you would, Courtney," said she, looking 
 into his eyes. " You were her best friend. She adored 
 you. I know you would, God bless you ! " 
 
 He looked away. His gaze fell upon Alix, standing 
 in the door. His eyes brightened. The hunted expres- 
 sion left them. An eager, hungry light came into them. 
 She was staring at him. Gradually he came to the 
 realization that she was looking at him with unspeak- 
 able horror. 
 
 Mrs. Vick was speaking. He hardly heard a word 
 she uttered. 
 
 " It was kind of you to come, Courtney. Thank you. 
 I must go now. I I can't stand it, I can't stand it 1" 
 
 She left him abruptly. Alix stood aside to allow her 
 to pass through the door. They heard her go up the 
 stairs, heavily, hurriedly. 
 
 *' Alix ! " he whispered, holding out his hands. 
 
 She did not move. 
 
 " I went up to the house to see you," he hurried on. 
 " They told me you were here. I " 
 
 Her gesture checked the eager words. 
 
 " You snake ! " She fairly hissed the word. 
 
 He drew back, speechless. She came a few steps 
 nearer. 
 
 " You snake ! " she repeated, her eyes blazing. 
 
 " Wha What do you mean? " he gasped, a fiery 
 red rushing to his face.
 
 296 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " Would you have died for the Ritter girl? " 
 
 A bomb exploding at his feet could not have produced 
 a greater shock. His mouth fell open; the colour 
 swiftly receded, leaving his face a sickly white. 
 
 " Who the hell " he began blankly. 
 
 " Be good enough to remember where you are," cried 
 Alix, lowering her voice as she glanced over her shoul- 
 der. " I can say all I have to say to you in a very few 
 words, Mr. Thane. Don't interrupt me. I have been 
 a fool, a stupid fool. We need not go into that. 
 Thank heaven, I happen to be made of a little stronger 
 stuff than others who have come under your influence. 
 You would have married me, yes, I believe that, 
 because it would have been the only way. I have the 
 complete history of your betrayal of the Ritter girl. 
 I know how your leg was injured. I know that you 
 were kicked out of the American Ambulance and ad- 
 vised to leave France. I don't believe you ever served 
 in the British Army. I have every reason to believe 
 that you poisoned my dog, and that you, were the 
 man who came to my window the other night. And I 
 suspect that you are the cause of poor Rosabel Vick's 
 suicide. Now you know what I think of you. My God, 
 how could you have come here tonight? These people 
 trusted you, they still trust you. Until now I did 
 not believe such men as you existed. You " 
 
 " I had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Rosa- 
 bel," he cried hoarsely. He was trembling like a leaf. 
 " Don't you go putting such ideas into their heads. 
 Don't you " 
 
 " Oh, I am not likely to do that," she interrupted 
 scornfully. "I shall not add to their misery. If I 
 could prove that you betrayed that poor, foolish child,
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 297 
 
 then I would see to it that you paid the price. But 
 I cannot prove it. I only know that she would have 
 been helpless in your hands. Oh, I know your power ! 
 I have felt it. And I did not even pretend to myself 
 that I loved you. What chance would she have had if 
 she loved and trusted you? I shudder at the thought 
 of If Amos Vick should even suspect you of wrong- 
 ing his child, he would not wait for proof. He would 
 tear you to pieces. You may be innocent. That is why 
 I am giving you your chance. Now, go ! " 
 
 " You certainly will give me the opportunity to de- 
 fend myself, Alix. Am I to be condemned unheard? 
 If you will allow me to walk to the ferry with you " 
 
 " And who is to act as my bodyguard ? " she inquired 
 with a significant sneer. " Go ! I never want to see 
 your face again." 
 
 With that, she left him. He stood perfectly still, 
 staring after the slender, boyish figure until it was 
 hidden from view by the bend of the stairway. 
 
 His eyes were glassy. Fear possessed his soul. Sud- 
 denly he was aroused to action. 
 
 " I'd better get out of this," he muttered. 
 
 His hand clutched the weapon in his coat pocket as 
 he strode swiftly toward the front door. Once outside 
 he paused to look furtively about him before descend- 
 ing the porch steps. Several men were standing near 
 the gate. The porch was deserted. He wondered if 
 Amos Vick was down there waiting for him. Then he 
 remembered what Alix had said to him : " These people 
 trust you, they still trust you." What had he to 
 fear? He laughed, a short, jerky, almost inaudible 
 laugh, and went confidently down the walk. As he 
 passed the little group he uttered a brief " good night '*
 
 298 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 to the men, and was rewarded by a friendly response 
 from all of them. 
 
 Down the moonlit road he trudged, his brain work- 
 ing rapidly, feverishly. In his heart was the rage of 
 defeat, in his soul the clamour of fear, not fear now 
 of the dark strip of woods but of the whole world about 
 him. He communed aloud. 
 
 " The first thing to do is to pack. I've got to do 
 that tonight. I'm through here. The jig's up. Sho 
 means it. How the devil did she find out all this stuff? 
 . . . But if I leave immediately it will look sus- 
 picious. I've got to stick around for a few days. If I 
 beat it tomorrow morning some one's bound to ask 
 questions. It will look queer. Tomorrow I'll receive 
 an urgent letter calling me home. Mother needs me. 
 Her health is bad. ... I wonder if an autopsy would 
 reveal anything. . . . Tomorrow sure. I can't stand 
 it here another day. . . . There's nothing to worry 
 about, not a thing, but what's the sense of my hang- 
 ing around here any longer? She's on. Some meddling 
 whelp has been Good Lord, I wonder if it could be 
 that fat fool, Webster? . . . If I skip out tonight, 
 it would set Vick to thinking. . . . What a fool I 
 was. ..." 
 
 And so on till he came to the woods. There, his face 
 blanched and his heart began to pound like a hammer. 
 He drew the revolver from his pocket and plunged des- 
 perately into the black tunnel; he was out of breath 
 when he ran down to the landing. 
 
 Through the gloom he distinguished the ferry boat 
 three-quarters of the way across the river, nearing the 
 opposite bank. His " halloa " brought an answer from 
 the ferryman. Cursing his luck in missing the boat by
 
 OUT OF THE NIGHT 299 
 
 so short a margin of time, he sat down heavily on the 
 stout wooden wall that guarded the approach. It 
 would be ten or fifteen minutes before the tortoise-like 
 craft could recross and pick him up. His gaze in- 
 stantly went downstream. The faint, rhythmic sound 
 of oarlocks came to his ears. There were no lights on 
 the river, but after a time he made out the vague shape 
 of an object moving on the surface a long way off. 
 From time to time it was lost in the shadows of the tree- 
 lined bank, only to steal into view again as it moved 
 slowly across a jagged opening in the far-reaching wall 
 of black. It was a boat coming upstream, hugging the 
 bank to avoid the current farther out. 
 
 Some one approached. He turned quickly and beheld 
 the figure of a woman coming down the road. His heart 
 leaped. Could it be Alix? He dismissed the thought 
 immediately. This was a tall woman in skirts. She 
 came quite close and stopped, her gaze evidently fixed 
 upon him. Then she moved a little farther down the 
 slope and stood watching the ferry which, by this time, 
 was moving out from the farther side. He recognized 
 the figure. It was that of the gaunt woman who crossed 
 with him earlier in the night. 
 
 The ferry was drawing out from the Windomville 
 side when a faint shout came from down the river. Burk 
 answered the call, which was repeated. 
 
