Dawn of the Morning

by Grace Livingston Hill

CHAPTER XVII

Dawn fled through the dark grass, straight from the house, not knowing or thinking where she was going, only to get away. In a moment she reached a high hedge of dense growth, and, not daring more than to glance toward the house, she crept swiftly along toward the street. A few rods from the sidewalk she found a small opening and slipped through into another great yard. Keeping close to the hedge, she soon reached the front, and slid out at the gate like a wraith, wondering what she would do if some one in the neighbor's house should accost her. But no one was near. She could hear footsteps coming, and gay voices, so she turned and hurried the other way, though it carried her past the house she had just left. It would not do, she thought, to meet any one just yet.

It was this little circumstance that determined the direction of her flight, and carried her away from the road her kindly pursuers expected her to take.

She presently reached a lane and turned into it. It happened to be a private lane leading to a farm-house set far back from the street, and as she approached the house the deep bay of hounds heralded her coming. Her heart stood still with fright, for she had read much about the horror of being pursued by bloodhounds. In those days there was much talk of the pursuit of escaped slaves, and the girl's imagination suddenly saw herself surrounded by a great pack of hounds sent to bring her back. She paused and crouched beside the fence. Presently she heard a man's voice not far away, and saw a speck of light moving and bobbing here and there near the dark outline of the house. Then her senses came back. This was not a dog sent after her, but a man, who had heard her, an intruder, near the house. Perhaps he would come and search her out. She must get over that fence as fast as possible.

The silk skirts rustled horribly, and cold chills of apprehension crept down Dawn's back, as she found how much harder it was to climb a fence encumbered by long skirts and a bundle, than when dressed as a care-free school-girl. That gave her an idea. She ought to get off that silk dress as soon as possible, for its noise would attract attention.

Another howl of the dog startled her just as she cleared the fence, so she began to run. Fortunately, the house was between her and the town, and she had not to turn back upon her way. She discovered by the humps and hillocks that she was in a meadow, and she struck out as far away from the house as possible, though the way was rough, and several times she fell. But the dog's howling was more distant now, and she concluded he had been chained. Ahead of her, she could see a dark line of trees, and she hurried toward them. At least, she could pause there a minute and arrange her clothing.

She crept within the edge of the woods, and dared not look around, so easily her imagination could people it with evil spirits. She was naturally of a courageous nature, and at school had always been ready to dare anything just for fun, but it was a different matter to be running away into the great night world of a place you had never seen.

With trembling fingers, she unfastened her bundle, being careful to stick the pins on the corner of her handkerchief in her hand-bag, where she could find them in the dark. It was a work of time and care to extricate the little gray frock from the bundle and be sure to lose nothing in the darkness. She unrolled it cautiously, gathering the other things within the largest garment she had brought, and then slipped the dress out from underneath, first taking the precaution to pin the smaller bundle together. Then she took off her mantle, slipped out of her silk frock and into the gray one, all the time nervously staring into the darkness of the fields through which she had just come. What if some one should catch her now?

The blood pounded through her heart, and poured up into her face, as though it were on a mad race to strangle her. Her hair was wet with perspiration and clinging to her forehead, yet she felt a chill. It seemed as if her fingers were growing wooden and clumsy as she turned the silk frock inside out and folded it carefully, pinning it over the other bundle, so that it would show only a gray cotton lining. The silk mantle she put on again, and, feeling carefully about to see that she had left nothing behind, she turned to face the blackness of the woods.

It was only a maple sugar grove on the edge of a prosperous farm, but it looked inky black, and might have been filled with all sorts of wild animals, for aught she knew. Yet she pressed on. She felt as if the woods were a friend, at least. She had been used to walking among the trees and telling her troubles there to the birds and breezes, and now it seemed a natural refuge, in spite of its blackness. If only it were the old woods she knew at the school, she would not be afraid at all. But fear henceforth must have no part in her life. She had herself to look out for, and she would never, never go again where any one could talk to her as that dreadful woman had talked. She shuddered as she remembered the cold, cultured voice, and the scorn that had pierced her soul with a shame that she knew was unjust. Her rising anger helped her to go on and put down any timidity that she might have felt, and presently, through feeling from tree to tree, she came out to the other side of the maple grove. Far away to the east she could see a pale moon rising. She started toward it, keeping close to the maple grove, as if it were a friend. The way led over two or three more meadows, and now in her little gray frock she found it much easier to climb the fences.