Rena was unusually fatigued at the close of her school on Wednesday
afternoon. She had been troubled all day with a headache, which,
beginning with a dull pain, had gradually increased in intensity until
every nerve was throbbing like a trip-hammer. The pupils seemed
unusually stupid. A discouraging sense of the insignificance of any
part she could perform towards the education of three million people
with a school term of two months a year hung over her spirit like a
pall. As the object of Wain's attentions, she had begun to feel
somewhat like a wild creature who hears the pursuers on its track, and
has the fear of capture added to the fatigue of flight. But when this
excitement had gone too far and had neared the limit of exhaustion came
Tryon's letter, with the resulting surprise and consternation. Rena
had keyed herself up to a heroic pitch to answer it; but when the
inevitable reaction came, she was overwhelmed with a sickening sense of
her own weakness. The things which in another sphere had constituted
her strength and shield were now her undoing, and exposed her to
dangers from which they lent her no protection. Not only was this her
position in theory, but the pursuers were already at her heels. As the
day wore on, these dark thoughts took on an added gloom, until, when
the hour to dismiss school arrived, she felt as though she had not a
friend in the world. This feeling was accentuated by a letter which
she had that morning received from her mother, in which Mis' Molly
spoke very highly of Wain, and plainly expressed the hope that her
daughter might like him so well that she would prefer to remain in
Sampson County.
Plato, bright-eyed and alert, was waiting in the school-yard until the
teacher should be ready to start. Having warned away several smaller
children who had hung around after school as though to share his
prerogative of accompanying the teacher, Plato had swung himself into
the low branches of an oak at the edge of the clearing, from which he
was hanging by his legs, head downward. He dropped from this reposeful
attitude when the teacher appeared at the door, and took his place at
her side.
A premonition of impending trouble caused the teacher to hesitate. She
wished that she had kept more of the pupils behind. Something
whispered that danger lurked in the road she customarily followed.
Plato seemed insignificantly small and weak, and she felt miserably
unable to cope with any difficult or untoward situation.
"Plato," she suggested, "I think we'll go round the other way to-night,
if you don't mind."
Visions of Mars Geo'ge disappointed, of a dollar unearned and unspent,
flitted through the narrow brain which some one, with the irony of
ignorance or of knowledge, had mocked with the name of a great
philosopher. Plato was not an untruthful lad, but he seldom had the
opportunity to earn a dollar. His imagination, spurred on by the
instinct of self-interest, rose to the emergency.
"I's feared you mought git snake-bit gwine roun' dat way, Miss Rena.
My brer Jim kill't a water-moccasin down dere yistiddy 'bout ten feet
long."
Rena had a horror of snakes, with which the swamp by which the other
road ran was infested. Snakes were a vivid reality; her presentiment
was probably a mere depression of spirits due to her condition of
nervous exhaustion. A cloud had come up and threatened rain, and the
wind was rising ominously. The old way was the shorter; she wanted
above all things to get to Elder Johnson's and go to bed. Perhaps
sleep would rest her tired brain--she could not imagine herself feeling
worse, unless she should break down altogether.
She plunged into the path and hastened forward so as to reach home
before the approaching storm. So completely was she absorbed in her
own thoughts that she scarcely noticed that Plato himself seemed
preoccupied. Instead of capering along like a playful kitten or puppy,
he walked by her side unusually silent. When they had gone a short
distance and were approaching a path which intersected their road at
something near a right angle, the teacher missed Plato. He had dropped
behind a moment before; now he had disappeared entirely. Her vague
alarm of a few moments before returned with redoubled force.
"Plato!" she called; "Plato!"
There was no response, save the soughing of the wind through the
swaying treetops. She stepped hastily forward, wondering if this were
some childish prank. If so, it was badly timed, and she would let
Plato feel the weight of her displeasure.
Her forward step had brought her to the junction of the two paths,
where she paused doubtfully. The route she had been following was the
most direct way home, but led for quite a distance through the forest,
which she did not care to traverse alone. The intersecting path would
soon take her to the main road, where she might find shelter or
company, or both. Glancing around again in search of her missing
escort, she became aware that a man was approaching her from each of
the two paths. In one she recognized the eager and excited face of
George Tryon, flushed with anticipation of their meeting, and yet grave
with uncertainty of his reception. Advancing confidently along the
other path she saw the face of Jeff Wain, drawn, as she imagined in her
anguish, with evil passions which would stop at nothing.
What should she do? There was no sign of Plato--for aught she could
see or hear of him, the earth might have swallowed him up. Some deadly
serpent might have stung him. Some wandering rabbit might have tempted
him aside. Another thought struck her. Plato had been very
quiet--there had been something on his conscience--perhaps he had
betrayed her! But to which of the two men, and to what end?
