for my sake. I have loved you long, and years hence, when
we are old, I shall love you just the same."
They were both standing now; she came close to him,
and laid her head upon his shoulder for an instant, tears shin-
ing on her cheeks. He put one arm around her, touched by
her affection ; she raised her eyes, and let him look deep into
them for one short moment. "He shall see the truth this
once," she thought; "though nothing to him now, it will
come back to him."
Adelaide Kellinger did that time a bold thing; she let
Wainwright see that she loved him, relying upon the certainty
that he would not think she knew he saw it, much less that
she intended him to see it. She had the balance of reality on
her side, too, because she really did love him — ^in her way.
In another moment he had left her, and was walking rap-
idly down the river-road. Adelaide went back to the village.
Her first step was to find out whether Honor was at home ;
she was not. At the library, then ? Not there. " Already
gone to Brother Bethuel's," she thought. She next woke up
Royce, laughed at his ill nature, flattered him a little, coaxed
him into good temper, and finally told him plainly that she
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would not stand his bearishness any longer ; that he must go
and dress himself anew, brush his hair, and come back and
be agreeable.
" You will turn into a mountain outlaw yourself, if I do
not see to you," she said.
" Oh, let me off for to-day," said Royce lazily.
" This moment ! "
She had her way : Royce took himself off, followed by the
injunction to come back looking like an Apollo. Now, to
make one's self look like an Apollo is an occupation which no
young man is in his heart above ; and, when incited thereto
by an expressed belief from feminine lips that he has only to
try, he generally— tries. Not long afterward Royce' returned
to the parlor looking his best, threw himself into a chair, and
took up a book carelessly. He knew Adelaide would com-
ment. She did. She called him " a good boy," touched the
crisp, curling ends of his yellow hair, and asked why he kept
them so short; stroked his forehead, and said that, on the
whole, he looked quite well. Her heart was beating rapidly
as she chatted with him ; she listened intently; everything de-
pended upon a chance. Ten minutes before, she had exe-
cuted a daringly bold action — one of those things which a
woman can do once in her life with perfect impunity, because
no one suspects that she can. If she will do it alone, and
only once, there is scarcely any deed she may not accomplish
safely. A few more moments passed, Adelaide still listening ;
then came a shuffling step through the passage, a knock at
the door, and, without waiting for reply, the burly figure of
the revenue detective appeared, wrapped in a dressing-gown,
with head still bandaged, and eyes half closed, but mind suf-
ficiently clear to state his errand.
" Beg pardon," he said ; " is Royce here ? I can't see
very well. — Is that you, Royce ? Look at this."
He held out a crumpled piece of paper.
" Seems to be something, but I can't quite make it out,"
he said.
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Royce took it, glanced over it, cried, " By Jove ! '* and was
out of the room in a second. The detective went stumbling
along after him ; he had to feel his way, being half blinded
by his swollen eyelids.
" Take your pistols ! " he called out, keeping his hand on
the wall all the way down the passage.
Royce had dropped the paper ; Adelaide had instantly de-
stroyed it, and then she followed the detective.
" What w^ it ? " she asked anxiously.
" Only a line or two, ma'am — from somebody in the town
here, I suppose — saying that one of them distillers, the one,
too, that shot Allison, was hidden in the house of that rascal-
ly, deceiving little minister, up toward Eagle Knob. They're
all in league with each other, ministers or no ministers."
" Who wrote it ? How do you know it is true ? "
" I dun know who wrote it, and I dun know as it's true.
The paper was throwed into my room, through the winder,
when there didn't happen to be anybody around. It was
somebody as had a grudge against this man in particular, I
suppose. 'Twas scrawly writing, and no spelling to speak of.
I brought it to Royce myself, because I wouldn't trust any
one to carry it to him, black or white, confound 'em all I "
The detective had now reached the end of the passage
and his endurance; his hand was covered with whitewash
where he had drawn it along the wall, his head was aching
furiously, and his slippers were coming off. " You had just
better go back," he said, not menacingly, but with a dull des-
peration, as he sat down on the first step of the stairway
which led down to his room, and held his forehead and the
base of his brain together : they seemed to him two lobes as
large as bushel-baskets, and just ready to split apart.
" I will send some one to you," said Adelaide, departing.
