Once before she had left her only shelter, in a more desperate mood. Now the same impulse nerved her, and for ample reason. Dependent upon the bounty of those in no wise kin to her, tortured by the sarcastic tongue of Hannah, her heart hungering for a love she believed could never be hers, no other outcome seemed possible; and defiant still, yet saddened beyond all words, she set out to escape it all.
Where to go, she knew not nor cared–only to leave Greenvale and all the shame, sorrow, and humiliation it held for her, and make her own way in the world as best she could.
The village street was as silent as midnight always found it. The low murmur of the Mizzy Falls whispered down the valley. A half-moon was just rising, and as Chip reached the hilltop where she had waited for Ray, she halted. From here must be taken the last glance at Greenvale, and as she turned about a sob rose in her heart, in spite of her stern resolve, for ties cannot be sundered easily.
And how vivid and life-lasting was that picture! The two long rows of white houses facing the broad street, the tall-spired church in the middle of them; scattered dwellings to the right and left; away to one side the little brown schoolhouse that had been her Mecca; the stream that wound through the broad meadows; and over all the faint sheen of the rising moon.
Only for a moment she paused for this good-bye look, then turned and ran. On and on she sped mile after mile, up hill, down hill, halting now and then for breath until a cross-road was reached, and here she stopped. Here also came the question of direction. To follow the main road was to reach Riverton, between which and Greenvale the stage journeyed. To go there meant being recognized perhaps. In her study of geography, she had found that the village which was her birthplace lay northeast from Greenvale. She meant sometime and somehow to reach that spot and visit her mother’s grave once more, and also, if possible, to send word to Old Tomah. And so guided by this vague plan, she turned to the left.
From now on the road became narrow. Miles elapsed between houses, and Chip, wearied and heavy-eyed, could only creep along. The way became more devious now, bending around a wooded hill and then crossing a wide swamp to enter a stretch of forest. Direction became lost in these turnings, the road grew hilly and less travelled. The moon scarce showed it; and Chip, almost exhausted, stumbled over stones and felt that she was becoming lost in an unsettled country. And then, just as she emerged from a thicket and ascended a low hill, the light of coming dawn faced her, and with it the need of sleep and concealment.
Full well she knew she must avoid all observing eyes and place many more miles between herself and Greenvale to be certain of escape. And then, as the daylight increased, she caught sight of an old, almost ruined dwelling half hid among bushes just ahead. Even if empty, as it appeared, it would serve for shelter, and finding it so, she crept in, so wearied that she fell asleep at once on the warped and mouldy floor.
It was only a brief nap, for soon the rattle of a passing farm wagon woke her, but refreshed somewhat by it, she again pushed on.
Soon a brook, singing cheerfully as it tumbled down a ledge, was reached, and here Chip bathed her face and hands and drank of the sweet, cool water.
Hunger also asserted itself, but that did not daunt her. She had faced it once before.