Chapter II

When Stormont gently halted his horse it was dawn, and Eve sagging against him with one arm around his neck, sat huddled up on her saddle fast asleep.

In a birch woods, on the eastern slope of the divide, stood the log camp, dimly visible in the silvery light of early morning.

Darragh, cautioning Stormont with a slight gesture, went forward, mounted the rustic veranda, and knocked at a lighted window.

A man, already dressed, came and peered out at him, then hurried to open the door.

"I didn't know you, Captain Darragh----" he began, but fell silent under the warning gesture that checked him.

"I've a guest outside. She's Clinch's step-daughter, Eve Strayer. She knows me by the name of Hal Smith. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir----"

"Cut _that_ out, too. I'm Hal Smith to you, also. State Trooper Stormont is out here with Eve Strayer. He was a comrade of mine in Russia. I'm Hal Smith to him, by mutual agreement. _Now_ do you get me, Ralph?"

"Sure, Hal. Go on; spit it out!"

They both grinned.

"You're a hootch runner," said Darragh. "This is your shack. The hatchery is only a blind. That's all you have to know, Ralph. So put that girl into my room and let her sleep till she wakes of her own accord.

"Stormont and I will take two of the guest-bunks in the L. And for heaven's sake make us some coffee when you make your own. But first come out and take the horse."

They went out together. Stormont lifted Eve out of the saddle. She did not wake. Darragh led the way into the log house and along a corridor to his own room.

"Turn down the sheets," whispered Stormont. And, when the bed was ready: "Can you get a bath towel, Jim?"

Darragh fetched one from the connecting bath-room.

"Wrap it around her wet hair," whispered Stormont. "Good heavens, I wish there were a woman here."

"I wish so too," said Darragh; "she's chilled to the bone. You'll have to wake her. She can't sleep in what she's wearing; it's almost as damp as her hair----"

He went to the closet and returned with a man's morning robe, as soft as fleece.

"Somehow or other she's got to get into that," he said.

There was a silence.

"Very well," said Stormont, reddening. ... "If you'll step out I'll -- manage. ..." He looked Darragh straight in the eyes: "I have asked her to marry me," he said.

* * * * *

When Stormont came out a great fire of birch-logs was blazing in the living-room, and Darragh stood there, his elbow on the rough stone mantel-shelf.

Stormont came straight to the fire and set one spurred boot on the fender.

"She's warm and dry and sound asleep," he said. "I'll wake her again if you think she ought to swallow something hot."

At that moment the fish-culturist came in with a pot of steaming coffee.

"This is my friend, Ralph Wier," said Darragh. "I think you'd better give Eve a cup of coffee." And, to Wier, "Fill a couple of hot water bags, old chap. We don't want any pneumonia in this house."

When breakfast was ready Eve once more lay asleep with a slight dew of perspiration on her brow.

Darragh was half starved: Stormont ate little. Neither spoke at all until, satisfied, they rose, ready for sleep.

At the door of his room Stormont took Darragh's offered hand, understanding what it implied:

"Thanks, Jim. ... Hers is the loveliest character I have ever known. ... If I weren't as poor as a homeless dog I'd marry her to-morrow. ... I'll do it anyway, I think. ... I _can't_ let her go back to Clinch's Dump!"

"After all," said Darragh, smiling, "if it's only money that worries you, why not talk about a job to _me!_"

Stormont flushed heavily: "That's rather wonderful of you, Jim----"

"Why? You're the best officer I had. Why the devil did you go into the Constabulary without talking to me?"

Stormont's upper lip seemed inclined to twitch but he controlled it and scowled at space.

"Go to bed, you darned fool," said Darragh, carelessly. "You'll find dry things ready. Ralph will take care of your uniform and boots."

Then he went into his own quarters to read two letters which, conforming to arrangements made with Mrs. Ray the day he had robbed Emanuel Sard, were to be sent to Trout Lodge to await his arrival.

Both, written from the Ritz, bore the date of the day before: the first he opened was from the countess Orloff-Strelwitz:

"Dear Captain Darragh:

"-- You are so wonderful! Your messenger, with the _ten_ thousand dollars which you say you already have recovered from those miscreants who robbed Ricca, came aboard our ship before we landed. It was a godsend; we were nearly penniless, -- and oh, _so_ shabby!

"Instantly, my friend, we shopped, Ricca and I. Fifth Avenue enchanted us. All misery was forgotten in the magic of that paradise for women.

"Yet, spendthrifts that we naturally are, we were not silly enough to be extravagant. Ricca was wild for American sport-clothes. I, also. Yet -- only _two_ gowns apiece, excepting our sport clothes. And other necessaries. Don't you think we were economical?"

"Furthermore, dear Captain Darragh, we are hastening to follow your instructions. We are leaving to-day for your chateau in the wonderful forest, of which you told us of that never-to-be-day in Riga.

"Your agent is politeness, consideration and kindness itself. We have
our accommodations. We leave New York at midnight.

"Ricca is so excited that it is difficult for her to restrain her happiness. God knows the child has seen enough unhappiness to quench the gaiety of anybody!

"Well, all things end. Even tears. Even the Red Terror shall pass
from our beloved Russia. For, after all, Monsieur, God still lives.

"VALENTINE."

"P.S. Ricca has written to you. I have read the letter. I have let
it go uncensored."

* * * * *

Darragh went to the door of his room:

"Ralph! Ralph!" he called. And, when Wier hurriedly appeared:

"What time does the midnight train from New York get into Five Lakes?"

"A little before nine----"

"You can make it in the flivver, can't you?"

"Yes, if I start _now._"

"All right. Two ladies. You're to bring them to the _house,_ not _here._ Mrs. Ray knows about them. And -- get back here as soon as you can."

He closed his door again, sat down on the bed and opened the other letter. His hand shook as he unfolded it. He was so scared and excited that he could scarcely decipher the angular, girlish penmanship:

* * * * *

"To dear Captain Darragh, our champion and friend--

"It is difficult for me, Monsieur, to express my happiness and my deep
gratitude in the so cold formality of the written page.

"Alas, sir, it will be still more difficult to find words for it when
again I have the happiness of greeting you in proper person.

"Valentine has told you everything, she warns me, and I am, therefore,
somewhat at a loss to know what I should write to you.

"Yes, I know very well what I would write if I dare. It is this: that I wish you to know -- although it may not pass the censor -- that I am most impatient to see you, Monsieur. _Not_ because of kindness past, nor with an unworthy expectation of benefits to come. But because of friendship, -- _the deepest, sincerest of my_ WHOLE LIFE.

"Is it not modest of a young girl to say this? Yet, surely all the world which was once _en regle,_ formal, artificial, has been burnt out of our hearts by this so frightful calamity which has overwhelmed the world with fire and blood.

"If ever on earth there was a time when we might venture to express with candour what is hidden within our minds and hearts, it would seem, Monsieur, that the time is now.

"True, I have known you only for one day and one evening. Yet, what happened to the world in that brief space of time -- and to us, Monsieur -- brought _us_ together as though our meeting were but a blessed reunion after the happy intimacy of many years. ... I speak, Monsieur, for myself. May I hope that I speak, also, for you?

"With a heart too full to thank you, and with expectations indescribable -- but with courage, always, for any event, -- I take my leave of you at the foot of this page. Like death -- I trust -- my adieu is not the end, but the beginning. It is not farewell; it is a greeting to him whom I most honour in all the world. ... And would willingly obey if he shall command. And otherwise -- _all_ else that in his mind -- and heart -- he might desire.

"THEODORICA."

* * * * *

It was the most beautiful love-letter any man ever received in all the history of love.

And it had passed the censor.

* * * * *