She obeyed. What did she care? What difference could it make? He wrapped the blankets over her, after she had sat down on an old wolfskin he had covered the sled with. After this he took a long line attached to the toboggan and passed it over his right shoulder, pulling at the side of the dog, who toiled on briskly. When they reached the tote-road it seemed rougher than ever and the country wilder. To her right Madge could see the river that was nothing but a winding jumble of snow-capped rocks and grinding ice, with 127 here and there patches of inky-looking water, where the ice-crust had split asunder. Also she dully noted places where the water seemed to froth up over the surface, boiling in great suds from which rose, straight up in the still air, a cloud of heavy gray vapor. The cold felt even more intense than earlier in the day. It impressed the girl as if some tremendous force were bearing down mightily upon the world and holding it in thrall. With the lowering of the sun the shadows had grown longer. After a time the slight sound of the man’s snowshoes over the crackling snow, of the scraping toboggan, of the panting dog, began to seem to Madge like some sort of desecration of a stillness in which man was nothing and only an eternal and vengeful power reigned supreme. In spite of the patches of sunlight filtering down through branches or glaring upon the river there was now something dismal in all this, and she began to feel the cold again, penetrating, relentless, evil in its might.
They had gone about half way when, on the top of a slight rise, both dog and man stopped for a moment’s rest. The latter looked quite exhausted. His face was set hard, in an expression she could not fathom.
“Really, I think I could walk,” said the 128 girl again. “There––there’s no reason you should work so hard for me. And––and you look terribly tired.”
“Oh, no!” he disclaimed, hastily. “I––I could pull you all by myself if––well, it’s only a short distance away now, and Maigan is doing nearly all the work, anyway. I––I don’t think anything I can do for you can quite make up for all that you seem to have gone through.”
He looked at her, very gravely, as he sat down upon a fallen log, close at hand, after clearing off some snow with a sweep of his mitt. There was something very sad, she thought, an expression of pain upon his face which she noted and which led her into a very natural error. She was compelled to consider these things as evidences of regret, of a conscience that was beginning to irk him badly. Her head bent down till she was staring into her lap; she felt that tears were once more dangerously near.
No thought came to her of appealing to this man, of suing for pity and charity, but she began to speak, the words coming from a full heart that gave her pain were spoken in low tones, nearly as if she had been talking to herself.
“I––I’m thinking of the boys who were 129 stoning the frog,” she began, haltingly. “You remember. It was fun for them but death to the frog. I––I think a good many things work that way in the world, don’t––don’t you, Mr. Ennis? You––you don’t really look like––like a very bad man. If––if you had a sister or mother you’d––you’d probably be kind to them. What––what do you think of it yourself, honestly? A––a girl, who’s a fool, of course, but after all just a girl, is dying of loneliness and misery in a big city. She––she can’t stand it any more, not––not for another day. And then she finds that paper and like––like an utter fool she answers that advertisement. It––it looked like a bare chance of––of being able to keep body and soul together, and––and remain honest and decent, which––which is a hard enough thing for a girl to do, in––in some places. And then the man answers back. She––I never expected he would, but he did, and he offered all sorts of wonderful things that––that looked like heaven itself to––to a hungry failure of a girl to whom life had become too heavy a burden to bear. And––and so she answers that letter and––and tries to tell the truth about herself, and says that––that she is prepared to carry out her part of the bargain if––if the man has spoken truly of 130 himself––if––if he can respect her––treat her like a woman who––who is ready to do her best to––to deserve a little kindness and consideration. And he tells her again to come––to come as soon as possible, and––and there was nothing to detain her for a moment. The city had been too cruel––too utterly cruel. And then she comes here and finds that––that it was all lies––wicked lies––I’m sorry, it’s the only word I can use.”
Hugo was staring at her, open-mouthed, but before he could utter a word she began again:
“The man had never meant it, of course––he wasn’t awaiting her at all, as he had promised––and when she finally comes to him he speaks coldly, cynically, denying his words, pretending he knows nothing. It––it’s a rather clumsy way of getting out of it, seems to me. Anyway he saw that his joke had been carried too far. It––it hasn’t proved such a very good one, has it? It––it has turned out to be pretty poor fun. I––I dare say I deserve it all. It––it was awful folly on my part, I see it now, and––and I’m ashamed, dreadfully ashamed––I feel the redness mounting to––to the very roots of my hair––and it overwhelms me. Don’t––don’t you feel something of––of the same sort, or––or 131 do you still think the joke was a good one?”
She had grown rather excited and it was quite true that a deep blush was now mantling her face. In her halting speech––in the words that had come slowly at first, and then had flowed more rapidly, there had been wounded pride beside the deep resentment and the pain.