CHAPTER XV.
They had scarcely reached the shore when another small boat camegliding noiselessly along down toward the cabin. The boat containedVirginia and Constance. As they approached near, propulsion ceased,and the boat drifted along. Virginia turned half around on her seat,listened intently, and looked at the dark cabin, with eyes that fairlysparkled, in her effort to penetrate its interior. Slowly the boatdrew along the platform. Quietly and cautiously they stepped out, andafter fastening the line which held the boat to an iron ring which hadbeen driven into one of the logs for that purpose, Virginia tookConstance by the hand, which she felt tremble, and caused her towhisper: "Courage, dear." Then she tapped gently on the door.
Receiving no response, she tapped again, then tried the knob, and, toher amazement, the door opened.
For a moment they stood on the threshold, irresolute. A whiff oftobacco smoke brushed their nostrils.
Virginia timidly stepped within, followed closely by Constance. Thedarkness was intense, the stillness profound. "Whew!" Virginiaejaculated, in a whisper. "The den reeks with tobacco smoke. He mustbe asleep."
She softly closed the door and lighted one of the matches which shehad been careful to provide herself with.
"There is no one here," whispered Constance, in tones of terrifyingdisappointment.
Up to that time she had religiously kept her promise to observe thestrictest silence, but when in the dim light produced by the match,her eyes swiftly took in the untenanted room, her heart sank in chillynumbness.
Virginia noted the famished, haunted look that had crept into hereyes, and as she turned away with a fresh pang in her heart,discovered the bottle and tumbler on the table.
It suggested a clue, and she replied, in low tones, and in the mostmatter-of-fact manner, that, surprised herself, "He must beintoxicated, the beast."
The coolness of the utterance had the effect, in a measure, ofreassuring Constance, who then, discovering a closed door directly infront, breathlessly exclaimed: "That door must open to another room."
It was at that moment that the light died out. Virginia stood stockstill and listened. She pressed her left hand tight against her heartto still the terrible throbbing.
She heard Constance grope her way to the partition door. She heard thenervous fingers on the framework. She heard the latch click.
"Be careful, dear. Oh, be careful, dear!" admonished Virginia, in awhisper of frenzied anxiety--and then she heard the door pushed open.
A moment of profound silence and then followed the sound of a stepwithin. Constance stood beside Dorothy--with only the deep darkness andtwo feet of empty space separating them.
Who shall say that the subtle power which impelled the mother on inthe dense darkness, first to the door, then to open it, and then tostep within beside her child, was not magnetic intuition?
Virginia softly followed her to the door, produced a match and rubbedit against the casing.
At that moment Constance was standing inside the threshold, her righthand still on the open door latch; her back to Virginia. She waslooking straight ahead into the darkness.
The scraping of the match caused her to turn her head.
"Oh, Dorothy, darling!" was all that the poor heart-broken mothercould utter.
So sudden and great was the transport called forth by the discovery ofDorothy quietly sleeping near her elbow, that her senses grew dizzy,and as she sank to the floor on her trembling knees, convulsivelyoutstretched her hands to clasp the face of her child.
It was a favor of fate that placed them at that moment alone with thechild, for whom Virginia was prepared to sacrifice her life to rescue.A decree that paid homage to the act of a heroine.
True, the unhappy cause that impelled her to act was indirectly of herown making, and a sense of justice and remorse urged her to remedy it.Nevertheless the act itself, for daring the rescue, was most heroic.
When Constance threw her hands out to clasp Dorothy, the childawakened with a start, and at the same time the match light becameextinguished.
After her prayer, Dorothy laid down on the bunk without undressing, ashad been her custom, since in the custody of Jack, and almostimmediately fell asleep.
Her guileless little heart, cherishing confidence in his promise,provoked a smile of spiritual beauty that settled on her sweet youngface--unflect by earthly misgivings. As she slept there came into herdream a vision of terraces, grown over with lovely flowers, and therewere green, grassy plots and gorgeous colored butterflies darting inand out among the flowers and golden sunshine. And out from somewhere,in the serene hazy distance, came the silvery song of her own canarybird. Where? And as she looked and listened, a butterfly, oh, so largeand beautiful, with semi-transparent rose, pearl wings dotted andfringed with emerald gems, hovered tantalizingly near her. She wastempted to catch it, but each time, though perilously near, it evadedher tiny clutch, and so drew her on over velvety lawns and grassyslopes to a babbling brook.
The prismatic winged thing fluttered over some pebbles and alighted ona slender willow twig. She stood on a stone, reached out to clutch thebeauty, and just as her little fingers were about to close on it, thevoice of her mother rang out in frantic warning--"Dorothy! Dorothy!"