 " This is my busy night," growled the ferryman. " I 
 ain't been up this late in a coon's age. Not since the 
 Old Settlers' Picnic three years ago down at the old 
 fort. I wonder if those fellers have got any news ? " 
 
 Courtney stepped off the boat a few minutes later 
 and hurried up the hill. The woman followed. At the 
 jtop of the slope he passed three or four men standing
 
 300 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 in the shelter of the blacksmith shop, where they were 
 protected from the sharp, chill wind that had sprung 
 up. A loud shout from below caused him to halt. Burk, 
 the ferryman, had called out through his cupped hands : 
 
 "What say?" 
 
 The wind bore the answer from an unseen speaker 
 in the night, clear and distinct : " We've got her ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 
 
 A icy chill, as of a great gust of wind, swept 
 through and over Courtney Thane. His mouth 
 seemed suddenly to fill with water. He could 
 not move. The men by the forge ran swiftly down 
 the hill. The tall woman turned and after a moment 
 followed the men, stopping in the middle of the road 
 a few rods above the landing. She was still standing 
 there when Courtney recovering his power of locomo- 
 tion struck off rapidly in the direction of Dowd's Tav- 
 ern. Halfway home he came to an abrupt halt. An 
 inexplicable irresistible force was drawing his mind and 
 body back to the river's edge. He did not want to go 
 back there and see Rosabel. He tried not to turn 
 his steps in that direction, and yet something like a 
 magnet was dragging him. A sort of fascination, 
 the fascination that goes with dread, and horror, and 
 revulsion took hold of him. ... He moved slowly, 
 hesitatingly at first, then swiftly, not directly back over 
 the ground he had just covered but.by a circuitous route 
 that took him through the lot at the rear of the forge. 
 He made his way stealthily down the slope, creeping 
 along behind a thick hedge of hazel brush to a point 
 just above the ferry landing and to the left of the old 
 dilapidated wharf. Here he could see without himself 
 being seen. . . . He watched them lift a dark, inani- 
 mate object from the boat and lay it on the wharf. 
 301
 
 302 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 ... He heard men's voices in excited, subdued con- 
 versation. ... He saw the tall woman running up 
 the road toward the town. She paused within a dozen 
 feet of his hiding place. . . . Then something hap- 
 pened to him. He seemed to be losing the sense of sight 
 and the sense of hearing. His brain was blurred, the 
 sound of voices trailed off into utter silence. He felt 
 the earth giving way beneath his quaking knees. . . . 
 The next he knew, men's voices fell upon his dull, un- 
 comprehending ears. Gradually his senses returned. 
 Out of the confused jumble words took shape. He 
 heard his own name mentioned. Instantly his every 
 faculty was alive. 
 
 Through the brush he could see the dark, indistinct 
 forms of three or four men. They were in the road 
 just below him. 
 
 " You shouldn't have let him out of your sight," one 
 of the men was saying. " Hang it all, we can't let 
 him give us the slip now." 
 
 The listener's eyes, sharpened by anxiety, made out 
 the figure of the woman. She spoke, and he was 
 startled to hear the deep voice of a man. 
 
 " He was making for the boarding house. Webster 
 says he is not in his room. I took it for granted he 
 was going home or I wouldn't have turned back." 
 
 Where had he heard that voice before? It was 
 strangely familiar. 
 
 1 Well, we've got to locate him. I'll stake my life 
 he is George Ritchie. I compared this snap-shot with 
 the photograph I have with me. Shave off that dinky 
 little moustache and I'll bet a hundred to one you'll 
 have Ritchie's mug all right. Hustle back there, Gil- 
 fillan, you and Simons. He'll be turning up at the
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 303 
 
 house unless he's got wind of us. Don't let him see 
 you. You stay here with me, Constable. The chances 
 are he'll come back here to wait for Miss Crown, if he's 
 as badly stuck on her as you say, Gilfillan. They're 
 all fools about women." 
 
 The hidden listener was no longer quaking. His body 
 was tense, his mind was working like lightning. He was 
 wide awake, alert ; the fingers that clutched the weapon 
 in his pocket were firm and steady ; he scarcely breathed 
 for fear of betraying his presence, but the courage 
 of the hunted was in his heart. 
 
 The little group broke up. Constable Foss and one 
 of the strangers remained on the spot, the others van- 
 ished up the road. He glanced over his shoulder in the 
 direction of the wharf. A long dark object was lying 
 near the edge, while some distance away a small knot 
 of men stood talking. The moon, riding high, cast a 
 cold, sickly light upon the scene. 
 
 " I've always been kind of suspicious of him," Foss 
 was saying, his voice lowered. " What did you say his 
 real name is ? " 
 
 " His real name is Thane, I suppose. I guess there's 
 no doubt about that. Mind you, I'm not sure he's the 
 man we've been looking for these last six months, but 
 I'm pretty sure of it. Last February two men and a 
 woman tried to smuggle a lot of diamonds through the 
 customs at New York. I'll not go into details now 
 further than to say they landed from one of the big 
 ocean liners and came within an ace of getting away 
 with the job. The woman was the leader. She was 
 nabbed with one of the men at a hotel. The other man 
 got away. He was on the passenger list as George 
 Ritchie, of Cleveland, Ohio. The woman had half a
 
 304. QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 dozen photographs of him in her possession. I've go? 
 a copy of one of 'em in my pocket now, and it's so 
 much like this fellow Thane that you'd swear it was 
 of the same man. This morning Gilfillan, that's the 
 Pinkerton man, telephoned to his chief in Chicago to 
 notify the federal authorities that he was almost dead 
 certain that our man was here. He's a wonder at re- 
 membering faces, and he had seen our photographs. 
 Simons and I took the three o'clock train. Gilfillan 
 met us in the city and brought us out after we had 
 instructed the police to be ready to help us in case he 
 got onto us and gave us the slip." 
 
 " How much of a reward is offered ? " inquired Foss. 
 
 " We are not supposed to be rewarded for doing our 
 duty," replied the Secret Service man curtly. " He 
 got away from us and it's our business to catch him 
 again. You can bet he's our man. He wouldn't be 
 hanging around a burg like this for months unless he 
 had a blamed good reason for keeping out of sight." 
 
 " He's been in mighty bad health, and, if anybody 
 should ask you, there ain't a healthier place in the 
 world than right here in " 
 
 " It's healthier than most jails," admitted the other 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 " Umph ! " grunted Mr. Foss, delivering without 
 words a full and graphic opinion on the subject of 
 humour as it exists in the minds of people who live in 
 large cities. He chewed for a time in silence. " What 
 became of the woman and the other man? " 
 
 " Oh, they were sent up, I don't know for how long. 
 They're old hands. Husband and wife. Steamship 
 gamblers before the war. Fleeced any number of suck- 
 ers. She must be a peach, judging from the pictures
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 305 
 
 I've seen of her. They probably would have got away 
 with this last job if she and Ritchie hadn't tried to 
 put something over on friend husband. She had the 
 can all ready to tie to him when he got wise and laid 
 for her lover with a gun. The revenue people had 
 been tipped off by agents in Paris and traced the couple 
 to the hotel. They sprung the trap too soon, however, 
 and the second man got away." 
 
 " Well, I guess there ain't any question but what this 
 feller here is old Silas Thane's grandson. They say 
 he's the livin' image of old Silas. So he must have 
 sailed under a false name." 
 
 " They usually do," said the other patiently. 
 
 " And you want me to arrest him on suspicion, eh ? " 
 
 "Certainly. You're a county official, aren't you?" 
 
 " I'm an officer of the law." 
 
 " Well, that's the answer. We are obliged to turn 
 such matters over to the local authorities. What do 
 you suppose I'm telling you about the case for? When 
 I give the word, you land him and well, Uncle Sam 
 will do the rest, never fear." 
 
 " That's all right, but supposin' he ain't the man 
 you're after and he turns around and sues me for false 
 arrest?" 
 
