Part 44 (1/2)

”It's the first time he's ever tried such a thing in his life,” Bella remarked. ”There's nothing like personal experience. You don't realize that it isn't easy when you give a porter sixpence to lift your biggest trunk at a station.”

”The difference is that the porter's used to it,” Carew, who was red-faced and breathless, pointed out.

”It looks as if that would apply to you before we've finished,” Bella retorted. ”If you can't do anything else, why don't you help those men in the river?”

Carew made a gesture of resignation and resolutely plunged in.

”That,” laughed Bella, to Millicent and Miss Hume, ”is excellent discipline; after a little of it, I believe he'll do me credit. I can think of a few overfed men that I'd like to put through a drastic course of it, only in their case I'd go in the canoe and take my heaviest luggage with me.”

”It wouldn't be wise,” a.s.serted Millicent. ”When they reached broken water they'd probably let you go.”

She collected an armful of odds and ends and set off up-stream over the portage. The men spent several hours bringing the canoes and stores across, and there followed some laborious poling before they reached the second rapid, which was safely pa.s.sed. The party was quieter than usual after supper that night. They had had their first glimpse of the strenuous life of the wilderness and it had impressed them. The effect pa.s.sed off, however, as they pushed on day after day without mishap.

Millicent, in particular, delighted in all she saw--the fresh green of the birches among the somber cedars, the lonely heights that ever surrounded them, the gleaming lakes, the broad green flood that here and there filled the gorges with its thunder.

She suffered no discomfort she could not laugh at; there was something that braced her in mind and body in the mountain air; and Clarence no longer held a leading place in her memory. She realized now that the thought of him had hitherto occasioned her a vague uneasiness. Indeed, she was almost glad that he was far away; liberty was unexpectedly sweet, and though she had a few misgivings, she meant to enjoy it while it lasted.

Then one afternoon when they were stopped by a fall, she slipped away from the others with her sketch-book, and wandering back through straggling bush, climbed a rocky ridge. The ascent was steep, but by clambering up a gully she reached the summit, and after strolling along it she sat down to sketch the gorge below. The work absorbed her attention and some time had pa.s.sed when the lengthening shadows warned her that she would better retrace her steps to camp.

It proved difficult. She could not find the gully she had climbed up and the side of the ridge was almost precipitous and was clothed with brushwood. At last, however, she reached a spot from which it seemed possible to make the descent; but after scrambling and sliding for some distance she was suddenly stopped by a sheer drop of several yards to a ledge. Being agile, she might have reached the ledge by lowering herself by her hands, but it was narrow and slanted outwards, so that she feared to slip off in alighting and fall over the crag below. She attempted to climb back to the summit and found it impossible, for the stones she seized were loose and came away when she disturbed them. She could only stay where she was and call for a.s.sistance, though the clamor of the fall, ringing up the valley, almost drowned her voice.

By and by the sunlight faded off the rocks above, the trees below grew shadowy, and Millicent began to feel anxious and to envy the others who would, no doubt, be sitting down to their evening meal. They would miss her and set out in search; but they might not reach her until it was dark, when it would be difficult to extricate her, and she had no desire to spend the night among the rocks. She made another determined attempt to get up, but slid back, nearly slipping over the edge, while her sketch-book went clattering far below. Then she sat still, calling out at intervals.

The light grew dimmer, white mists began to trail about the heights above, and Millicent was getting cold. She was also getting angry--it looked as if the others were too busy eating or talking to care what had become of her; some of them ought to have come in search. She felt a grievance against Lisle in particular. Why she should blame him more than Nasmyth or Carew was not very clear, except that he was more used to the country; but she felt that he ought to have come to her rescue. Then, fearing that she would have to spend the night on the hillside, she carefully crept toward a small level s.p.a.ce near a jutting rock and sat down, s.h.i.+vering, while dusk slowly crept across the bush.

CHAPTER XXVII

AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

Millicent had no intention of going to sleep among the rocks, but after a while she grew drowsy, and when at length she raised her head with a start the moon hung over the hills across the river, flooding the heights above her with a silvery light. The trees below were sharper in form, but everything was very still; only the thunder of the fall seemed to have increased in depth of tone. Millicent s.h.i.+vered from the cold as she sent a sharp cry ringing across the woods.

This time it was answered, and she recognized the voice. Looking down, she could see Lisle's black figure moving cautiously along the ledge, for although the lower rocks were wrapped in shadow it is never altogether dark in the northern summer. Coming out into the moonlight, he examined the slab of rock which had arrested her descent, but when he spoke she was not quite pleased with his very matter-of-fact tone. It left something to be desired--she thought he might have displayed more satisfaction at finding her safe.

”Is there anything you could catch hold of at the top?” he asked. ”If so, you'd better lower yourself until I can reach you.”

Anxious as she was to get down, Millicent hesitated; if she did as he suggested she would descend into his arms. She was not unduly prudish, and indeed, after being left alone in the impressive solitude of the wilds, she would have been glad of the rea.s.suring grasp of a human being.

But an obscure feeling, springing, perhaps, from primitive instincts, made her shrink from close contact with this particular man.

”No,” she answered coldly; ”the rock is loose. Besides, the ledge is narrow, and if I came down heavily, we might both fall over.”

He again examined the slab, and then stood still, considering.

”Well,” he decided, ”there's a crack some way up that should give me a hold, and a bit of a projection you could rest a foot on yonder. Then if you gave me one hand, I could lower you down.”

He came up, thrusting his fingers into a fissure near the summit and finding a tiny support for his toes. Lowering herself cautiously, she clutched the hand he extended.

”Now,” he cautioned, ”as gently as possible!”

Loosing her hold above, she hung for a moment or two, half afraid to let go his hand, while his arm and body grew tense with the strain and she could hear his labored breath. Summoning her courage she relaxed her grasp. In another second she was safe upon the ledge, and, scrambling down, he stood beside her with a set, flushed face, the veins protruding on his forehead.