THE severity of the winter did not relax. There were intervals when the
wind did not blow and the snow did not fall; but there were neither warm
winds nor sunshine to melt the snow, the depth of which grew steadily
and aggravated the impassableness of the roads. Day by day, week by
week, month by month it strengthened the bars of the prison holding the
two unhappy souls.
With the prolonged and increasing rigors of the winter harder and harder
grew the rigors of the prison. The strength of Wilder’s spirit was
beginning to break down; and while it distressed his fair charge to see
him suffer, it warmed her heart to realize that the day of her triumph
was near,--the day when she should serve him as gently, as unselfishly,
as faithfully as he had served her. It would be sweet to have him
helpless, to have him lean upon her, need her, want her.
Her manner had undergone a great change since the terrible scene in
which her life was threatened. Her firmness, her self-reliance, her
aggressiveness, her condescension, all had gone, and she bore herself
toward her rescuer as mother, sister, and friend. In innumerable little
ways she saved him trouble through denying herself, and did it so
tactfully that he never suspected the deception. Under the influence
of this he had at last made her a crutch, which, though rude and
uncomfortable, she declared to be a miracle of ease. She believed that
in giving it to her he expressed more confidence in her than he had felt
before.
Its introduction into the scheme of their lives worked changes that
astonished and pleased him. In spite of his distressed protests, she
overhauled his meagre wardrobe, and with deft workmanship put every
article in perfect order. Her skill and ingenuity were employed in many
other ways, so that the cabin soon took on a look very different from
that which she had found when she came. Little touches lent an air of
grace and a sense of comfort that the place had not borne before.
She relieved him of all the work of caring for her, except that of
cooking; this was a duty that he reserved with immovable stubbornness.
Nor could she contrive with all her wiles and persuasion to make him
have his meals with her. She formed many a theory to explain his conduct
in that particular. Finally, she settled upon this one: He preferred to
fill the rôle of a servitor; as such he must take his meals apart. But
why should he so choose? Was it because he deemed it the safer course
for them both? Was it because he wished to discipline her by placing
her above him, when by obvious right they were equals? Speculation was
useless; she was forced to accept the fact, which she did with all the
grace at her command.
He had grown thin to emaciation. His hands were those of a skeleton
covered tightly with skin. His cheeks were greatly sunken, and the drawn
skin upon his cheek-bones was a chalky white. But his eyes were the most
haunting of his features. They seemed to be looking always for something
that could not be found, and to show a mortal dread of a catastrophe
that had given no sign of its imminence. In their impenetrable depths
she imagined that she saw all mysteries, all fears, all anxieties.
Still, though very weak, he kept sturdily and cheerfully at his duties.
There was the snow to fight. There was the fire to be kept up, for the
cold was intense. There was the cooking to do.
Uncomfortable as her bed was, she knew that it was luxurious in
comparison with the thinly covered floor of stones and earth upon which
he slept. In time this came to haunt her unceasingly, and she pondered
every conceivable plan to make him more comfortable. At first it was her
firm intention to make him take the bed while she slept on the floor;
but she knew that it would be useless to make the suggestion; so she
was forced to abandon the idea, dear as it was to her, and happy as its
adoption would have made her. Instead, she did what she could to make
his pallet comfortable. Her ingenuity made so great a difference that
his gratitude touched her.
One day she discovered him in agonizing pain. The torture was so great
that it broke down his iron fortitude and drew his face awry. She was
instantly at his side, her hand on his shoulder and her face showing a
wistful anxiety.
“What is it, my friend?” she inquired, in the gentlest voice.
With a pitiful effort at self-mastery he declared that it was only a
trifling and transitory pain, and that it was rapidly passing. She knelt
beside him and looked anxiously into his face. Her solicitude evidently
increased his suffering, but she was determined to make the fight then
and there.
“Tell me what it is, my friend,” she begged.
This was the second time that she had called him “my friend.”
“It is only rheumatism,” he said, somewhat impatiently, and making a
gentle effort to push her away. But she persisted.
“That is not a trifling thing,” she said, “for your strength is greatly
reduced. Where is the pain?”
“Oh, I don’t know; you are only making it harder for me!” he petulantly
exclaimed.
A great gladness filled her heart, for she knew that he was giving way,
and that her solicitude was hastening his collapse.
“No,” she said, “I will make you well. Where is the pain?” His face gave
the glad sign of his wavering.
“Where is the pain?” she repeated. “It is my right to know and your duty
to tell me.”
“In my----” he said, gasping, “in my chest.”
She rose and went to the bed, which she prepared for him. When he saw
what her intention was he came to his feet with great effort. Before
she could divine his purpose or check him, he had gone to the rear door,
hastily opened it, and saying, “I will be back in a moment,” passed out
and closed it after him. She stood bewildered at the neatness with which
he had baffled her, and alarmed for his safety. But he had promised to
return at once, and she knew that he would if he could. To her great
relief he soon came back, bearing some biscuits and a few tins of
provisions. As he stepped within and locked the door he dropped a tin,
and before she could go to his assistance he had fallen while trying
to pick it up. She drew him to his feet, and was amazed to discover
how much stronger she was than he, and yet she had thought herself very
weak. She seated him upon the edge of the bed and began to remove his
shoes.
