It was in front of the Golden Swan that she met Harrington. He was just
coming down the steps, and must have arrived the night before.
He stopped suddenly, with the look in his eyes like a cat's when she
spies a bird and, crouching, steals slowly nearer.
Dawn paused for just an instant, too, in wild dismay, having the
instinct to flee, yet realizing that she must not, because the whole
town would think it strange. She wished to have the power to pass him
unrecognized, yet with sudden sinking of soul she knew that she had not.
His eye had met hers with recognition, and she must hold her position
courageously. She wished she knew all the circumstances of his giving
her up, and it flashed across her that she must not let him know that
she was ignorant of them. He must have no advantage, for his strange
power over her might crush her in spite of herself. Something tightened
round her heart and gripped it like a vise as his cold calculating
glance looked her over, and a cruel satisfaction settled about his
hateful mouth.
Dawn gave a sort of gasp and started on, summoning all the spirit with
which she had vanquished Silas Dobson, and wondering why she could not
be as haughty and as brave now. The sight of Daniel's butter-nut clad
shoulders in the distance, waiting at the corner with a group of other
boys, gave her courage, but her face was white, and she felt her limbs
trembling beneath her.
But Harrington Winthrop did not intend to let her slip through his
fingers thus easily, now that he had found her, apparently far from her
natural guardians. He of course knew nothing of her marriage with his
brother.
He hastened down the steps with effusive manner and smiling countenance,
and extended his hand in a warm greeting--if anything he ever did could
be said to be actually warm.
"I did not expect this pleasure," he said in an oily voice, and with an
impressive glance intended to convey deep emotion.
She drew back from the hand he offered, and wished she could take her
eyes from his hateful ones, but she could not.
"Poor child!" he murmured in mock pity. "They have told you terrible
untruths about me, and you have suffered and find it hard to forgive.
But, indeed, it was none of my fault. I will explain the whole matter,
and we can still evade the enemies who are trying to part us, and be
happy together."
Dawn shuddered!
"Where can we go that we shall not be interrupted? Suppose we walk in
the woods?"
Dawn was filled with terror. She looked about wildly, and saw to her
relief that Daniel, with his special bodyguard in the rear, was
sauntering slowly toward her. His attitude of protection gave her
courage. He was watching the stranger with a curious suspicion. Had
his intuition told him that she needed help? Daniel was but a few steps
away.
She drew her breath in quickly, and spoke in a clear voice:
"I have no time to talk with any one at present. I am on my way to
school, and shall be busy until late in the afternoon. I am a teacher."
She drew herself up with dignity, and he realized that she was not the
simple child he had seen last, but a woman with an independence of her
own.
"Dismiss your school," he said in the voice he was used to having
obeyed. "I cannot possibly wait until this afternoon. I must talk with
you at once. I don't intend to let you slip through my fingers so
easily, now that I have found you, my pretty lady." He smiled, but
there was a sinister menace in his voice.
"It is impossible to dismiss school," said Dawn decidedly. "I should
lose my position if I did a thing like that. Besides, I do not wish to
talk with you. There is nothing to talk about."
"There is everything to talk about," said the man, a fierce light coming
into his eyes. "They have told you lies about me, and taken you away
from me, but I mean to have you in spite of them. I will explain to you
all about that poor woman. She was never my wife at all. Come, let the
school take care of itself. You will have no further need of it. You
belong to me, and I will take care of you. Come with me!"
The last word was a command, and with it he took hold of her shoulder
almost roughly and attempted to turn her round.
At once there was a low growl behind his heels, and Daniel Butterworth's
dog took hold of the calf of his leg as if he too would say, "Come with
me!"
Harrington promptly let go of Dawn, who took advantage of her freedom
and fairly flew down the street, leaving Daniel to settle up matters
between his dog and the stranger, in whose frightened antics the boy was
secretly taking deep delight. When Dawn had turned the corner and was
out of sight, Dan called the dog off. Then Harrington Winthrop
discovered that his lady had departed. Before that time he had been
otherwise occupied.
Angry, baffled, and exhausted, he was in nowise attractive. An
interested group of boys and one or two little girls who had torn
themselves away from the teacher's side encircled him. Dan looked at
him in quiet amusement, and then called his dog and betook himself to
school. Most of the group followed him, with reluctant glances back at
the dishevelled stranger. One little girl lingered, eying him
wonderingly, and twisting her apron-strings.