 " You can detain anybody on information and be- 
 lief, my friend. Don't you know that? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Foss with commendable as- 
 perity. " Supposin' he's got a revolver? " 
 
 " He probably has, but so have we. Don't worry. 
 He won't have a chance to use it. Hello ! Isn't that 
 a man standing up there by that telephone pole? We'll 
 just stroll up that way. Don't hurry. Keep cool. 
 Talk about the drowning."
 
 806 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 They were halfway up the hill before Courtney 
 moved. Every nerve was aquiver as he raised himself 
 to his feet and looked cautiously about. The thing 
 he feared had come to pass, but even as he crouched 
 there in the shelter of the bushes the means of salva- 
 tion flashed through his mind. He realized that the 
 next fifteen or twenty minutes would convince these 
 dogged, experienced man chasers that their quarry had 
 " got wind of them " and was in flight. The hunt would 
 be on in grim earnest; the alarm would go out in all 
 directions. Men would be watching for him at every 
 cross-roads, every railway station, every village, and 
 (directing the hunt would be these men who never give 
 up until they " land " their man. 
 
 His only chance lay in keeping under cover for a day 
 or two, or even longer, until the chase went farther 
 afield and he could take the risk of venturing forth 
 from his hiding place. He had the place in mind. They 
 would never think of looking for him in that sinister 
 hole in the wall, Quill's Window! There he could lie 
 in perfect safety until the coast was clear, and then by 
 night steal down the river in the wake of pursuit. 
 
 Their first thoughts would be of the railroad, the 
 highways and the city. They would not beat the woods 
 for him. They would cut off all avenues of escape and 
 set their traps at the end of every trail, confident that 
 he would walk into them perforce before another day 
 was done. 
 
 Like a ghost he stole across the little clearing that 
 lay between the road and the willows above the ferry. 
 The snapping of a twig under his feet, the scuffling 
 of a pebble, the rustling of dead leaves and grass, the 
 scraping of his garments against weeds and shrubbery,
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 307 
 
 were sounds that took on the magnitude of ear-splitting 
 crashes. It was all he could do to keep from breaking 
 into a mad, reckless dash for the trees at the farther 
 side of this moonlit stretch. With every cautious, fox- 
 like step, he expected the shout of alarm to go up from 
 behind, and with that shout he knew restraint would 
 fail him ; he would throw discretion to the winds and 
 bolt like a frightened rabbit, and the dogs would be 
 at his heels. 
 
 He was nearing the trees when he heard some one 
 running in the road, now a hundred yards behind him. 
 Stooping still lower, he increased his speed almost to 
 a run. The sound of- footsteps ceased abruptly ; the 
 runner had come to a sudden halt. Thane reached the 
 thicket in another stride or two and paused for a few 
 seconds to listen. A quick little thrill of relief shot 
 through him. No one was coming along behind him. 
 The runner, whoever he was, had not seen him ; no cry 
 went up, no loud yell of " There he goes ! " 
 
 Picking his way carefully down the slope he came to 
 the trail of the Indians, over which he had trudged 
 recently on his trip to the great rock. He could tell by 
 the feel of the earth under his feet that he was on the 
 hard, beaten path by the river's edge. Now he went 
 forward more rapidly, more confidently. There were 
 times when he had to cross little moon-streaked open- 
 ings among the trees, and at such times he stooped 
 almost to a creeping position. 
 
 Occasionally he paused in his flight to listen for 
 sounds of pursuit. Once his heart seemed to stop beat- 
 ing. He was sure that he heard footsteps back on the 
 trail behind him. Again, as he drew near the rock- 
 strewn base of the hill, a sound as of some one scram-
 
 308 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 bling through the underbrush came to his straining 
 ears, but the noise ceased even as he stopped to listen. 
 He laughed at his fears. An echo, no doubt, of his own 
 footsteps ; the wind thrashing a broken limb ; the action 
 of the water upon some obstruction along the bank. 
 
 Nevertheless he dropped to his hands and knees when 
 he came to the outlying boulders and j agged slabs close 
 to the foot of the black, towering mass. There was no 
 protecting foliage here. Never in his life had he known 
 the moon to shine so brightly. He whispered curses to 
 the high-hanging lantern in the sky. 
 
 The murmur of the river below brought a consoling 
 thought to him. He would not suffer from thirst. He 
 could go without food for a couple of days, even longer. 
 Had not certain English women survived days and days 
 of a voluntary hunger strike? But he could not do 
 without water. In the black hours before dawn he 
 would climb down from his eerie den and drink his fill 
 at the river's brink. 
 
 Now a sickening fear gripped him. What if he were 
 to find it impossible to scale that almost perpendicular 
 steep? What if those hand-hewn clefts in the rock fell 
 short of reaching to the cave's entrance? The proc- 
 esses of time and the elements may have sealed or oblit- 
 erated the shallow hand and toe holds. His blood ran 
 cold. He had dreaded the prospect of that hazardous 
 climb up the face of the rock. Now he was overcome 
 by an even greater dread: that he would be unable to 
 reach the place of refuge. 
 
 He had no thought of Alix Crown now no thought 
 of her beauty, her body, her riches. His cherished 
 dream was over. She took her place among other for- 
 gotten dreams. The sinister business of saving his own
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 309 
 
 skin drove her out of his mind. It drove out all thought 
 of Rosabel Vick. The hounds were at his heels. It was 
 no time to think of women ! 
 
 II 
 
 Anxiety that touched almost upon despair hastened 
 his steps. Abandoning caution, he ran recklessly up 
 the path among the rocks, stumbling and reeling but 
 always keeping his feet, and came at last to the gloomy, 
 forbidding faade of Quill's Window. Here he groped 
 along the wall, clawing for the sunken cleats with eager, 
 trembling hands. He knew they were there some- 
 where. Not only had he seen them, he had climbed with 
 ease, hand over hand, ten or a dozen feet up the cliff. 
 He had shuddered a little that day as he looked first 
 over his shoulder and then upward along the still un- 
 sealed stretch that lay between him and the mouth of 
 the cave, seventy or eighty feet away. But that was in 
 broad daylight. It would be different now, with dark-' 
 ness as his ally. 
 
 He remembered thinking that day how easy it would 
 be to reach Quill's Window by this rather simple route. 
 All that was required was a stout heart, a steady hand, 
 and a good pair of arms. All of these were bestowed 
 upon him by magic of darkness. It was what the light 
 revealed that made a coward of him. Why, he could 
 shut his eyes tight and go up that cliff by night as 
 easily as but where were the slots? 
 
 At last his hand encountered one of the sharp edges. 
 He reached up and found the next one above, and 
 then for the first time realized that his eyes had been 
 closed all the time he was feeling along the cold surface 
 of the rock. He opened them in a start of actual be-
 
 310 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 wilderment. The blackish mass rose almost sheer above 
 him, like a vast wall upon which the moon cast a dull, 
 murky light. He closed his eyes again and leaned 
 heavily against the rock. His heart began to beat hor- 
 ribly. He felt his courage slipping; he wondered if he 
 had the strength, the nerve to go on; he saw himself 
 halfway np that endless wall, clutching wildly to save 
 himself when a treacherous hand-hold broke loose and 
 
 He opened his eyes and tried to pierce the shadows 
 below the rocky path. Was it best to hide in that hole 
 up there, after all? Would it not be wiser, now that he 
 had a fair start, to keep on up the river, trusting to 
 
 A chorus of automobile horns in the distance came 
 to his ears suddenly, a confused jumble of raucous 
 blasts produced by many cars. The alarm! The 
 search was on! The wild shriek of a siren broke the 
 stillness near at hand, followed a few seconds later by 
 the gradually increasing roar of an engine as it sped up 
 the dirt road not three hundred yards to his left, the 
 road that ran past the gate on the other side of the 
 hill. God ! They were getting close ! 
 
