Part 4 (1/2)

Now, however, the young man had not only to trade his pelts but to trap them, and for this business of trapping which was distasteful to him, he had not a t.i.the of Hugh's skill. His bundle of pelts brought him a sorry supply of necessities. He was ashamed, himself, and having dumped the burden from his shoulders to the kitchen floor would hurry into the other room, not to see Bella's expression when she opened her bundles.

To-night Pete was tired; the load had not been heavy, but the snow was beginning to soften under the mild glowing of an April sun, and his skis had tugged at his feet and gathered a clogging ma.s.s. His body ached, and there was a sullen and despairing weight upon his spirit. A mob of rebels danced in his heart. He watched Hugh's face, saw the flaring adoration of his eyes, thought that Sylvie must feel the scorch of them on her cheek, so close. In his own eyes there showed a brooding fire.

Bella broke into the room.

”Look here,” she said, ”you'd better get to trapping again, Hugh Garth.

Pete's pelts don't bring a quarter of what we need--especially these days.”

Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. ”Oh, you mean me,”

she said, ”I know you mean me. I'm making trouble. I'm eating too much.

I'll go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the post-office, trying to find me? They _must_ be hunting for me.” She had stood up and was clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete protested in one breath: ”Nonsense, Sylvie!”

And Pete went on with: ”There hasn't been anyone asking about you, but--so much the better for us. You're safe here, and comfortable, aren't you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have her here.”

It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie's arrival, and it was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old boy.

There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the youthful quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him, to thank him, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon him, a sudden bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the edge of the hearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her in his arms.

For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely, closer and more fiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength of him and heard the pounding of his heart. Then Hugh plucked her away with a smothered oath.

He put her into a chair, crushed her hand in one of his, and turned upon Bella.

”Go back into the kitchen,” he ordered brutally; ”trapping's not your business. You mind your cooking.”

”Be careful, Hugh!” Bella's whisper whistled like a falling lash, ”I'll not stand that tone from you. Be careful!”

”Oh,” pleaded Sylvie, ”why do you all quarrel so? Off here by yourselves with n.o.body else to care, I'd think you would just love each other. I love you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know you hate _me_.

Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so angry to have me here? Does it make your work so much harder? I'll soon be better; I'm learning to feel my way about. I'll be able to help you. I should think you'd be glad to have a girl in the house--another woman. I'm sorry to be a nuisance, really I am. I'd go if I could.”

The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut down with suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal. For minutes no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room. She had not answered Sylvie's beseeching questions, but had only stood with lowered head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress. She had run out just as her face cramped as though for tears.

When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie's hands in his. ”You don't mean that, do you?” he asked brokenly. ”You don't mean you'd go away if you could, Sylvie!”

At Hugh's voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks. ”If I make you quarrel, if I'm a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate me so!”

”But I”--he said--”I love you.” He drew her head--she was sitting in her chair again--against his side. ”No, don't smile at me like that; I don't mean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly. Can't you feel how I love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don't be frightened. There, now you know how I love you!”

He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him.

”How can a man like you love _me_?” she asked with wistful uncertainty.

”A man like me?” Hugh groaned. ”Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay with me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!”

”Now it frightens me,” she whispered, ”being blind. It does frighten me now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you mustn't marry a blind girl, a waif. You've been so n.o.ble, you've suffered so terribly. You ought to have some wonderful woman who would understand your greatness, would see all that you are.”

”Now,” he sighed, ”now I _am_ great--because you think I am; that's water to me--after a lifetime of thirst.”

”Hugh, _am_ I good enough for you?” She was sobbing and laughing at the same time.