She went to her room, darkened it, and took a long, quiet
siesta,
• • • ^ • • • •
Royce dropped his information, en route, at the little
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camp in the grove, where the trim companies of United States
infantry led their regular orderly life, to the slow wonder of
the passing mountaineers. Who would not be a soldier and
have such mathematically square pieces of bread, such well-
boiled meat on a tin plate, such an exactly measured mug of
clear coffee ? Who would not wear the light-blue trousers
with their sharp fold of newness making a straight line to the
very boot ? Who would not have such well-parted, shining
hair ? So thought the mountain-boys, and rode homeward
pondering.
The officers in command, on principle disgusted for sev-
eral seasons with still-hunting, which they deemed police-
duty, were now ready to catch at any straw to avenge the
death of Allison. The mountaineers and the detectives might
fire at each other as long as they enjoyed the pastime ; but
let them not dare to aim at an army-officer — ^let them not
dare ! They were astir at once, and called to Royce to wait
for them ; but he was already gone.
Stephen had a start of not quite forty minutes ; but, un-
conscious of pursuit, he walked slowly, not caring to return
before nightfall. His natural gait was slow ; his narrow chest
did not take in breath v^ddely, as some chests do, and, slight
as his figure was, he labored if hurried. His step was short
and rather careful, his ankles and feet being delicate and
small. There was no produced development of muscle on
him anywhere ; he had always known that he could not afford
anything of that kind, and had let himself alone. As he now
walked on, he dreamed. Adelaide's words rang in his ear ;
he could not forget them. " A woman reads a woman," he
said to himself. " Adelaide thinks that I can win her." Then
he let his thoughts go : " At last my life will have an object ; j
this sweet young girl will love me, and love me for myself \ '
alone ; she is incapable of any other feeling." He was very-^'
human, after all ; he longed so to be loved ! His wealth and
his insignificance had been two millstones around his neck all
his life ; he had believed nobody. Under every feeling that
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had ever come to him lurked always, deepest of all, suspicion.
Now, late in life, in this far-off wilderness, he had found some
one in whom he believed.
y^ He pleased himself with the thought of the jewels he
{ would give her; he journeyed with her in fancy through the
\ whole of the Old World. The moisture came to his eyes as
U- he imagined how she would pray morning and night just the
same, and that he would be there to see her ; he said to him-
self that he would never laugh at her, but would bring his
unbelieving heart and lay it in her hand : if she could mold
it, well and good, she might ; he would be glad. So he walked
on, down the river-road, his long-repressed, stifled hope and
love out of bonds at last.
A sound fell on his dulled ear, and brought him back to
reality ; it was a footstep. " I had better not be seen," he
thought, and, climbing up the bank, he kept on through the
thick hillside-forest After a moment or two, around the
curve came John Royce, walking as if for a wager ; two pis-
tols gleamed in the belt he had hastily buckled around his
waist, and the wrinkle between his eyes had deepened into a
frown.
" It can not be possible ! " thought Wainwright. But
rapid reflection convinced him that, impossible as it seemed, it
might be true, and that, in any case, he had not a moment to
lose. He was above Royce, he was nearer the trail to Brother
Bethuel's, and, what was more, he was familiar with all its
turnings. " Not to be able to save Eliot ! " he thought, as he
hurried forward over the slippery, brown pine-needles. And
then it came to him how much he had relied upon that to
hold Honor, and he was ashamed.. But almost immediately
after rose to the surface, for the first time in his life, too, the
blunt, give-and-take feeling of the man as a man, the thought
— " You are doing all this for her ; she <mgkt to repay you."