 Another and even more disturbing sound came to 
 him as he stood with his fingers gripping one of the 
 little ledges, the toe of his shoe fumbling for a foothold 
 in another. Somewhere back on the trail he had just 
 traversed, a rock went clattering down to the river. 
 He heard it bounding and the splash as it shot into 
 the water. 
 
 He hesitated no longer. Shutting his eyes, he began 
 the ascent. . . . 
 
 A dark object turned the corner of the cliff below 
 and moved slowly, cautiously along the wall. Suddenly 
 it stopped. From somewhere in the gloom ahead came
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 311 
 
 a strange and puzzling sound, as of the dragging of a 
 tree limb across the face of the rock. The crouching 
 object in the trail straightened up and was transformed 
 into the tall, shadowy figure of a man. 
 
 For many seconds he stood motionless, listening, his 
 eyes searching the trail ahead. The queer sound of 
 scraping went on, broken at intervals by the faint 
 rattle of sand or dirt upon the rocky path. At last he 
 looked up. Far up the face of the cliff a bulky, shape- 
 less thing was crawling, slowly but surely like a great 
 beetle. 
 
 The watcher could not believe his eyes. And yet 
 there could be no mistake. Something was crawling up 
 the sheer face of the cliff, a bulging shadow dimly out- 
 lined against the starlit sky. 
 
 The man below went forward swiftly. Twice he 
 stooped to search with eager hands for something at 
 his feet, but always with his gaze fixed on the creeping 
 shadow. He knew the creeper's goal : that black streak 
 in the wall above, rendered thin by foreshortening. He 
 knew the creeper! 
 
 Twenty or thirty paces short of the ladder he 
 stopped. From that spot he hurled his first rock. His 
 was a young, powerful arm and the missile sped up- 
 ward as if shot from a catapult. It struck the face of 
 the cliff a short distance above the head of the climber 
 and glanced off to go hurtling down among the trees 
 beyond. 
 
 Thane stopped as if paralysed. For one brief, hor- 
 rible moment he felt every vestige of strength deserting 
 him, oozing out through his tense, straining finger-tips. 
 The shock had stunned him. He moaned, a little 
 whimpering moan. He was about to fall! He could
 
 312 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 hold on no longer with those weak, trembling hands. 
 His brain reeled. A great dizziness seized him. He 
 clung frantically to the face of the rock, making a des- 
 perate effort to regain his failing senses. Suddenly his 
 strength returned; he was stronger than ever. A 
 miracle had happened. 
 
 The mouth of the cave was not more than half a 
 dozen feet above him. He opened his eyes for one 
 brief, daring glance upward. Not more than five or 
 six steps to go. Gritting his teeth he went on. Now 
 only four more ledges to grip, four more footholds to 
 find. 
 
 A second stone whizzed past his head and struck with 
 a crash beyond him. He heard it whistle, he felt the 
 rush of air. 
 
 " God ! If that had got my head ! What an inhuman 
 iievil he is ! The dirty beast ! " 
 
 The fourth stone caught him in the side after glanc- 
 ing off the wall to his left. He groaned aloud, but 
 gripped more fiercely than ever at his slender support. 
 For a few seconds he could not move. Then he reached 
 up and felt for the next " cleat." He found it but, like 
 many others he had encountered, it was filled with sand 
 and dirt. That meant delay. He would have to dig 
 it out with his fingers before risking his grip on the 
 edge. Fast and feverishly he worked. Another stone 
 struck below his feet. 
 
 " Hey ! " he yelled. " Let up on that ! Do you want 
 to kill me? Cut it out! I can't get away, you damned 
 fool! You've got me cornered." His voice was high 
 and shrill. 
 
 The answer was another stone which grazed his leg. 
 
 A moment later he reached over and felt along the
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 313 
 
 floor of the cave for the final hold. Finding it, he drew 
 himself up over the edge and crawled, weak and half- 
 fainting, out of range of the devilish marksman. 
 
 For a long time he lay still, gasping for breath. 
 They had him cold ! There was no use in trying to 
 think of a way out of his difficulty. All he wanted now 
 was to rest, a chance to pull himself together. After 
 all was said and done, what were a few years in the 
 penitentiary? He was young. Five years, even ten, 
 what were they at his time of life? He would be 
 thirty-five, at the most forty, when he came out, and 
 as fit as he was when he went in. 
 
 " It was all my fault, anyway," he reflected bitterly. 
 " If I had let Madge alone I Oh, what's the use 
 belly-aching now ! That's all over, and here am I, 
 paying pretty blamed dearly for a month's pleasure. 
 They've got me. There's no way out of it now. Jail ! 
 Well, worse things could happen than that. What will 
 mother think? I suppose it will hurt like the devil. But 
 she could have fixed this if she'd loosened up a bit. She 
 could have gone to Washington as I told her to do and 
 hell, it wouldn't have cost her half as much as it will 
 to defend me in court. She can't get a decent lawyer 
 under well, God knows how many thousands." 
 
 He sat up and unbuttoned his overcoat in order to 
 feel of the spot where the stone had struck him. He 
 winced a little. After a moment's reflection he drew 
 a box of matches from his pocket. 
 
 " No harm in striking a match now," he chattered 
 aloud. " I may as well see what sort of a place it is." 
 
 He crawled farther back in the cave, out of the wind, 
 and struck a match. His hand shook violently, his chin 
 quivered. During the life of the brief flare, the interior
 
 314 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 of Quill's Window was revealed to him. The cave was 
 perhaps twenty feet deep and almost as wide at the 
 front, with an uneven, receding roof and a flat floor that 
 dropped at no inconsiderable slant toward the rear. It 
 appeared to be empty except for the remains of two or 
 three broken-up boxes over against one of the walls. 
 He struck a second match to light a cigarette, con- 
 tinuing his scrutiny while the tiny blaze lasted. He saw 
 no bones, no ghastly skulls, no signs of the ancient 
 tragedies that made the place abhorrent. 
 
 He crawled back to the entrance. Lying flat, he 
 peered over the ledge. 
 
 " Hallo> down there ! " he called out. No response. 
 He shouted once more, his voice cracking a little. 
 
 "Where are you?" 
 
 This time he got an answer. A hoarse voice replied: 
 
 " I'm here, all right." 
 
 Thane forced a laugh. 
 
 " Well, I'm up here, all right. You've got me treed. 
 What's the idea ? Waiting for me to come down ? " 
 No answer. " Say, it's worth a lot of money to you if 
 you'll just walk on and forget that I'm up here. I'll 
 give you my word of honour to come across with enough 
 to put you on easy street for the rest of your life." 
 He heard the man below walking up and down the path. 
 
 " Did you hear what I said? You can't pick up 
 twenty-five thousand every day, you know." He waited 
 for the response that never came. " Honesty isn't al- 
 ways the best policy. Think it over." Another long 
 silence. Then : " I suppose you know the government 
 does not pay any reward." Still that heavy, steady 
 tread. " If you think I'm going to come down you're 
 jolly well off your nut." He wriggled nearer the edge
 
 THE THROWER OF STONES 315 
 
 and peered over. The black form shuttled restlessly 
 back and forth past the foot of the ladder, for all the 
 world like a lion in its cage. Presently it moved off 
 toward the bend at the corner of the cliff, where it 
 stopped, still in view of the man above, a vague, 
 shapeless object in the faint light of the moon. 
 
 Many minutes passed. Ten, fifteen, they seemed 
 hours to the trapped fugitive, and then he heard a 
 voice, suppressed but distinct. 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then another voice 
 replied, but he could not make out the words. 
 
