CHAPTER XII
HER back against the protecting trunk of an ancient hemlock, whose exposed gnarled roots gave a good foothold and a secure seat, Helène sat curled up with her feet tucked under her warm skirt. She was watching intently the turbulent waters hurrying in the direction that meant freedom and safety to her, the Princess—and to their escort also. The child in her felt the longing for refuge, the desire to flee from the land that had denied her, but that was yet her own land. The woman in her, the existence of which the girl did not suspect, mingled with these fears and desires the mysterious feeling of having found a man who would, with strong arm, come between her and danger.
Helène had never been in so wild a country. She had never been alone in the woods, and the peacefulness of her surroundings, the grandeur of it all, impressed her deeply. Her situation seemed so unreal, as though it were almost impossible to believe in its fact. Was she little Snow-White with the Seven Dwarfs across the Seven Hills? Was she like Saint Elizabeth driven into the wild forests by her jealous spouse? It seemed as if some gnomes or fairies were peeking out from under the tumbled chaos of roots and boulders; as if every little heap of dried pine needles were the seat of some good little goblin. No, it really was true; here she was sitting watching the cataracts of an unknown mountain stream tumbling and gamboling down hill, dressed in peasant’s garments, with hobnailed shoes on her feet, provided by a strange man speaking a foreign tongue, from some most unknown part of a distant world, and yet, strange to say, she was quite happy! Would anyone ever believe her if she told the tale? Stowed in a wagon equipped like a gipsy’s caravan, in the dark storm and driving rain, dreading discovery every instant! And the arrival at the hidden house under the whispering trees, still under the calm protection of a strange man who provided everything and seemed to rule even the elements. It was all so wonderful! And how good and brave he was!
“Miss Helène, may I sit and talk to you?” Her face turned scarlet as if he had heard her thoughts. She stammered and attempted to rise. “Pray, don’t disturb yourself, Miss Helène. You have selected a charming spot, and if you will permit me, I’ll join you in your retreat. But first take this robe; the air is damp here.”
Morton came up to her with steady, quick steps. Helène scarcely dared to look.
A soft rug was laid across her lap, and John stood beside her. “Is it not fascinating to watch a mountain stream straining and speeding towards its future? I love it, and it is so long since I have been near one. A glorious day, Miss Helène, and all the elements in our favor. May I sit down?”
Helène looked up. “Certainly, Mr. Morton.”
Her gaze sank again and rested on her shoes. How clumsy the boots were! Looking up she met John’s questioning eyes.
“I am glad your feet are resting on a dry spot, Miss Helène; you must guard yourself against catching cold.”