And then her foot slipped, and as she was falling she felt herselfsuddenly clasped in strong arms, and borne upward, to awake with thecry of "Dorothy" ringing in her ears.
For a moment or two the child lay perfectly still, then gradually toher returning senses, the room smelled of tobacco smoke, and supposingthat it was her captor's hand that clasped her face, said: "Oh, Mr.Golda, the room is full of smoke!"
"Hush, dear," cautioned Virginia. "Your mother and Aunt Virginia arehere."
"Oh, Mamma and Aunty!" joyfully exclaimed Dorothy, for she recognizedVirginia's well-known voice, and sitting up, said:
"You've come to take me home, haven't you?"
Again the match light faded out.
The voice of Dorothy seemed to thrill Constance with new energy, for,with a frantic effort, she partially recovered her composure. Shestruggled to her feet, and in a rapture of thanksgiving, folded thechild to her heart.
"Oh, my darling, my darling, please God, they shall never take youfrom me again. No, never again." And she kissed her with a passionatejoy, such as only a fond mother can feel for her helpless infant.
"Oh, mamma, I am so glad," responded Dorothy, clasping her little armsabout her mother's neck.
"Dorothy, dear, where is he?" questioned Virginia, in a whisper.
"He was in the room when I came to bed, Auntie."
"He is not there now. He must be away." And a prospect of getting thechild away without a struggle nerved her to instant action.
"Come," she exclaimed, "we must go at once. Don't speak, sweetheart.Silence; come, Constance, quick!"
"Yes, yes; go on," was Constance's almost hysterical reply.
And so, with the child in her arms and Virginia pulling at her sleevesto guide and hasten her, they groped as cautiously as possible in thedarkness, towards the cabin door.
They had proceeded a few paces when Virginia, in her eagerness, rubbedagainst the table; she stepped aside to clear it, and in doing so,jolted Constance.
It was then, under the strain of the stiffled emotions of the past fewdays, and the great excitement attendant on the present enterprise,together with the sudden reactionary joy of again clasping her child,that the first symptom of the mother's mental breakdown occurred.
"Oh," she faintly screamed, "the boat rocks," and she would havefallen to the floor had not a chair, the only one in the cabin,luckily stood nearby. She stumbled against it and sank upon the seat,with Dorothy tightly clasped in her arms.
Unable in the darkness to comprehend the pause, Virginia tuggedurgently at Constance's sleeve.
"Come along, dear, we must be quick."
"Very well! Why don't you use the paddles?" replied Constance, in analtered tone, a strange metallic ring in her voice, and with lessagitation th
an she had recently displayed.
Still unable, or rather refusing herself to think anything was wrong,and with a panicky impatience to be gone from the den, Virginia againurged Constance to hasten.
"Don't sit there, dear! Come along! We have not a moment to lose.Shall I carry Dorothy?"
The answer startled her; a new terror had appeared.
"Don't you see that I am holding my heart tight. I cannot let go tohelp you. Make the boat go faster. Why don't you paddle."
Virginia's heart leaped to her throat. "Her mind is giving away," sheexclaimed, with a gasp.
There, then, the typhoid aftermath, which had been predicted woulddevelop in time in Constance some strange and serious ailment, hadfound a lodgement, and now, bursting into life, lay siege to nature'smost wonderful creation, the human brain. A moment of terrifyingconsternation followed.
"What shall I do now?" Virginia distractedly exclaimed.
"Paddle, paddle, paddle," feebly responded Constance.
Unmindful of the reply, Virginia stood as if transfixed with despair.She racked her brain for a way out. The situation was fast verging onthe tragic.
"I will barricade the door!" she determined. "No, he may smash in theroof or sink us; I must get them away somehow."
"Oh, Constance, dear, try to be strong. Fight down this weakness. Theboat is waiting. We must escape. Help me! Oh, God, help! Help!"
Her voice began in a subdued, frantic appeal, and ended in a sob ofheart-rending despair for succor.
Like a shaft of sunshine bursting through a rift in the dark, loweringclouds of dismay, came the answer from Constance:
"I will! I will! Let me think! Oh, yes, we had better go now. Lead on!Hasten!" And she arose from the seat.
"Thank Heaven. The dark spot has gone," Virginia fervently exclaimed."Her brain has cleared again."
How joyfully she struck another match further to accelerate theirpassage.
"Keep close to me, dear. Are you tired? Let me help you." And sheplaced her right arm about the waist of Constance, the match heldforward in her left hand lighting the way. They had proceeded a fewsteps when the door opened. She drew back with a slight, terrifiedexclamation: "Oh!"
Jack Shore stood in the doorway.
An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West Page 21