 The man stepped out of sight around the bend. A 
 few seconds later, Thane heard a jumble of voices. 
 Drawing away from the ledge, he slunk deeper into the 
 cave. He heard some one running along the trail, and 
 a muffled voice giving directions. He drew a deep, long 
 breath. 
 
 "The death watch, eh?" he muttered. "They're 
 going to sit there till I have to come out. Like vultures. 
 They haven't the nerve to come up here after me. The 
 rotten cowards ! " 
 
 Then he heard something that caused him to start 
 up in a sort of panic. He stood half erect, crouching 
 back against the wall, his eyes glued on the opening, his 
 hand fumbling nervously for the revolver in his pocket. 
 
 Some one was climbing up the cliff!
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 
 
 WEBSTER met Alix at the ferry. 
 The body of the drowned girl had been removed 
 to Hart's Undertaking Parlours and Expert 
 Carpenter's Shop in obedience to the County Coroner's 
 instructions by telephone. 
 
 The fat man was so overcome by excitement he could 
 hardly speak. Sitting beside Alix in the automobile, 
 he rattled on at a great rate about the extraordinary 
 turn of affairs, and it was not until they were nearly 
 home that he discovered she was sobbing quietly in her 
 corner of the car. 
 
 "Gosh, what are you crying for, Alix?" he de- 
 manded. " It's the greatest piece of good fortune that 
 ever " 
 
 " I am thinking of poor Mrs. Vick," she murmured 
 chokingly. 
 
 " Oh ! Yes, that's right. It's terrible for that poor 
 woman. Terrible. As I was saying, the last anybody 
 saw of him was when he started for the Tavern. Gil- 
 fillan follered him part ways and then went back to the 
 ferry, never dreaming he But didn't I tell you that 
 before? I'm so upset I don't seem to remember what 
 I Oh, yes, now I know where I was. The detectives 
 insisted on searching every room in the Tavern. Angie 
 Miller got as sore as a boiled lobster when they knocked 
 on her door and asked if he was in her room. You 
 316
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 317 
 
 ought to have heard what she said to 'em from behind 
 the door when she finally opened it and let 'em in, and 
 she nearly had a fit when she saw old Tintype was with 
 'em. She lit into him, my gosh, how she lit into him I 
 Accused him of suspecting her of having an erudite 
 affair with Courtney, erudite wasn't the word she 
 used, but it don't matter, it's as good as any for an 
 old maid. We searched everywhere, but no sign of him. 
 You needn't be surprised to find one of the detectives 
 hanging around your place, Alix. They think maybe 
 he'll turn up there before long." 
 
 "He can't be very far away," said she suddenly 
 aroused to anxiety. She had ceased crying and was 
 drying her eyes with her handkerchief. The car was 
 nearing the entrance to her grounds. " He wouldn't 
 dare come to my house after after what I said to him 
 tonight. He could not expect me to help him in any " 
 
 " Well, you see, it's barely possible he don't know 
 they're after him, Alix. I guess maybe I'd better stay 
 here for a while. You won't be so nervous with me in 
 the house." 
 
 " I am not afraid, Charlie. Of course, I am terribly 
 unstrung and unhappy over poor little Rosabel, but 
 I am not afraid of him. He will not come here. Tell 
 me again just what he is accused of doing." 
 
 The car had drawn up under the porte-cochere. 
 Webster repeated the story he had had from Gilfillan. 
 She sat perfectly still during the lengthy recital. 
 
 " And to think " she began, but checked the words 
 in time. " Oh, what fools we have been, Charlie ! " 
 
 " Anyhow," said Charlie, divining her thoughts, 
 " there's a good deal to be said for that saying, * All's 
 well that ends well.' I've been thinking what a differ-
 
 318 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 ence there is in men. Now, take for instance David 
 Strong. Just stack him up alongside this slick, smooth- 
 talking " 
 
 " Oh, Charlie ! " It was almost a wail. 
 
 He took her hand in one of his and gently patted it 
 with the other. 
 
 " I guess you'd kind of like to see Davy for a change, 
 wouldn't you, Alix? " 
 
 She caught her breath sharply, as if in pain. 
 
 " Now, there's a felleV," went on Charlie after a 
 moment, " that's all wool and a yard wide. He " 
 
 '* Good night, Charlie," she broke in abruptly. 
 " Thank you for coming to meet me. You you are 
 the best, the dearest man in the world. I " 
 
 " You needen't thank me for standin' up for Davy 
 Strong. That's what you're really thankin' me for, 
 you know," said he. " I've always loved that boy, 
 Alix." She pressed his hand. "That's good!" he 
 cried fervently. " I love him so much I wish he was 
 sitting right here where I'm sitting now. I'll bet he'd 
 be the happiest feller in all Well, so long, Alix. 
 You've had a hard day. I won't make it any worse 
 for you by talking about David Strong. I know how 
 much you hate him. Just the same, I wish he was 
 sitting here in my place." 
 
 " So do I, Charlie," she confessed, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " So's you could hate him to your heart's content, 
 eh? " he chaffed. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, " to my heart's content." 
 
 " Well, I've got to get busy," he exclaimed briskly. 
 " Can't sit here talkin' nonsense to you when there's 
 so much to do. Link Pollock and Doc and Tintype are 
 waiting for me down at the Tavern. I promised to
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 319 
 
 hurry back with the car. That reminds me, Alix. 
 We're going to use your car to go hunting in. I guess 
 you don't mind, do you? " 
 
 She spoke to the chauffeur as she got out. " Take 
 Mr. Webster wherever he wants to go, Ed. I shall not 
 need the car until eleven o'clock in the morning." 
 
 Mrs. Strong was waiting up for her. There was a 
 big fire in the living-room, and a tray with hot coffee 
 and toast on a table beside the comfortable chair that 
 had been drawn up near the fender. 
 
 Alix dropped wearily into the chair and stretched her 
 booted, pantalooned legs out in complete relaxation. 
 
 " You poor child," cried Mrs. Strong. " You're all 
 done up. My, but you're white and tired-looking. It's 
 been a terrible strain. Sit still now and I'll take your 
 hat off for you. Better have your coat and boots off, 
 too, dear. Hilda will have a hot bath ready for you 
 whenever you're ready to " 
 
 " I suppose you know they've found her, Auntie? In 
 the river." 
 
 "Yes. Ed told me. Now, don't talk about it. 
 Here's some hot coffee." 
 
 " Never mind my coat. I'm too tired. You know 
 about Courtney Thane? " 
 
 " I only know they're hunting for him. There's a 
 man out in the kitchen. Is is it in connection with 
 Rosabel's death?" 
 
 "No. Thank you, Auntie. That feels better. I 
 haven't had it off since morning. Charlie told me about 
 Thane, but I am not sure whether I can get it straight. 
 He was so excited, and I was so distressed." 
 
 Her voice was low and husky with fatigue and emo- 
 tion; it was apparent that she controlled it with dif-
 
 320 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 ficulty. In her dark eyes there was a brooding, haunted 
 look. She repeated as best she could Charlie's ram- 
 bling, disjointed story. 
 
 " And just to think," cried Mrs. Strong at the end, 
 " you let that beast kiss you and " 
 
 "Oh, don't! Don't!" cried the girl, covering her 
 eyes with her hands. " I can't bear the thought of it. 
 I wasn't myself. I don't know what came over " 
 
 " There, there ! Don't think about it any more. It's 
 all right now. And you're not the only woman that's 
 lost her head since God made Adam, my dear. It's 
 pretty hard not to sometimes. You " 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't, I couldn't have done anything bad. 
 I couldn't " 
 
 " God bless you, of course you couldn't," cried the 
 older woman, stroking the girl's hair. " Do you think 
 this coffee will keep you awake? " She poured out a 
 steaming cup and dropped two lumps of sugar into it. 
 
