The little cabin at the foot of the mountain was enshrouded in gloom,
would soon be engulfed by the dark shadows of night. In the cabin window
a candle light, wafted by the soft twilight breeze, flickered and
sputtered, but burned on in obedience to the will of the powers that be.
In a bed in one corner of the room lay Nora, that sweet girl of the
wilds, a pallor spread over her face.
The light in the window was flickering just as her own life had been
flickering and smoldering, but it did not go out. She was still alive,
and the crucial point had been passed. Now she lay, the Diana of the
hills, as beautiful as the Diana of old. Outside 'neath the large
spreading tree the chickens were strutting, craning their necks, bobbing
their heads up and down, looking upward preparatory to a flight to the
limbs above them. On the rickety little porch old Rover was lying, head
cast down between his front forepaws, with a sorrowful expression upon
his dog face. The mistress had been ill for some time, and his
master--Wade--had not paid the least attention to him, always appearing
as though he preferred being alone; so the old dog, feeling the many
slights, went about with a cast-down countenance.
Earlier in the day Wade had passed going toward the mountain in search
of game. Later on he was blazing his way, with the barrel of his rifle,
through the thick underbrush down the mountain side. He had got into
entire new territory, and sometimes it became necessary for him to crawl
through, so thick was the brush. Other times he merely pushed aside the
low-hanging limbs with his gun, finally emerging from the thicket into
the open space. When space would allow he straightened himself out,
then his back ached and his hands and knees were very sore. Suddenly he
caught the sound of a disturbed rabbit as it flitted out from its snug
nest beneath the shrub. Jack looked quickly in that direction, in time
to see it crossing the ravine too far away to shoot. As he walked on
there came to his listening ears the shrill whistle of a mountain quail
as it sang out its note of warning to its hidden mate near. Wade started
off in the direction whence the call of the quail came, but after
walking some distance gave up the search and stood still. A dead silence
prevailed. Before him was the clear running stream, behind him a wild
waste of mountain. Down to the stream's edge he walked, and sat down to
rest his tired, weary, sore limbs. The sun was now setting behind the
western hills, the soft gentle twilight was drooping over the mountain
and valley; still Wade sat, dangling his feet over a precipice, gazing
down through the gathering mist into the gleaming waters below, watching
them as they went dancing gleefully over the rocks, sending their
sparkling, silvery spray high into the air, falling again like silver
bubbles. When the dark shadows swooped down and the day was no more, he
still sat. When the golden moon rose above the towering mountain,
dispelling the hideousness of a lonesome, dark night, he was still
sitting in the same spot, dangling his heels against the solid
embankment. Across his limbs lay his rifle, his right hand protecting
it, while his chin rested firmly in his left hand, which was supported
at the elbow by his left leg. Thus he sat silent, no sound save that of
the rippling waters of the little running brook breaking the stillness
of the night.
"Ah me, ah me!" sighed Wade. His head was bent and his heart was
stooped; it must be all over. "For so long a time have I been about this
mountain, and the object of my coming, though faithfully sought, has not
been found; my purpose remains yet unfulfilled. The tortures I would
have inflicted upon others have been turned upon my own heart. My soul
is sad. I give up, I give up, for all time. There are now no murderous
intents in my heart, there are now no evil designs in my life. Would
that I was at peace with everybody. All my heart's desire is peace,
sweet peace, that I might spend the balance of my days amid the sweet
perfumed mountain flowers and about this dear little stream with whose
swiftly running waters I have raced so often, always with her, the
sweetest and most beautiful of all. Dear wild flower of the mountain!"
Wade raised his head until he looked into the beautiful blue of the
heavens. The gleaming stars, arrayed in silvery brightness, looked down
on him.
"Speak, lights of God, speak to my waiting heart, speak to my burdened
soul and tell me, if you can, what the future holds in store for me. Am
I to continue in hell on earth for my evil life? If so, tell me quick
that I might dash my head against yonder rock and end the torture now.
If not, speak, that she might live. God save her, let not her present
illness separate us forever. It would blight my life; it would kill me.
Save her that she may save my soul from a torturous hell; save her that
her sweet life might be a blessing to the great, big world beyond this
mountain, which she so much longs to see."
Jack felt much better--as does anyone after a faithful prayer. He felt
that his prayer had been answered already, and rose in great haste to
make his way back over the mountain to the bedside of Nora. He had not
seen her all day, had been afraid to see her lest he should find her
cold in death, but rather spent a great portion of the day in prayer for
her immediate relief. When he arrived at the cabin of Peter Judson the
flickering candle-light was still in the window, burning low. His heart
sank; it was emblematic of a low ebbing life. With bowed head and
unsteady step he went in. Old Rover, still lying quietly and silently on
the porch, did not rise at Wade's approach, but wagged his tail in
recognition. A death-like quiet pervaded the place, a solemn stillness
overspread the home, but he was encouraged to go on, with a feeling that
matters were improved.
Old Peter met him at the door, and to his anxious, questioning stare he
said: "She's much better; the danger is over."
"Thank God," came in broken whisper.
Wade sat down by the bedside and took the slender, pale hand in his own
strong one. For a moment no sound came from the lips of either of them,
they just looked into each other's eyes until the weaker ones became
mist-filled, and those strong, manly eyes of Jack Wade battled hard
against heavy odds just at that moment, but the tears were held firmly
back while he rubbed the hand which he held.
"I'm much better now, Jack." The voice was low and weak, but sweet and
serene. "Your presence is like good medicine. Why haven't you been by
before?"
Wade would not tell her that the balm came from God; therein he was
weak. His excuse was, however, satisfying to the tired and worn mind,
and strength to the wasted frame. She looked up into his face sweetly.
"You look so tired and worn, Jack," she said, "have you been worrying a
great deal?"
"I have worried much, dear girl, on your account. Now that you are
better, I will not look worried any more."
"Have you encountered any trouble lately, has your life been
threatened?"
"It has not. All has been peace and quiet without; the turbulence has
been within only. I do not have fears for anything as regards the power
or will of man. We must not talk of those things just now. When you are
stronger I have much to tell you."
"Then I must get stronger fast, for I cannot bear to lie here while you
are withholding something from me."
"I fear you won't like me when I have confessed and laid my life bare
before you."
"That cannot be, Jack. Nothing at all shall separate us, so far as I am
concerned."
Wade raised the thin pale hand to his lips and kissed it, thus bringing
a flush to her sweet face.