"Where is your school-house, little girl?" asked Harrington sharply.
The child felt compelled to answer.
"Round that there corner over there, and down the road a good piece."
Harrington glanced after the boys and the dog uncertainly. Did the dog
go to school also?
"Where does your teacher board?" he asked again.
"She's boardin' round, an' it's Ann Peabody's turn this week. She's got
a boy what's blind in one eye."
"Ah! Indeed! That's a pity. Where does Ann Peabody live?"
"Next door but one to the church. The house with Johnny-jump-ups by the
gate, an' a laylock bush by the stoop."
"Thank you. Now tell me what time your school lets out, that's a little
lady."
"It don't let out till four o'clock--but it'll be took up 'fore I get
there if I don't hurry."
She took to her heels forthwith, and Harrington Winthrop limped up the
steps of the Golden Swan to repair damages and consider his next line of
procedure.
When Dawn arrived at the school-house she was almost too frightened to
stop. It was late, and most of the scholars were there. They trooped
gladly in after her. She had made school for them a kind of all-day
picnic, and they were eager to begin it. Even after she had hung up her
bonnet and cape, and opened the high lid of her desk, her heart was
beating like a trip-hammer. Now and then she looked apprehensively
toward the door, and was reassured when at last she saw Daniel saunter
in with a comfortable smile on his face, while the dog took up his
station on the door-step. Rags often came to school. It was a part of
his privilege to guard the teacher, and he felt he had earned a morning
session by his gallantry in defending her against the rude stranger who
had dared to lay hands upon her. He sat down comfortably just inside
the school-room door, his forepaws hanging over the step, but he kept
his head erect. With his nose on his paws and one eye closed, not once
during the morning did he relax. He felt that there was further trouble
to be expected, and he must be ready.
Dawn smiled, albeit with trembling lips, and set about the morning's
routine; but her mind was troubled, and she kept starting and glancing
uneasily toward the door. Daniel saw this, and grew grave with
apprehension. What had the stranger to do with the teacher, and why did
she seem to be so uneasy? Had he some power over her? She certainly
did not look happy when he had laid his hand upon her arm, just before
he, Dan, had given that low signal to Rags. She couldn't have liked the
stranger to be there, or she would not have run away when she got the
chance.
At recess she made Daniel happy by calling him to the desk and in a low
tone thanking him for helping her. She did not explain further than to
say that the man was an old acquaintance whom she did not like. Daniel
understood him to be in the same class with Silas Dobson.
During the morning session of school Dawn's mind was in a whirl, trying
to think what she should do. She dreaded the coming of the afternoon,
when school would close, and she must go back to Mrs. Peabody's house.
Winthrop would certainly search her out. It had been a great mistake to
let him know she was the school-teacher, for though he did not know her
assumed name he could easily find her now. She dreaded any encounter
with him. A frenzy of fear had taken possession of her.
As the morning went on, she tried to make some plan for escape. No
longer was it safe in this vicinity. She must get away and hide from
him. Where? Could she ever hope to evade a man who spent his entire
time travelling over the earth? He had the assurance of the devil
himself, and it was almost hopeless to try to get beyond his grasp.
Nevertheless, she must go.
The reading class which recited just before the noon-hour stumbled on
its way for once without correction, while Dawn planned her next pitiful
move.
At noon she sent one of the older girls to Mrs. Peabody's, to get her
bag and a few little things that were lying about the room. She usually
kept everything neatly packed in a large bag she had made--everything
except her silk dress, which was hung on a nail. This the girl promised
to fold nicely and put into the bag. She was to tell Mrs. Peabody that
Dawn had decided to go a day before the time was up, and to thank the
lady for all her kindness, and say Dawn was sorry she could not very
well leave to explain it herself. The girl felt honored by the
commission, and performed it to the letter, wishing the while that she
knew where Teacher was going a day ahead of time, and resolving to ask
her mother to invite the teacher to come to their house ahead of time,
too.
Rags took up his station on the school-house steps again for the
afternoon session, having been abundantly fed from the generous
dinner-pails, on apple-pie, doughnuts, and chicken bones. Rags felt it
in the air that something was going to happen, but nothing did, and four
o'clock came at last.