He hardly knew himself ; he was like Bothwell then, and other
buriy fellows in history ; and he was rather pleased to find
himself so. He hastened across a plateau where the footing
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was better ; he had turned farther up the mountainrside, so
that Royce could not by any possibility hear him as he brushed
hastily through the undergrowth, or stepped on crackling twigs
or a rolling stone. The plateau soon ended, and the slanting
hillside slanted still more steeply. He pushed on, keeping his
breath as well as he was able, running wherever he could,
climbing over rocks and fallen trees. He was so far above
the road now that he could not see Royce at all, but he kept
his efforts up to the task by imagining that the young man
was abreast of him below — ^which was true. He began to
pant a little. The sleeve of his flannel coat had been held
and torn by a branch ; he had tripped on a round stone, and
grazed his knee. He was very tired ; he began to lope as the
Indians do, making the swing of the joints tell ; but he was
not long enough to gain any advantage from that gait. At
last he met the trail, and turned up the mountain ; the ascent
seemed steeper now that he was out of breath. His throat
was dry ; surely, he had time to drink from the brook. He
knelt down, but before he could get a drop he heard a sound
below, and hurried on. Alarmed, he sprang forward like a
hare ; he climbed like a cat, he drew himself up by his hands ;
he had but one thought — ^to reach the house in time. His
coat was torn now in more places than one ; a sharp edge of
rock had cut his ankle so that his stocking was spotted with
red above the low walking-shoe. The determination to save
Eliot drove him on like a whip of flame: he did not know
how much Royce knew, but feared everything. His face had
a singular appearance : it was deeply flushed, the teeth were
set, the wrinkles more visible than ever, and yet there was a
look of the boy in the eyes which had not been there for
years. He was in a burning heat, and breathed with a regu-
lar, panting sound ; he could hear the circulation of his own
blood; and began to see everything crimson. The trail now
turned straight up the mountain, and he went at it fiercely ;
he was conscious of his condition, and knew that he might
fall in a fit at the house-door : never mind, if he could only get
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there I His eyes were glassy now, his lips dry. He reached
the house, opened the door, and fell into a chair. Brother
Bethuel, in alarm, sprang up and brought him a dipper full of
water as quickly as hand could fill the tin. Brother Bethuel
believed in water, and this time Wainwright agreed with him ;
he swallowed every drop.
" Where is he ? " he said then, already on his feet again,
though staggering a little. Brother Bethuel pointed down-
ward, and Wainwright, with a signal toward the glen, as
if of near danger, disappeared. The cellar was dimly light-
ed by two little windows a foot square, and the man
who entered made out two figures : one was Eliot, the other
Honor.
" You ! " said Wainwright.
" Did you not know that I would come ? '* said the girl.
He had not known it, or thought of it. He turned his
eyes toward the other figure ; everything still looked red. He
held out a pocket-book.
" Go I " he said ; " Royce is on your track ! "
He spoke in a whisper ; his voice had left him as he gained
breath. Eliot, a dark-skinned, handsome, but cutthroat-look-
ing fellow, seized the money and sprang toward the door.
But Honor sprang too, and held him back ; she had heard
something. The next moment they all heard something—
Royce coming in above.
When the youth entered. Brother Bethuel was quietly
reading his Bible ; the table on which it lay was across the
cellar-door.
** Welcome," said the little missionary, rising. " I am
happy to see you, Mr. Royce."
The place looked so peaceful, with the Bible, the ticking
clock, and the cat, that Royce began to think it must be all a
mistake. He sat down for a moment to rest, irresolute, and
not quite knowing what to say next. The three, close under
the thin flooring down below, did not stir, hardly breathed.
Stephen was thinking that, if Royce could know the truth, he
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too would let Eliot go. But there was not much time for
thought.
Brother Bethuel brought out some apples, and began to
converse easily with his visitor. After a while he said, depre-
catingly :
"Will you not remove your pistols to the window-seat
behind you, Mr. Royce? From my youth, I could never
abide the proximity of fire-arms of any kind. They distress
me."
Royce good-naturedly took them out of his belt, and
placed them behind him, but within easy reach. The mis-
sionary was on the opposite side of the room.
Not a sound below. Wainwright was breathing with his
mouth wide open, so as not to pant. He was still much
spent.
But it could not last long ; Royce felt that he must search
the house, even at the risk of offending the little mission-
ary.
"Mr. Head," he said, awkwardly enough, "I am very
sorry, but — but a communication has been received stating
that one of the outlaws, and the one, too, who shot poor
Allison, is concealed here, in this house. I am very sorry,
but — but I must search every part of it immediately."
Brother Bethuel had risen ; his countenance expressed
sorrow and surprise.
" Young man," he said, " search where and as you please \
but spare me your suspicions."
There was a dignity in his bearing which Royce had not
seen before ; he felt hot and ashamed.
