wrapper
about her and crossed to the open window. Leaning with her elbows upon
its sill she stood for a long time gazing out over the wilderness.

The night was mild and hushed. It was almost certain that with dawn
would come a downpour of rain; the tree-toads already heralded
the good news. The dry hemlocks whispered it. Bathed in a gauze
of moonlight the forest rolled away--silent--mighty in its
expanse--promising nothing. Big Shanty Brook gleamed defiantly past in
a riot of rapids and whirlpools. Flashing in the crisp sunlight,
these rapids and whirlpools shone in inviting splendour; at night they
became terrible.

It was this torrent that swept below the woman leaning on the window
sill; it mocked her, roaring with joy, chuckling to itself at the
prisoner, every leaping crest in the chaos of foam rearing again for
a last glimpse of the exile, and, having seen, dashed on to give place
to those who followed. Little waves fawned by, partisans in the same
mockery.

Suddenly she buried her face in her ringless hands:

"My God--I can't stand this!" she moaned. "I can't and I won't!" she
muttered helplessly. Then she broke into hysterical sobbing, pressing
her nails into the sensitive flesh of her temples; her lips trembling
in a nervous chill. Her body grew cold, chilling even her bare feet
thrust deep in her slippers. The torrent of Big Shanty became to her
a jeering crowd, unlimitless--that poured from nowhere and dashed on
into the unknown. She shut her eyes tight. In the darkness now she saw
only Sperry; she saw him plainly--close to her, as one sees a face
in a dream. She felt the idle, comforting tone of his voice--the warm
pressure of his hand--and with her mental vision, looked into his
eyes.

"Be patient, dear friend," he said to her quite clearly. Could she
have looked on Sperry at that moment she would have found him playing
billiards at his club, his whole mind occupied in making a difficult
carom shot. When he made it he ordered a fresh brandy and soda.

The roar of Big Shanty continued. An owl screamed hoarsely from
somewhere in the timber below. Alice shuddered, her cheeks burning
against the palms of her cold hands, and crept back to bed.

Margaret, too, had been gazing out of her window. Big Shanty to her
meant a new life--she, too, had been crying, but from sheer happiness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Some mornings after Alice's arrival--she had spent most of the hours
in her room in the interi