 " I sha'n't go to sleep anyway, Auntie, so " 
 
 The ringing of the door bell startled them. Alix 
 sprang to her feet in alarm. 
 
 "Don't go to the door!" she cried. "It's it's 
 Courtney Thane!" 
 
 " Nonsense ! Hell not be coming here. Sit down. 
 I'll inquire who it is before I open the door." 
 
 " Under no circumstances are you to let him in, 
 Mrs. Strong," ordered Alix peremptorily. 
 
 " I should say not ! It would look pretty, wouldn't 
 it, if the papers came out and said the notorious bandit 
 was captured in the home of Miss Alix Crown, the 
 beautiful and wealthy heiress? They always " The 
 bell rang again. " Put the cream in yourself, Alix. 
 I'll see who it is."
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 321 
 
 Alix followed her with anxious, apprehensive eyes as 
 she passed into the hall. She heard the following 
 dialogue: 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " Does Miss Crown live here? " came in a clear, boy- 
 ish voice from the outside. 
 
 " She does. Who are you and what do you want? " 
 
 " I'm a messenger boy. I got a letter for her." 
 
 " A letter? Who's it from? " 
 
 " Say, open up ! I can't stand out here all night." 
 
 " Who is it from? " repeated Mrs. Strong firmly. 
 
 " How do I know? I ain't no mind-reader." 
 
 Mrs. Strong looked in at Alix. " I guess it's all 
 right, isn't it?" 
 
 " Open the door," said Alix quietly. 
 
 A small, shivering messenger boy in uniform entered. 
 
 " Are you Miss Crown? " 
 
 " No, I'm not. Where's the letter? " 
 
 " I got to deliver it to her. If she ain't here I'm to 
 wait. I got to get an answer." 
 
 Alix came forward. " I am Miss Crown. Come in, 
 my boy, and warm yourself by the fire." 
 
 " Sign here," said the boy, indicating a line in his 
 receipt book. 
 
 While Alix was signing her nama> Mrs. Strong looked 
 the boy over. " Dear me, you must be nearly frozen, 
 child. No overcoat on a night like this. Did you come 
 all the way out here from the city on a bicycle? " 
 
 " Give him some coffee, Mrs. Strong," said Alix, 
 handing back the book and receiving the envelope in 
 return. 
 
 " I got a taxi waiting for me out in front," said the 
 boy. " Say, what's goin' on in this burg? We been
 
 322 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 held up three times, and just now a man stopped me 
 out here in the yard and " 
 
 "What's the matter, Alix?" cried Mrs. Strong. 
 
 The girl was staring at the address on the envelope. 
 Doubt, wonder, incredulity filled her eyes. 
 
 " Why, why, Auntie, it's David's writing ! Da- 
 vid's! " she cried. " See! Isn't it? I would recognize 
 it" 
 
 " Bless my soul, so it is ! " exclaimed David's mother. 
 
 " Oh, what does it mean? Boy, where did you get 
 this letter? " Her voice trembled with excitement, her 
 eyes were gleaming. 
 
 " Never mind," put in Mrs. Strong, turning her head 
 to hide a smile. " You run upstairs and read it, Alix, 
 and I " 
 
 " Auntie Strong, do you know anything about this ? " 
 demanded Alix suspiciously. The colour was flowing 
 back into her cheeks. " Have you been keeping some- 
 thing " 
 
 " and I will entertain this young gentleman dur- 
 ing your absence," went on the other serenely, 
 but there was a flush in her cheeks and her 
 eyes were very bright and happy. " You go and read 
 your letter and, did you say there was to be an an- 
 swer, boy? " 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 "And write your answer," concluded Mrs. Strong. 
 " Come along, my lad, and have a nice hot cup of coffee 
 and some toast. I hope you take sugar. There are 
 two lumps in it already." 
 
 Alix fairly ran from the room. They heard her 
 racing up the stairs. 
 
 "Will you have cream, my boy?" asked Mrs.
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 323 
 
 Strong, steadying her voice with an effort. He had 
 shuffled along behind her to the fireplace. 
 
 " Yes'm," and then as an afterthought : " if you 
 please, ma'am." He looked up and saw that his 
 hostess's eyes were swimming in tears. " I I hope it 
 ain't bad news," he stammered uncomfortably. 
 
 " Don't you know there are such things as tears of 
 joy?" inquired the lady. 
 
 He looked very doubtful. " No ma'am," he sol- 
 emnly confessed. The tears he knew about were not 
 joyous. 
 
 " Wasn't it just like David to hire an automobile 
 to send you out here to deliver the letter to her? I 
 suppose it must have cost him a pretty penny. Most 
 men would have put a two cent stamp on it. But my 
 son is not like other men. He is always doing the most 
 unexpected things, and the very nicest things. Now, 
 who else in the world would have thought of hiring an 
 automobile to send a message by? " 
 
 " Is he your son, ma'am? " 
 
 " Yes. My son David. Did you see him? " 
 
 " Sure I did." 
 
 " How was he looking? " 
 
 " Fine," said the lad. " Gee, but he's tall." 
 
 " Six feet three, my boy," said David's mother. 
 " That's very hot. Be careful not to scald your mouth. 
 Shall I put in another lump, or two? " 
 
 "Will it cool it off any?" 
 
 " I am sure it will." 
 
 Meanwhile, Alix was greedily devouring the contents 
 of the letter. She stood beside the light over her 
 dressing-table; her heart was pounding furiously, her 
 eyes were radiantly bright.
 
 324 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 DEAR ALIX: 
 
 I have just this instant arrived in town, and I am scrib- 
 bling this in the hotel writing-room, with my overcoat still 
 on my back. I shall not go to sleep tonight until I have 
 had your reply. Somehow I will find a way to get this 
 letter to you tonight, I don't know how at present, but 
 where there's a will there's a way. If mother and Charlie 
 Webster are mistaken, or if they have assumed something 
 that is not true, I shall go away again without bothering 
 you. But if you want me, I will come straight out to you. 
 You are in trouble. I am not asking anything for myself, 
 dear, you know me well enough to understand that, I am 
 only asking you to let me do anything in the world I can 
 for you. That is why I dropped everything to come. I 
 am happy, you don't know how happy, to be even this close 
 to you. I have always wanted to hang out my shingle in 
 this dear old town. I do not like the East. I am a West- 
 erner and I can't seem to make myself fit in with the East. 
 I shall always be a Hoosier, I fear, and hope. Just the 
 few minutes I have been here in this familiar old hotel, and 
 the ride through the quiet streets, and getting off the train 
 at the insignificant little depot, and having the hackman, 
 they are taxi-drivers now, yell out, " Hello, Davy," and 
 run up to shake hands with me, well, I am so homesick I 
 could cry. But you know why I cannot come here to live 
 and practise. If I can't be very, very near to you, Alix 
 darling, I must keep myself as far away as possible. It is 
 the only way. But if I keep on at this rate, you will think 
 I am writing a love letter to you, when, as a matter of 
 fact, I am only asking you if you care to see me and tell 
 me what I can do to help you now, if you need the help 
 of your 
 
 Always devoted 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 P.S. If you would rather not see me, don't hesitate to 
 say so. I will understand. And please do not blame
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 325 
 
 mother and Charlie. They would both die for you, dear. 
 P.S.S. You will be pleased to know, I am sure, that I 
 have the five hundred I still owe you in my pocket, all in 
 brand new bills, and I think you might give me the happi- 
 ness of quarrelling face to face with you about the matter 
 instead of under the protection of a two-cent stamp. 
 
 D. 
 