"Indeed, Mr. Head, I regret all this," he said; "and, of
course, it is but a matter of form. Still, for my own satis-
faction, and yours, too, now I must go through the house."
He rose and moved a step forward. Quick as lightning
the little missionary had sprung behind him, and pushed the
pistols over the sill, through the open window, down forty
feet on the rocks below.
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" Traitor I " cried Royce, grappling him.
But it was too late ; the pistols were gone. Brother Beth-
uel glowed openly with triumph ; he made no more resistance
in Royce's strong arms than a rag. The young man soon
dropped him, and, hearing a sound below, ran to the cellar-
door.
" He has no pistols ! *' screamed Bethuel down the stair
after him : " you can manage him ; he is alone."
Then, setting all the doors wide open, so that escape
would be easy, he ran out to saddle Marcher.
Down below, in the cellar, Stephen had caught hold of
Royce's arm. Royce, full in the narrow entranceway, stood
glaring at Eliot, and minding Stephen's hold no more than
the foot of a fly. The light from the horizontal door above
streamed in and showed Eliot's dark face and Honor's dilated
eyes. The girl stood near her cousin, but slightly behind him
as though she feared his gaze.
"You are the man I want," said Royce; "I recognize
you ! " His strong voice came in among their previous whis-
pers and bated breath, as his face came in among their three
faces — Honor's ivory-pallid cheeks, the outlaw's strained at-
tention, and Stephen's gray fatigue, more and more visible
now as he gained breath and sight. "Yield yourself up.
We are two to your one."
" We are two to your one," answered Eliot : " that man
beside yoii is for me."
Royce looked down with surprise upon his cousin, who
still held his arm.
" No mistaken lenity now, Stephen," he said curtly, shak-
ing his arm free. " I must have this man ; he shot Allison."
" How are you going to do it ? " said Eliot jeeringly, put-
ting his hands, deep down in his pockets and squaring his
shoulders. "Even Honor here is a match for two Yan-
kees."
" Miss Dooris, I will let you pass," said Royce impatient-
ly. " Go up stairs. This is no place for a girl like you."
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Jir!" -1
Ik of /
" Say lady ! " cried Eliot. " She is a Southern lady, sir ! "
" Bah ! " said Royce ; ** you are a fine person to talk of
ladies. — Are you going, Miss Dooris ? "
Great tears stood in Honor's eyes ; she did not stir.
** She will not go, John," said Wainwright, " because that
man is her cousin — he is an Eliot."
** He is a murderer ! " said Royce, filling up the doorway
ag^n, and measuring with his eye the breadth of his oppo-
nent's shoulders and muscle. " Now, then, are you with me
or against me, Stephen ? If against me, by Heaven ! I will
fight you both."
"You do not understand, John. It is Honor's cousin:
that is why / am anxious to save him."
" And what is her cousin or anybody's cousin to me ? "
cried Royce angrily. " I tell you that man shot Allison, and
he shall swing for it."
He sprang forward as if to close with Eliot, then sprang
back again. He remembered that it was more important
that he should g^ard the door : there was no other way of
escape. If Stephen, pursuing the extraordinary course he
had taken in this matter, should side with Eliot, Brother
Bethuel being a traitor too up stairs, he might not be able to
overcome the outlaw in an attack. He set his teeth, there-
fore, and stood still. His hat was off ; the sunset light touched
his forehead and yellow hair; the image of strength and
young manhood, he confronted them in his elegant attire —
confronted the outlaw in his rough, unclean garments ; Honor
in her old, black gown ; and Stephen in his torn clothes, his
tired face looking yellow and withered as the face of an old
baboon. He considered whether he could keep the door un-
til the troops came: they would not be long behind him.
But, if he only had his pistols !
His eye glanced toward Stephen ; but Stephen never car-
ried arms. Eliot, probably, had only a knife ; if he had had
a pistol, he would have shown it before now. All this in the
flash of a second.
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Brother Bethuel could be heard bringing Marcher around
the house. Stephen made one more effort. In a few, con-
cise words he explained who Eliot was, and his own great
wish to aid him in escaping. With his hand on Royce's arm,
he called his attention, by a gesture, to Honor.
** Let the man go for my sake and — hers," he said, in a
low voice, looking up at his young cousin with his small, pale-
colored eyes.
