I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted by a thousand forebodings, I could not even close my eyes, and it was almost day-break when I heard father come in quietly and go to his room.
I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did he, but somehow I could not help thinking that from this time he watched me a little suspiciously. I felt hurt that he imagined I would play the spy upon his actions. Whatever he might do, whatever he might say, he was still my father, and I could not give him up. It was dreadful, those days that followed. It seemed like living upon the verge of a precipice, or that some unseen calamity hung above my head ready to fall at any moment and crush me.
One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp and put it on the supper table, I went, as was my usual habit, to draw down the blinds. Father had not yet come home. As I crossed his room I saw through the window a man standing close beside it on the outside, so close that I could not have seen him more distinctly had he been within reach of my touch. His arms were folded across his chest, and his head dropped a little in the attitude of one waiting. His figure was large and thick-set, almost that of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and passed his hand over his short-cut, bristly hair, and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse, heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I noticed that the window sash was down and bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind. I went back with an uneasy feeling into the dining-room.
A few moments afterward father came in. He took up the light hurriedly, saying some thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried it into his room and shut the door. I heard him walking about in there, opening and closing drawers, and after a little I thought I heard a sound as if he were raising the window-sash gently. Then he came out. He looked at me sharply for a moment, and remarked that he had been hunting for a key. Strange! He was not in the habit of accounting for his actions. After he got up from the table he did not leave the house again, but went to bed almost immediately.
In the morning when I put up his dinner and handed it to him as usual, he said,—
“You need not get any supper for me to-night. I have office work to do at the mine and will not be back.”
I was surprised. He had frequently not come home to the evening meal, but never before had he thought it worth his while to give me notice. I stood looking after him as he went out of the gate, when suddenly an idea flashed into my head that made my heart sink in my breast like a stone. I do not know why it should have come to me then so suddenly, with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned and ran into father’s room. I looked about. I opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his clothing was gone! It was as I thought. He did not mean to come back at all—Deserted! The dreadful word choked up my throat. I knew nothing of father’s actions, I knew not what he had done, but I would gladly have gone with him, have stood disgrace with him even, if that were necessary. I am sure I can not tell why I clung to him with such desperation. Though I was ignorant and inexperienced, I was also young and strong, and I was not afraid I would fail to make my living alone in the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid my head upon the foot of the bedstead, and heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably I would never see him again, and if he did not love me, at least, except that one time, he had not been harsh to me, and he was my father.
At first I thought I would follow him; I would go to the mine and see if he might not still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries about him would probably only increase the danger that threatened, whatever that danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing him for some crime, I would have shielded him still. I was powerless. I could do nothing to recall him; I could do nothing but wait. Wandering about with only the one thought in my mind, after awhile the house became positively intolerable. I must do something at least to keep myself employed, or I should absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably, and I had a compressed feeling across my chest.
I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it over my arm. I do not know why I should have taken this one, for I wore it generally only in the bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange feeling of dread when any one looked at me, I went down hurriedly through the settlement to the wharf. I got into my boat and pushed off. On the water I could breathe better.
I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily, taking note of nothing. My only relief lay in violent exercise. How many miles up the shore I went I do not know, but it was farther than I had ever reached before, and when I drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration, the red embers of the sun-set’s fire were dying down along the sky.