 She read the letter aloud. When she came to the 
 end she kissed the sheet of paper rapturously and then 
 pressed it to her breast. For a few moments she stood 
 there with her eyes closed, a little smile on her lips, the 
 blush of roses deepening in her cheeks. 
 
 Suddenly she roused herself. Hurrying to the desk 
 across the room, she snatched a sheet of note paper from 
 the rack, seated herself, and began to write. 
 
 DEAREST DAVID: 
 
 This is a love letter. I love you. I have always loved 
 you, ever since I can remember, only I did not realize how 
 much until you wouldn't let me have my own way about the 
 money. Then I tried to hate you. The best thing I can 
 say for the experiment was that it kept me thinking about 
 you all the time. You were never out of my thoughts, 
 David dear. Oh, how many nights have I laid awake in- 
 venting reasons for hating you, and how many, many times 
 have I ended up by hating myself. I am a very mean, 
 despicable creature. I am a loathsome, poisonous reptile, 
 and you ought to put your foot on my neck and keep it 
 there forever and ever. Now I know why I have been so 
 mean to you. It is because I love you so much. You can- 
 not grasp that, can you ? You could if you were a woman. 
 
 The boy is waiting for this. How wonderful of you to 
 send him out here in a taxi ! ! ! I shall tell him to go back 
 to town as fast as the car can travel. I hope it is a fast
 
 326 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 one, because I want you to get in it and come to me at 
 once. I shall wait up for you, David. Please come tonight. 
 You don't know how badly I need you. You must stay 
 here with your mother and me, and I don't want you ever 
 to go away again, unless you take me with you. 
 Your humble sweetheart, 
 
 ALIX. 
 
 P.S. I wouldn't quarrel with you for five hundred mil- 
 lion dollars. 
 
 P.S.S. Oh, how I wish some kind genie could transport 
 you to me instantly! A. 
 
 Sealing the envelope, she sprang to her feet and 
 started for the door. She stopped halfway, dashed 
 back and fished in a drawer of her desk, found her 
 purse and extracted a crumbling bank-note. Without 
 so much as a glance to ascertain its denomination, she 
 turned and sped downstairs. 
 
 Her eyes were aglow with excitement, her lips were 
 parted in a divine smile. She was a little out of breath. 
 The boy gazed upon her spellbound. In that brief, 
 transcendent moment he fell deeply, hopelessly in love, 
 and that is why, a moment later, he manfully en- 
 deavoured to refuse the prodigious tip she was offering 
 him. Only when she stuffed it, with her own fingers, 
 into the depths of his breast pocket, directly over his 
 heart, was he able to persuade himself that he ought to 
 accept it if for no other reason than it would hurt her 
 feelings if he didn't. 
 
 " You must go straight back just as fast as you 
 can," she was saying, and what a sweet, wonderful 
 voice she had, just like some kind of a song he thought, 
 " and see that Mr. Strong has this letter at once.
 
 A MESSAGE AND ITS ANSWER 327 
 
 He is waiting for it, you know. You will hurry, won't 
 you, that's a good boy." 
 
 " Yes'm," gulped the lad, and then, realizing he had 
 not quite come up to expectations, amplified his promise 
 with a stirring: " You bet your life I will." 
 
 She went to the door with him, and said good night 
 so sweetly, and with such a thrill in her voice, that he 
 experienced the amazing sensation of having wings on 
 his feet as he sped down to the gate. 
 
 Alix ran to Mrs. Strong and threw her arms around 
 her neck. 
 
 " Oh, Auntie, he's in town. He is coming out and 
 and I am going to marry him. Yes, I am ! Tomor- 
 row, if he'll let me. I ought not to be so happy, I know. 
 It is terrible, with so much grief and sorrow over at 
 But I can't help it ! I never was so happy in my life 
 never ! " 
 
 Rushing up to the waiting taxi, the boy thrust the 
 letter in through the open door. It was seized by a big, 
 eager hand. An instant later the owner of that hand 
 was out on the ground, reading the missive by the light 
 of a forward lamp. 
 
 He was not long in getting to the end. Thrusting 
 the precious letter into his overcoat pocket, he sprang 
 to the door of the cab, jerked out a heavy suitcase and 
 a small black satchel, which he deposited unceremoni- 
 ously on the sidewalk, and then dug down into his 
 trousers' pocket for a handful of bills, one of which 
 he pressed into the small boy's hand. Then, turning to 
 the driver, the tall, impetuous fare clapped another into 
 his extended palm.
 
 328 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 " There you are, genie ! " he exclaimed exultantly, 
 and, grabbing up his bags, was off up the walk as fast 
 as his long legs would carry him. 
 
 " What was that he called me, kid? " demanded the 
 driver uneasily. 
 
 "Janie."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AT QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 THE scraping, laboured sound grew nearer and 
 louder, and presently there was added the thick, 
 stertorous breathing of the climber as he drew 
 close to the mouth of the cave. 
 
 Courtney crept farther away from the opening and 
 watched with narrow, frowning eyes for the head to 
 appear above the ledge. He held the revolver in his 
 shaking hand, but he knew he was not going to shoot. 
 He thrilled with a strange sort of glee, however, at the 
 thought of the ease with which he could send the fool 
 crashing to the ground far below, but what would be 
 the use? He was trapped. 
 
 He had a queer and strangely ungrudging respect 
 for the courage of this man of Uncle Sam's, this man 
 who was not to be turned back or daunted by the pros- 
 pect of sudden death when engaged in the performance 
 of his duty. What use to slay this single, indomitable 
 pursuer when nothing was to be gained by the act? 
 There were others down there to avenge him, to starve 
 him out, or to burn him out if needs be. Murder, that's 
 what it would be, and they would hang him for murder. 
 If he shot this fellow there would be but one course left 
 open to him. He would have to shoot himself. And he 
 loved life too well for that. Five, even ten years be- 
 hind the bars, and then freedom once more. But the 
 gallows, God, no ! 
 
 329
 
 330 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 He stood up and leaned with his back against the 
 wall, bracing his legs which threatened to crumple up 
 under him. With a sort of craven bravado, he inhaled 
 deeply. The end of the cigarette created a passing 
 but none the less comforting glow which died away 
 almost instantly. A jolly brave thing, a cigarette, 
 No wonder the soldiers smoked them ! Nerve steadying, 
 no question about it. 
 
 He waited. Once he thought he was going to scream. 
 Why was the fellow so slow? Surely it had not taken 
 him so long to come up that ladder of stone, and he 
 was the pioneer, he had cleared the slots of dirt and 
 sand, he had made the hand holds safe, he had torn his 
 finger-tips digging them out, what made the fellow 
 so slow? 
 
 At last he made out a vague, slender object moving 
 like the tentacle of an octopus above the ledge, and 
 then the bulky head and shoulders of the climber. 
 
 " I surrender ! " he called out. " I give up. If you 
 had waited till I pulled myself together, I would have 
 come down. I'm all in. I surrender." 
 
 The man scrambled over the ledge and drew himself 
 erect. His figure was dimly outlined against the moon- 
 lit sky. He came a few steps inside the cave and 
 stopped, evidently striving to pierce the darkness with 
 his questing eyes. 
 
 Courtney pushed himself away from the supporting 
 wall and advanced slowly. 
 
 " Here's my gun," he faltered, and the weapon clat- 
 tered on the rocky floor at his feet. "Don't shoot! 
 I am unarmed. My hands are up, comrade." 
 