Dawn had made the scholars write in their copy-books during the last
hour of the afternoon. "Command you may your mind from play," straggled
up and down a whole page in many of the books, while blots grew thick
among the words, but no teacher wandered alertly up and down the aisles
to watch and to correct; sometimes--oh, blessed honor!--to sit down and
hold the quill pen, or, better still, take the dirty little fist of the
writer into her own pink hand and guide the writing. The teacher sat
behind a raised desk-lid, diligently writing, and took no heed of notes,
or whittling, or even paper balls. Daniel Butterworth finally took Bug
Higginson by the collar and stood him up behind the stove, but still the
teacher wrote on.
It was a letter to the minister she was writing, and her young breast
heaved with mingled emotions is she wrote. It was hard to have to leave
this first school, where she had been so happy, and where she could
still be so happy if she only had some one to protect her from the man
who would probably haunt her through life. She had felt that she must
make some brief explanation of her departure to the kind old man who had
trusted her, and upon whom it would fall to explain her absence.
DEAR DR. MERCER [she wrote]:
You have been so very kind to me that it gives me much sorrow to tell
you that I must go away. Something has happened that makes it necessary
for me to go away at once. I cannot even wait to say good-by to you or
any one else. I am so sorry, for I have been very happy here, and I
have tried to do my best; and there is the singing-school this week, and
the barn-raising where I promised to read them a story after supper, and
my dear school! I love them all! Will you please tell everybody how
sorry I am to go away like this? You have all been so good to me, and I
shall never find a place I love so much as this, I am sure, but I truly
cannot help going. If you knew all about it, you would understand.
Please thank Mrs. Mercer for the pretty collar she gave me that belonged
to your daughter, and tell her I will keep it always. I am sorry to
leave you without a teacher, but there is almost a month's pay due me,
and perhaps that will help you to get some one right away. So please
forgive me for leaving the school just as it was when I got it. I love
it, and wish I could stay.
Yours very gratefully,
MARY MONTGOMERY.
After folding, addressing, and sealing this letter, she closed her desk;
then with sudden thought, as she caught Daniel's troubled eyes upon her,
she opened it again and wrote hastily:
DEAR DANIEL:
I am having to go away in a great hurry. I cannot say good-by to
anybody, but I must thank you for all you have done for me. I thank you
more than words can ever tell. You cannot know how hard it is for me to
go away from the school. Please study hard and try to be a good boy and
then some day, when I hear of what a great man you are, I shall be so
proud to have been your teacher. Go to college, Daniel, and be as great
a man as you can, and don't forget that you have helped me very, very
much ever since I came here.
YOUR GRATEFUL TEACHER.
Her hand trembled as she sealed this other note. She closed the desk
hastily and glanced at the clock. It was one minute after closing time.
Bug Higginson was decorating the stove with a caricature of one of the
selectmen. It all looked so homely and familiar and dear, and she was to
see it no more! The tears sprang to her eyes, and she could scarcely
control her voice to dismiss the school. She shook her head and tried to
smile when the girls asked if they might wait for her to walk home,
telling them she must stay a little while, that she had something to do.
They all filed out save Daniel, who sat quietly in his seat, watching
her with sad, puzzled eyes. Daniel had seen the glint of a tear as she
looked at them.
"Aren't you going home to-night, Daniel?" she asked. She was dreading
momentarily the approach of Harrington Winthrop. She seemed to know he
would come to walk home with her. So did Rags, who sat very stiff and
straight on the door-step, with bristling ears and eyes alert.
"Don't you want I should stay?" asked Daniel, and his eyes hinted that
he understood she was in trouble.
"Oh, no, thank you, Daniel," she said, trying to make her voice sound
cheery and natural, but somehow it broke into almost a sob.
Daniel eyed her curiously for a moment, and then got up slowly from his
desk and went out. He gave Rags a look as he passed. The boy and the
dog thoroughly understood each other. Rags did not stir. Daniel went
down the path and out to the road; then down the road a few paces, after
which he climbed the fence back into the school-yard. Then he walked
over to a log behind the school-house and sat down where he could watch
the road to the village.
As soon as he was gone, Dawn looked about her, caught her breath a
moment, and seemed to bid good-by to all the childish forms that had but
a few minutes before occupied the now empty benches. Then, spying Rags
still sitting in the doorway, she took the note she had written to
Daniel and, going over to the dog, tied it around his neck with a bit of
string. Rags got up and wagged his tail, glancing eagerly at her, then
back to the road again.
Dawn patted him lovingly.
"Take that note to Dan, Rags," she commanded.
Rags barked questioningly. He wanted to tell her that he had been
ordered to stay with her, but she did not seem to understand. He wagged
his tail harder, but he did not budge.
