As she did so, she
eyed it with the curiosity of a hungry heart. It was a compact
structure of closely cemented stone, built to resist gales and
harbour a would-be recluse, even in an Adirondack winter. One end
showed stacks of wood through its heavily glazed windows, and
between the small stable and the west door there ran a covered way
which insured communication, even when the snow lay high about the
windows.
The place had a history which she learned later. At present all
her thoughts were on its possible occupant and the very serious
question of whether she would or would not gain admittance to him.
Mr. Sloan had been repulsed from the west door; she would try the
east. Oliver (if Oliver it were) was probably asleep; but she
would knock, and knock, and knock; and if Deaf Dan did not open,
his master soon would.
But when she found herself in face of this simple barrier, her
emotion was so strong that she recoiled in spite of herself, and
turned her face about as if to seek strength from the magnificence
of the outlook.
But though the scene was one of splendour inconceivable, she did
not see it. Her visions were all inner ones. But these were not
without their strengthening power, as was soon shown. For
presently she turned back and was lifting her hand to the door,
when it suddenly flew open and a man appeared before her.
It was Oliver. Oliver unkempt and with signs upon him of a night's
work of study or writing; but Oliver!--her lover once, but now
just a stranger into whose hand she must put this letter.
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