 " Stand still," warned the other hoarsely. He was 
 breathing heavily. " Don't move ! "
 
 AT QUILL'S WINDOW 331 
 
 Courtney took another pull at the cigarette that 
 hung limply between his sagging lips. He could be as 
 brave, as cool as the other fellow ! He would give them 
 something to talk about when they related the story 
 of his capture. He would 
 
 Suddenly the man lunged forward. ... A pair of 
 iron arms wrapped themselves about his waist. He 
 went down with a crash. Even as the cry of surprise 
 and indignation rose to his lips, his head struck and 
 his mind became a blank. 
 
 Slowly, as out of a fog, his senses came back. He 
 was hazily aware of a light shining in his eyes, and of 
 a dull pain somewhere. Things began to take shape 
 before his whirling eyes. He strove to steady them, to 
 concentrate on the bright thing that flitted back and 
 forth before them. At last the blaze became stationary. 
 
 Quite close at hand was a fire, a bright, crackling 
 fire whose flames danced merrily. Where was he? It 
 was not like any other fire he had ever seen before. . . . 
 Then he saw a face. It gradually fashioned itself out 
 of the gloom high above the flames. He blinked his 
 eyes and stared. Somehow it was vaguely familiar, 
 that face. ... He lifted his head and peered in- 
 tently. Then he raised himself on his elbow, all the 
 while trying to fix that floating face in his mind. 
 
 Suddenly his brain cleared. The full picture was 
 revealed: A man standing over the blazing pile of box- 
 wood, gazing down at him with great, unblinking eyes. 
 The sloping roof of the cave, half lost in the thin cloud 
 of smoke, almost touched the crown of the watcher's 
 head, and this watcher was in the garb of a sailor. 
 
 Caleb Vick ! Young Caleb Vick ! 
 
 For a long time the two looked into each other's eyes.
 
 332 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 Courtney's wavering and uncertain, Caleb's fixed and 
 triumphant. 
 
 " Is is that you, Cale? " mumbled the former won- 
 deringly. 
 
 Young Vick nodded his head slowly. 
 
 " How did you get here? " asked Thane, sensing peril 
 in those boring, unfaltering eyes. His hand went out 
 to feel for the revolver he had dropped. " Where 
 What has become of the man that jumped on me? The 
 detective." 
 
 " I am the man," said Cale levelly. 
 
 " You? What's the matter with you, Cale? This is 
 a hell of a way to treat a friend. What do you mean 
 by helping these " 
 
 " Cut that out," snarled Cale. " It don't go with 
 me. Get up! You dirty cur, get up!" 
 
 "My God, Cale, have you gone crazy?" gasped 
 Thane, going cold to the marrow. He shot a swift, 
 terrified look toward the mouth of the cave. 
 
 " Get up ! It won't do you any good to yell. No one 
 will hear you." 
 
 Courtney drew himself to his knees. 
 
 "It won't, eh? There's a gang of Secret Service 
 men down there. They'll blow your brains out if 
 you " 
 
 " There is no one down there," said the boy, a 
 crooked smile on his lips. 
 
 " I tell you there is," cried the other, desperately. 
 " I heard them. They trailed me here. They " 
 
 " I guess I put one over on you, Courtney," inter- 
 rupted Cale, his voice low and deadly. " I am the fellow 
 that chased you here. There's nobody else. Oh, I know 
 they're looking for you, but they don't know where
 
 AT QUILL'S WINDOW 333 
 
 you are. Nobody knows but me. I saw you sneaking 
 across that lot back yonder. I was down at the ferry. 
 I saw Rosabel there." His voice faltered. He 
 steadied it with an effort before going on. " I was too 
 late. She wrote me. Then father telegraphed me. 
 They let me off. I came as soon as I could. I ran all 
 the way from Hawkins. I knew what had happened. 
 She wrote me. But I thought maybe she'd lose her 
 nerve, or, maybe you would do the right thing by her, 
 and save her. I saw her down there on the dock. You 
 did it. You got her into trouble. You " 
 
 " I don't know what you are talking about," cried 
 the other. " What's this you are saying? Have you 
 lost your mind, Cale? My God, boy, I, why, what 
 sort of a beast do you think I am? I I adored her. 
 Come, come, Cale ! Calm yourself 1 You know per- 
 fectly well how fond I was of her. I couldn't have done 
 anything so foul as Why? Cale, she was nothing but 
 a kid, a little girl to me. I " 
 
 " Yes, that's what she was, a kid, just a poor 
 little kid. She trusted you. I trusted you. We all 
 trusted you. And now she's she's dead. My sister! 
 My pretty little sister ! " He straightened up and 
 threw his arm across his eyes, only to withdraw it in- 
 stantly. " God damn you! Get up! Come over here! 
 Here's her letter. Read it ! Read it, you dirty swine ! " 
 
 He reached inside his blouse and drew forth a folded 
 bit of paper. 
 
 " I I don't want to read it," faltered Thane, shrink- 
 ing back. " I know nothing about all this nonsense 
 you are " 
 
 " I give you ten seconds to do what I tell you," 
 grated Cale, harshly. " If you don't I'll blow your
 
 334 QUILL'S WINDOW 
 
 head off." He levelled the revolver. '* It's your own 
 gun, so I guess you know it's loaded. Come on ! " 
 
 Thane crawled to the fire. 
 
 " My God, you wouldn't kill me, Cale? " he gasped, 
 reaching out his shaking hand for the letter. 
 
 11 Read it ! " ordered the inexorable voice. 
 
 It was a short letter. Courtney took it in as a 
 whole ; the dancing, jumbled web of words that raced 
 before his glazed eyes. Parts of sentences, a word here 
 and there, his own name, filtered through the veil, 
 and were lost in the chaos of his own thoughts. 
 
 He was not thinking of Rosabel's letter. If he could 
 only catch Cale off his guard, just for a second or 
 two ! A swift leap, a blow, and but a lightning glance 
 out of the corner of his eye killed the thought even as 
 it was being created. Cale would not be off his guard. 
 He was watching like a hawk, his body bent slightly 
 forward, the revolver held in a grip of steel. 
 
 " Well? " cried Cale. " Have you read it? " 
 
 "Yes," whispered Courtney through his stiff lips. 
 " It's not true, Cale, it's not true ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is true. Rosie would not lie about herself 
 like that. No girl would. Every word of it is true." 
 He snatched the paper from Courtney's palsied hands 
 and cast it into the waning fire. " No one shall ever 
 see that letter. I would not have mother know what 
 I know for all the world. She'll never know about 
 Rosie." 
 
 Courtney took hope. " By gad, Cale, that's fine of 
 you. I promise you, on my word of honour, no one 
 ever shall know. I'll keep the secret with you. You " 
 
 " There will be only one person left in all the world
 
 AT QUILL'S WINDOW 335 
 
 that knows about Rosie," said Cale in a strangely quiet 
 tone. 
 
 His left hand went out swiftly. The fingers clutched 
 Courtney's hair, pushing his head back. Even as the 
 wretch opened his lips to squeal for mercy, the cold 
 muzzle of the weapon was jammed against the flesh 
 under his ear. There was a loud explosion. . . . 
 
 Young Cale Vick stood for a long time looking down 
 at the inert thing at his feet. Then he calmly stooped 
 over and placed the pistol in one of the outstretched 
 hands, closing the stiff fingers over it. Scattering the 
 fire with his feet, he trampled out what was left of the 
 feeble flames, and then strode to the mouth of the cave. 
 He stood rigid for a long time, listening. A dog was 
 howling mournfully away off in the night ; an owl was 
 hooting somewhere in the trees nearby. He turned and 
 began the descent, and there was neither remorse nor 
 terror in his soul. 
 
 A few days later the report reached Windomville that 
 a farmer up the river had seen a light in Quill's Window 
 the night that Rosabel Vick was found, and all the 
 superstitious shook their heads and talked of ghosts. 
 
 THE END
 
 LMMRI - . ' 
 
 A 000029987 5