"Go, Rags, good dog. Take that to Dan." She pointed out the door.
Rags cast a protesting, anxious bark at her, a furtive glance down the
empty road, and hustled out the door. He reasoned that Dan was near at
hand and must settle the confliction of duties himself. He could not
but obey the one whom he and his master alike worshipped.
The minute the dog had gone, Dawn put on her bonnet, caught up her cape
and bag, and slipped out of the door and around the school-house on the
side farthest from the village.
She fled through the back yard, crept under the lower rail of the fence,
and proceeded over into the meadow where they had coasted all winter.
In a moment more she was out of sight down the hill. She had but to
cross the log which formed a bridge across the brook and she would enter
the woods that lay at the foot of Wintergreen Hill. There she would be
safe and could get away without seen by any one.
Daniel cut the string which held the note and sent the dog back to his
post, while he slowly unfolded it and read, his hands trembling at the
thought that she had written and sealed it, and that it was for him. A
great tumult of emotions went through his big, immature heart as he
tried to take it in. He had known something would happen, and was glad
he had not gone away.
Rags hustled back to the school-house steps, but instantly he knew
something was wrong. He looked into the empty room. She was not there.
He smelled his way up to the desk, but could not bring her into
existence. He snuffed his way out to the steps and down the path in a
hurry, then came back baffled, with short, sharp, worried barks, to hunt
for the scent again. Snuff! Snuff! Snuff! Bark! Rags could not
understand it. Yes--but it was--there was the scent! Snuff! Snuff!
Snuff! Bark! Bark! He tried it over again to make sure. The scent
went around the left of the school-house, through the girl's
play-ground. What could she have gone around there for at this time of
day? Had the enemy come during his absence and stolen her away?
Rags hurried around the school, snuffing and barking, scuttled under the
fence in a hurry, and away down the hill, his bark growing more sure and
relieved every minute.
Daniel was not accustomed to receiving letters. He grasped the meaning
of that first sentence slowly, having lingered long over the "Dear
Daniel." But he got no further than the first sentence: "I am having to
go away in a great hurry." He got to his feet rapidly and went around
to the school-house door. A great fear was in his heart. The absence
of Rags confirmed it. He entered the deserted school-room. No one was
there. He stepped up to the teacher's desk. A letter addressed to the
minister lay there. Daniel stood still by the teacher's desk, his heart
filled with foreboding, and read the remainder of his own letter. As he
finished, he heard a step outside the door, and, looking up, saw the
stranger of the morning before him.
Instinctively he reached out for the minister's letter on the desk and
put it with his own into his coat-pocket. Then he faced the intruder
quietly, and something in his steady blue eyes reminded the man of his
morning encounter with the dog. He felt that he had an enemy in the boy
before him.
Winthrop took off his hat and inquired suavely:
"Is Miss Van Rensselaer here? This is the school-house, isn't it?"
"It's the school-house all right," answered Dan, "but there ain't no
Miss Van Rensselaer round. Don't know no such person. You must 'a' ben
told wrong."
"Oh, no; I saw her this morning. In fact, she must have expected me. I
refer to the teacher of this school."
"The teacher's Miss Montgomery--Miss Mary Montgomery--an' she's gone.
She boards this week with the Peabodys', up by the church, second house
beyond. She hasn't been gone from here five minutes."
"That is very strange," said the visitor. "I just walked down past the
church and did not meet her."
"She sometimes stops a minute to see how the blacksmith's little sick
girl is, at the corner here. She might 'a' gone there, but she never
stays long. You'd best go right up to Peabody's."
Daniel was anxious to get rid of the man, and he was certain that the
teacher had not gone in the direction of the Peabodys', for he had
watched the road every minute until he came around to the front of the
school.
Harrington Winthrop took himself away, with a baffled look on his
imperious face. As soon as he had passed from sight, Dan reconnoitred
the school-yard.
There was no sign of anybody. He listened, but could not hear the dog.
He gave a long, low whistle, and instantly from the distance, toward the
woods, he heard a faint, sharp bark in answer. He whistled again, and
again came the dog's response.
Daniel was over the fence in a second and down the hill, not whistling
again until he reached the log across the brook. Then the dog's bark
was nearer, but it ended suddenly, as if some one was holding his
muzzle. The boy thought he understood, and bounded rapidly toward the
place from which the sound seemed to have come. In a moment more he had
plunged into the darkness of the woods.