The problem was too much for her overwrought brain. She turned and
fled. A wiser instinct might have led her forward. In the two
conflicting dangers she might have found safety. The road after all
was a public way. Any number of persons might meet there accidentally.
But she saw only the darker side of the situation. To turn to Tryon
for protection before Wain had by some overt act manifested the evil
purpose which she as yet only suspected would be, she imagined, to
acknowledge a previous secret acquaintance with Tryon, thus placing her
reputation at Wain's mercy, and to charge herself with a burden of
obligation toward a man whom she wished to avoid and had refused to
meet. If, on the other hand, she should go forward to meet Wain, he
would undoubtedly offer to accompany her homeward. Tryon would
inevitably observe the meeting, and suppose it prearranged. Not for
the world would she have him think so--why she should care for his
opinion, she did not stop to argue. She turned and fled, and to avoid
possible pursuit, struck into the underbrush at an angle which she
calculated would bring her in a few rods to another path which would
lead quickly into the main road. She had run only a few yards when she
found herself in the midst of a clump of prickly shrubs and briars.
Meantime the storm had burst; the rain fell in torrents. Extricating
herself from the thorns, she pressed forward, but instead of coming out
upon the road, found herself penetrating deeper and deeper into the
forest.
The storm increased in violence. The air grew darker and darker. It
was near evening, the clouds were dense, the thick woods increased the
gloom. Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning pierced the darkness,
followed by a sharp clap of thunder. There was a crash of falling
timber. Terror-stricken, Rena flew forward through the forest, the
underbrush growing closer and closer as she advanced. Suddenly the
earth gave way beneath her feet and she sank into a concealed morass.
By clasping the trunk of a neighboring sapling she extricated herself
with an effort, and realized with a horrible certainty that she was
lost in the swamp.
Turning, she tried to retrace her steps. A flash of lightning
penetrated the gloom around her, and barring her path she saw a huge
black snake,--harmless enough, in fact, but to her excited imagination
frightful in appearance. With a wild shriek she turned again,
staggered forward a few yards, stumbled over a projecting root, and
fell heavily to the earth.
When Rena had disappeared in the underbrush, Tryon and Wain had each
instinctively set out in pursuit of her, but owing to the gathering
darkness, the noise of the storm, and the thickness of the underbrush,
they missed not only Rena but each other, and neither was aware of the
other's presence in the forest. Wain kept up the chase until the rain
drove him to shelter. Tryon, after a few minutes, realized that she
had fled to escape him, and that to pursue her would be to defeat
rather than promote his purpose. He desisted, therefore, and returning
to the main road, stationed himself at a point where he could watch
Elder Johnson's house, and having waited for a while without any signs
of Rena, concluded that she had taken refuge in some friendly cabin.
Turning homeward disconsolately as night came on, he intercepted Plato
on his way back from town, and pledged him to inviolable secrecy so
effectually that Plato, when subsequently questioned, merely answered
that he had stopped a moment to gather some chinquapins, and when he
had looked around the teacher was gone.
Rena not appearing at supper-time nor for an hour later, the elder,
somewhat anxious, made inquiries about the neighborhood, and finding
his guest at no place where she might be expected to stop, became
somewhat alarmed. Wain's house was the last to which he went. He had
surmised that there was some mystery connected with her leaving Wain's,
but had never been given any definite information about the matter. In
response to his inquiries, Wain expressed surprise, but betrayed a
certain self-consciousness which did not escape the elder's eye.
Returning home, he organized a search party from his own family and
several near neighbors, and set out with dogs and torches to scour the
woods for the missing teacher. A couple of hours later, they found her
lying unconscious in the edge of the swamp, only a few rods from a
well-defined path which would soon have led her to the open highway.
Strong arms lifted her gently and bore her home. Mrs. Johnson
undressed her and put her to bed, administering a homely remedy, of
which whiskey was the principal ingredient, to counteract the effects
of the exposure. There was a doctor within five miles, but no one
thought of sending for him, nor was it at all likely that it would have
been possible to get him for such a case at such an hour.
Rena's illness, however, was more deeply seated than her friends could
imagine. A tired body, in sympathy with an overwrought brain, had left
her peculiarly susceptible to the nervous shock of her forest
experience. The exposure for several hours in her wet clothing to the
damps and miasma of the swamp had brought on an attack of brain fever.
The next morning, she was delirious. One of the children took word to
the schoolhouse that the teacher was sick and there would be no school
that day. A number of curious and sympathetic people came in from time
to time and suggested various remedies, several of which old Mrs.
Johnson, with catholic impartiality, administered to the helpless
teacher, who from delirium gradually sunk into a heavy stupor scarcely
distinguishable from sleep. It was predicted that she would probably
be well in the morning; if not, it would then be time to consider
seriously the question of sending for a doctor.