But I am far from being discouraged. A fresh start with the
prospect of Reuther's companionship, inspires me with more hope
for my next venture.
XXIX
"THERE IS BUT ONE THING TO DO"
A night of stars, seen through swaying tree-tops whose leaves
crisping to their fall, murmured gently of vanished hopes and
approaching death.
Below, a long, low building with a lighted window here and there,
surrounded by a heavy growth of trees which are but the earnest of
the illimitable stretch of the Adirondack woods which painted
darkness on the encircling horizon.
In the air, one other sound beside the restless murmur I have
mentioned,--the lap, lap of the lake whose waters bathed the bank
which supported this building.
Such the scene without.
Within, Reuther seated in the glow of a hospitable fire of great
logs, talking earnestly to Mr. Black. As they were placed, he
could see her much better than she could see him, his back being
to the blaze and she, in its direct glare.
He could, therefore, study her features, without offence, and this
he did, steadily and with deep interest, all the while she was
talking. He was looking for signs of physical weakness or fatigue;
but he found none. The pallor of her features was a natural
pallor, and in their expression, new forces were becoming
apparent, which give him encouragement, rather than anxiety, for
the adventure whose most trying events lay still before them.
Crouching low on the hearth could be seen the diminutive figure of
Miss Weeks.
Pages:
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272