Honor clasped her hands and made a step forward ; she
did not speak, but implored with an entreating gaze. Royce
threw his head back impatiently. All this was nothing to
him. He would have his man, or die for it; they all saw
that.
Then Eliot, who had watched to see the result of this
pleading, made up his mind.
" Stand back from the door, or I fire ! " he cried, drawing
out his hand, and taking aim at Royce.
He had a pistol, then !
" I give you thirty seconds ! "
But Honor, with a wild scream, ran forward, and threw
herself against Royce's breast, covering it with her shoulders
and head, and raising her arms and hands to shield his face.
He did not hold her or put his arm around her ; but she clung
to him with her whole length, as a wet ribbon clings to a
stone.
" Leave him. Honor I " cried Eliot, in a fury—" leave him,
or I'll shoot you both I "
" Shoot, then ! " said Honor, looking up into Royce's face,
and frantically trying to cover every inch of it with her shield-
ing hands.
Stephen ran and caught Eliot's arm ; Royce, half blinded,
tried to push the girl away ; then the sound of the pistol filled
the room. Royce swayed and fell over heavily, carrying
Honor with him as he went down; a ball had entered his
lung under the girl's arm, in the little space left open by the
inward curve of her waist Eliot ran by the two, up the stair,
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and out of the house ; but, as he passed Honor, he took the
time to strike her across the cheek, and curse her. At the
door he found Marcher, sprang into the saddle, and rode
away.
Brother Bethuel, with white face, hurried down and
stanched the blood ; he had no small knowledge of surgery
and the healing craft, and he commanded Royce not to utter
a syllable. Honor held the young man's head in her lap, and
every now and then softly took up his fallen hand. Wain-
wright drew away, and watched her with the deepest pain of
his life gnawing at his heart. He saw her stroke Royce's hair
fondly, as if she could not help it, and saw her begin to sob
over his closing eyes and the deepening violet shadows under
them, and then stop herself lest she should disturb him.
firother Bethuel was listening to the breathing with bent
head, to find out if there was any chance for life. The house
was as still as a tomb ; a bee came in, and hummed above
their heads.
" He has a chance," said the missionary at last, fervently,
raising his head. " Do not let him stir." He ran up stairs
for restoratives, and Wainwright sat down on a stool which
had been Eliot's seat during his imprisonment, and covered
his eyes with his hand. It seemed to him that he had sat
there a long time, and that Honor must be noticing him
now. He glanced up; she was gazing down at the still
face on her lap. He stirred; she motioned impatiently for
silence with her hand, but did not raise her eyes. He sat
looking at her miserably, and growing old, older with every
moment. His lips quivered once as he silently gave up for
ever his dream of hope and love. He passed his hand over
his dry eyes, and sat still. By the time he was needed he
was able to help Brother Bethuel in making Royce as com-
fortable as possible on the cellar-floor : they dared not move
him.
The troops arrived in time to hear all about it — ^they then
went back again.
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Wainwright returned to EUerby that evening. The army-
surgeon and a nurse had been sent out immediately to the
mountain cottage, and Colonel Eliot, distressed and agitated,
had accompanied them. Wainwright went to his room, at-
tired himself anew, and sought Adelaide's parlor. Adelaide
received him quietly ; she said nothing, but came around be-
hind him and kissed his forehead. He looked up at her
i dumbly. Her eyes filled with tears. In her strange, double,
woman's way she felt sorry for his sorrow. She was con-
scious of no guilt ; she had only precipitated matters. Honor
\ would never have loved him, and it was better he should
know it. In truth, she had saved him.
And Honor ? Oh, she had the usual torments of young
love! She was no goddess to Royce, only a girl like any
other. He was touched by her impulsive act, and during his
^ long illness he began to think more and more dbout her. It
f all ended well ; that is, he married her after a while, took her
1 away to the North, and was, on the whole, a good husband.
j But, from first to last, he ruled her, and she never became
quite the beauty that Mrs. Kellinger intended her to be, be-
cause she was too devoted to him, too absorbed in him, too
dependent upon his fancies, to collect that repose and security
of heart which are necessary to complete the beauty of even
- the most beautiful woman.
' Ellerby village sank back into quietude. Still the moon-
1 light whisky is made up in the mountains, ^nd still the revenue