The Lady of North Star. Ottwell Binns
The tall spruce alone met his eye. The profound silence of the primeval North was over all. There was no sound of life anywhere.
“And yet,” he murmured to himself, “there were quite a lot of people here last night. What were they all doing?”
Scarcely had the words slipped from him when he heard some one cough in the shadow of the wood, a little to the left of him. At once his bearing became alert. Moving silently from tree to tree in the direction from which the sound had come, he reached a point which gave him a view of an open glade. In the middle of the glade a girl was standing looking down at the snow. He recognized her instantly. It was his hostess, Joy Gargrave.
A minute or two passed and then the girl began to move down the glade quickly. He waited until she was out of sight, and himself walked to the middle of the glade where Joy had stood looking down at the snow. Instantly he saw what had held her eyes. A dog team had been halted there. The marks of the runners were visible in the snow, even the places where the dogs had waited, half-filled with new snow, were quite clear. His practised eyes read the signs without trouble. The team had entered the glade, had apparently waited there a little time, and then had turned and departed in the direction followed by his hostess. Impulsively, he turned to follow also, but as he did so, caught sight of footmarks debouching from the trees in a direct line to the place where the sled had been halted. They were deeply marked, and as he recognized instantly were the same as those which he had been following, when the sound of the cough had attracted his attention. The person who had made them had followed a devious path, making for the glade.
He frowned to himself. The mystery was growing deeper. But as no solution of the affair offered itself to his mind, after a little delay he began to follow the sled tracks down the glade, noting that side by side with them, were the fresh tracks made by Joy Gargrave’s moccasined feet.
The glade led out into the main road from the river to the house, and the sled-tracks turned towards the river, and then were lost in the hard-packed snow of the road. But as the sled had manifestly turned in the direction of the river, Corporal Bracknell also turned that way, walking quickly and keeping a sharp look-out on either hand for any indication of the sled having turned aside.
To or three minutes’ quick walking brought him in sight of the frozen river, and at the top of the bank, seated on a fallen tree, he perceived Joy Gargrave.
Her back was towards him, and her bent head and hunched-up shoulders were eloquent of dejection. He moved towards her quietly, and as he drew nearer a flutter of white caught his eye. It was the corner of a handkerchief which the girl was holding to her face, and apparently she was crying. A quick sympathy moved him as he stepped up to her, the snow deadening his steps.
“Miss Gargrave, you are in trouble. I wonder if I can be of any assistance?”
Startled by the sound of his voice, the girl looked up, and for one fleeting moment he had a vision of the beautiful face, tear-stained, and of the blue eyes full of trouble. Then the face was hidden in the handkerchief again, and a succession of sobs was the only answer vouchsafed to him. He stood for a little while in silence, looking down at the shaking shoulders. His own eyes filled with sympathetic concern, then he spoke again.
“Please, Miss Gargrave. Let me help. I am sure your trouble is very grave.”
At that she looked up again, her face expressive of deep misery.
“I am in deepest trouble,” she said brokenly, “I do not think that you or any one else can be of help to me.”
“Tell me,” he urged. “At least let me try.”
She sat for a moment in thought, her eyes veiled by the long lashes, then she lifted her head and looked at him as if she would measure his quality. Then she broke, out impulsively.
“Yes,” she cried, “I will trust you, I will tell you all. Perhaps you can help me, at least you can give me advice.”
“Then let us walk,” he said quickly. “You will freeze if you sit there long.”
He offered her his hand, and as she took it, their eyes met, and in the corporal’s there flashed a new light, and as he turned and fell into step at her side his heart was beating tumultuously, and his blood was running as if heated with a generous wine.
CHAPTER V
A REVELATION
JOY GARGRAVE did not begin her story immediately. For a full two minutes they walked on, environed by the solemn pinewoods, and enveloped in the strange, white silence of the North. The corporal waited, and at last the girl spoke.
“You wonder why I was sitting on the bank, crying?”
“Yes,” he replied frankly. “I am wondering why you should do that, though I may tell you that I already have an idea.”
“You already have an idea?” the girl’s tones, as she echoed his question, betrayed surprise.
“Yes,” he answered, and thrusting a hand inside his fur parka, he produced the note which he had found, and held it towards her. He saw from her face that she recognized it, and he continued slowly: “You see, I found this last night – not far from the place where Koona Dick was lying. I did not know to whom it had been written; and if I had known, I am afraid duty would have compelled me to read it. If I am not mistaken, it was written to you; at any rate it bears your Christian name.”
“It was written to me,” answered the girl quickly. “It is mine.”
“And the writer of it? Was he Koona Dick?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
Corporal Bracknell glanced at the note, and his eyes were fixed upon the half-erased signature. “Tell me,” he said, “what is Koona Dick’s name? – I mean the second half of his name which he had begun to write apparently from force of habit, and then crossed out?”
“I am afraid it will be something of a surprise to you,” said the girl.
“Perhaps not so great a surprise as you think,” was the reply. “I think I have already guessed.”
“His name is the same as your own, Corporal. It is Bracknell!”
“Ah!” said the corporal in the tone of a man who had found his thoughts confirmed. “Richard Ascham Bracknell, of course.”
“You have the name perfect,” answered Joy quietly.
“Of Harrow Fell, Westmorland, England?” inquired the corporal.
“He was born there,” replied the girl, “and Sir James is his father, as you are his cousin.”
The corporal walked on a few paces without speaking, his eyes staring at a distant hill, and from the vacancy of their gaze it was evident that he was lost in thought. Joy Gargrave watched him curiously, and, after a little time, she spoke again.
“You did not know – you did not guess until you saw that note?”
“I had not the slightest idea. I knew that Koona Dick was an Englishman – that was all. But when I read the note last night, and recalled your acknowledged acquaintance with Harrow Fell and Sir James, I suspected.”
“If you had known you would not have undertaken to follow him – to take him prisoner, I mean?”
“I could not very well have refused, without resigning from the force. Perhaps you know how the oath of allegiance runs?”
Joy shook her head, and he quoted – ”And will well and truly obey and perform all lawful orders and instructions, which I shall receive as such, without fear, favour or affection of or towards any person. So help me, God!”
The girl shivered a little. “It is a hard service, yours,” she said. “And you would have arrested your cousin?”
“My cousin, or any other man – or woman. I have no choice in the matter. Duty, after all, is the greatest word in the language.”
Joy considered him thoughtfully. His lean face was stern, and there was a hard light in the unwavering grey eyes. It was clear to her that he meant just what