It stopped when the storm dropped
into the bottomless silence of dawn. Then there was only the dripping
from their eaves. Hugh sat there, very white, his gun laid across
his lap. Bella, as white, lifted her face.
"They're coming," she whispered, and got stiffly to her feet.
Hugh moved back into his chair, turning sidewise and gathering himself
as though for a spring. His nervous hands clutched at his gun. Upon
the silence the door opened, and Pete and Sylvie came into the room.
Wet and storm-beaten and beautiful they were, with scarlet cheeks.
Pete came quickly over to Hugh's chair; he let fall his pack and gazed
resolutely down at his brother's face.
"Sylvie had a fancy to come with me to the trading-station," he said.
"She came out after me and didn't overtake me until just where the
trail comes out into the road. We hurried back, but the storm caught
us. It was pitch-black in the woods; we couldn't keep the trail. We
had to wait for daylight. I hope you weren't too anxious about her,
Hugh.--Bella"--he glanced over his shoulder--"could you make us some
hot coffee and help Sylvie into some dry clothes? We are properly
drenched, both of us."
This speaker of terse, authoritative sentences was not the boy that
had gone out that morning.
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