“No, no!” he gasped; “you shall not do that.”
But she kept on and succeeded, and laid him upon the bed and drew the
covers over him.
“Now,” she said, “tell me what to give you.”
He did so, and it gave her infinite satisfaction to have him take the
medicine from her hand. Soon his pain relaxed, and he fell into a heavy
slumber.
While she watched him as might a mother her slumbering first-born, her
soul warmed and expanded, and her one shy regret was that his head was
not resting on her breast. But there were duties awaiting her. She took
up the surplus ashes from the hearth. She revived the fire with the wood
that he had heaped up at the chimney-side the night before. She put snow
into a vessel to heat water. She stowed away his pallet. She prepared to
make tea as soon as the water should be hot. In the performance of these
and other minor tasks she was very happy, and for the first time since
she had entered the hut she sang softly. The work was not easy, for she
had little strength, being unused so long to exercise, and her lameness
and the crutch interfered sorely.
One sting hurt unceasingly. She reflected that her host had decided
to take to the bed under her persuasion, and that he had brought the
provisions from the rear apartment so that she might prepare food during
his helplessness; but this was because he had not trusted her to get
the provisions herself,--had made it unnecessary for her to enter the
forbidden chamber. As well as she could she tried to be generous; she
tried to think that a man so kind, so thoughtful, so respectful, must
have the best reasons for keeping her out of that room. If so, she
had no right to expect his confidence. But why did he give her no
explanation? Why should he not trust her to that extent? This was the
sting that hurt.
In a vague way she believed that something ought to be put on his chest
for the pain that he had suffered there.
She had an intense desire to do something for him. She thought that
cloths saturated with liniment would be good for him. With great
caution, to avoid waking him, she opened the garments covering his
chest. He still slept heavily, for the medicine that he had taken
carried a soporific element. When she had bared his breast and seen the
frightful emaciation of his body, she quickly covered him, fell upon her
face to the floor, and sobbed.
The day advanced, but still he slept. Her one hope now was that he would
sleep into the night, for that would require her to sleep on the pallet
before the hearth. She had another precious hope, and it was that they
would at last eat a meal together; but she would rather that he slept;
so, toward evening, she made a simple meal and ate her share alone, and
kept his ready for him against his waking.
She marvelled that there was so much to do in so small a place, and that
the day--the sweetest, she believed, of all the days of her life--had
passed so quickly. At short intervals she would lean over him and listen
to his short, half-checked breathing; or she would gently lay her cool
hand upon his hot forehead, or hold one of his burning hands in hers,
and then press it to her cheek. It seemed surpassingly wonderful that
the strong man, strong in spirit only, should be lying now as helpless
as an infant, wholly dependent upon her.
At times he was restless, and talked unintelligibly in his sleep; she
was instantly at his side, to soothe him with her cool, soft hand upon
his face; and when she saw that it always calmed him, she sighed from
the sweet pain that filled her breast. Once, when he seemed on the verge
of waking, she slipped her arm under his head, and gave him more of the
medicine, which he took unresistingly, and slept again. As the night
wore on, she made herself unhappy with trying to choose between sitting
at his bedside and watching, and suffering the hardship that he had
borne so long in sleeping on the pallet. While she was in the throes
of this contention, another urgent matter arose. It had been her host’s
custom to bring in a supply of wood every night. That which he had
brought the night before was now exhausted, and more was needed. How
could she get it. She knew that he had locked the back door and put
the key into a certain pocket. She knew that she could not get the wood
without the key. Procuring a supply of fuel was one precaution that he
had overlooked when he had brought in a supply of provisions.
He was in a profound slumber. She could get the key, and thus provide
the wood for the night. But would it be right to do so? If the fire
went out the cold would be intense, and might prove fatal to him. If
she should enter the forbidden room, would that be taking an unfair
advantage of his helplessness? It was a hard problem, but in the end
her sense of duty outweighed her sense of delicacy. With the greatest
caution she slipped her hand into his pocket and secured the key. With
equal caution she went to the door and unlocked it.
Then a great fear assailed her. What lay beyond the door? Might it not
be some danger that only her host could safely face? If so, what could
it be?... It were wise to have a candle; but search failed to discover
one. She secured a small torch from the fire, and cautiously opened the
door.
To her surprise, no chamber was revealed, but merely a walled and roofed
passage closed at the farther end with a door. Piled within it was a
store of wood; there was nothing else. It was very awkward for the young
woman to carry the crutch, the torch, and the wood all at once; it was
necessary to relinquish the torch. She carried it back to the fireplace,
and went again to the passage, piled some wood in her free arm, and
started back. As she did so she saw her host sitting up and staring
at her in horror. This so frightened her that she dropped the wood,
screamed, and fell fainting to the floor.
When she became conscious she found herself on the bed and her host
watching beside her. There was the old look of command in his face, the
old veil that hung between her and his confidence; and thus her glorious
day had come to an inglorious end, and her spirit was nearly crushed.
Her host had recovered in a measure,--sufficiently for him to resume
the command of his house. No questions were asked, no explanations were
given. He thanked her gratefully for her kindness to him, and thus her
brief happiness came to an end. The old round of labor, of waiting, of
hoping, of suffering, of imprisonment, was taken up again.