Part 55 (2/2)

At last, with a long, indrawn sigh, she spoke.

”It's no like a lad that could write sic a letter, to perjure his soul. No won'er ye greet, Jean. He's gi'en ye everything he possesses, wi' one o' the twa pictures in the Salon! Think o't! An' a' he got fra' the ones he sold, except enough to take him to America. Ye canna'

tak' it.”

”No. I ha'e gi'en them to the Englishman wha' has his room. I could na' tak them.” Jean continued to sway back and forth with her ap.r.o.n over her head.

”Ye ha'e gi'en them awa'! All they pictures pented by yer ain niece's son! An' twa' accept.i.t by the Salon! Child, child! I'd no think it o'

ye.” Ellen leaned forward in her chair reprovingly, with the letter crushed in her lap.

”I told him to keep them safe, as he was doin', an' if he got no word fra' me after sax months,--he was to bide in the room wi' them--they were his.”

”Weel, ye're wiser than I thought ye.”

For a long time they sat in silence, until at last Ellen took up the letter to read it again, and began with the date at the head.

”Jean,” she cried, holding it out to her sister and pointing to the date with shaking finger. ”Wull ye look at that noo! Are we both daft?

It's no possible for him to ha' gotten there before that letter was written to Hester. Look ye, Jean! Look ye! Here 'tis the third day o'

June it was written by his own hand.”

”Count it oot, Ellen, count it oot! Here's the calendar almanac. Noo we'll ha'e it. It's twa weeks since Hester an' I left an' she got the letter the day before that, an' that's fifteen days--”

”An' it takes twa weeks mair for a boat to cross the ocean, an' that gives fourteen days mair before that letter to Hester was written, an'

three days fra' Liverpool here, pits it back to seventeen days,--an'

fifteen days--mak's thirty-two days,--an' here' it's nearin' the last o' June--”

”Jean! Whan Hester's frien' was writin' that letter to Hester, Richard was just sailin' fra France! Thank the Lord!”

”Thank the Lord!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed her sister, fervently. ”Ellen, it's you for havin' the head to think it oot, thank the Lord!” And now the dear soul wept again for very gladness.

Ellen folded her hands in her lap complaisantly and nodded her head.

”Ye've a good head, yersel', Jean, but ye aye let yersel' get excitet.

Noo, it's only for us to bide in peace an' quiet an' know that the earth is the Lord's an' the fullness thereof until we hear fra'

Hester.”

”An' may the Lord pit it in her hairt to write soon!”

While the good Craigmiles of Aberdeen were composing themselves to the hopeful view that Ellen's discovery of the date had given them, Larry Kildene and Amalia were seated in a car, luxurious for that day, speeding eastward over the desert across which Amalia and her father and mother had fled in fear and privation so short a time before. She gazed through the plate-gla.s.s windows and watched the quivering heat waves rising from the burning sands. Well she knew those terrible plains! She saw the bleaching bones of animals that had fallen by the way, even as their own had fallen, and her eyes filled. She remembered how Harry King had come to them one day, riding on his yellow horse--riding out of the setting sun toward them, and how his companions.h.i.+p had comforted them and his courage and help had saved them more than once,--and how, had it not been for him, their bones, too, might be lying there now, whitening in the heat. Oh, Harry, Harry King! She who had once crossed those very plains behind a jaded team now felt that the rus.h.i.+ng train was crawling like a snail.

Larry Kildene, seated facing her and watching her, leaned forward and touched her hand. ”We're going at an awful pace,” he said. ”To think of ever crossing these plains with the speed of the wind!”

She smiled a wan smile. ”Yes, that is so. But it still is very slowly we go when I measure with my thoughts the swiftness. In my thoughts we should fly--fly!”

”It will be only three days to Chicago from here, and then one night at a hotel to rest and clean up, and the next day we are there--in Leauvite--think of it! We're an hour late by the schedule, so better think of something else. We'll reach an eating station soon. Get ready, for there will be a rush, and we'll not have a chance for a good meal again for no one knows how long. Maybe you're not hungry, but I could eat a mule. I like this, do you know, traveling in comfort! To think of me--going home to save Peter's bank!” He chuckled to himself a moment; then resumed: ”And that's equivalent to saving the man's life. Well, it's a poor way for a man to go through life, able to see no way but his own way. It narrows his vision and shortens his reach--for, see, let him find his way closed to him, and whoop!

he's at an end.”

Again Larry sat and watched her, as he silently chuckled over his present situation. Again he reached out and patted her hand, and again she smiled at him, but he knew where her thoughts were. Harry King had been gone but a short time when Madam Manovska, in spite of Amalia's watchfulness, wandered away for the last time. On this occasion she did not go toward the fall, but went along the trail toward the plains below. It was nearly evening when she eluded Amalia and left the cabin. Frantically they searched for her all night, riding through the darkness, carrying torches and calling in all directions, as far as they supposed her feet could have carried her, but did not find her until early morning, lying peacefully under a little scrub pine, far down the trail. By her side lay her husband's worn coat, with the lining torn away, and a small heap of ashes and charred papers. She had been destroying the doc.u.ments he had guarded so long. She would not leave them to witness against him. Tenderly they took her up and carried her back to the cabin and laid her in her bunk, but she only babbled of ”Paul,” telling happily that she had seen him, and that he was coming up the trail after her, and that now they would live on the mountain in peace and go no more to Poland--and quickly after that she dropped to sleep again and never woke. She was with ”Paul” at last.

<script>