And this is what he read:
“Derry, I am leaving you. Mr. Willard has followed us. He is here with me now. He has forced me to believe that duty demands my return to Hugh Marten; so I am going. It is best so. Derry, don’t grieve for me. If I thought——[these three words were canceled]. Derry, forgive me. I can write no more. My poor heart is breaking.
“Nancy.”
Slowly, through a haze of pain, certain incongruities were revealed in the curt, disconnected sentences. Never before, in all the years he had known her, had Nancy alluded to her father as “Mr. Willard.” Even during these later days, when the discovery of a parent’s treachery was a prime factor in her seemingly irrevocable decision to dissolve her marriage, she spoke of him invariably in terms of affection. Indeed, Power had practised some measure of duplicity by pretending to agree with her hopeful prophecy of a speedy reconciliation between Willard and himself. He believed he had summed up the man’s character only too well. Such a mean nature would assuredly remain stubborn in its hostility; in fact, he was prepared to encounter greater difficulties and annoyance from Willard than from Marten, and meant to persuade Nancy to take a world-tour of some years’ duration as soon as the divorce was secured, and they were legally married. Why, then, should it be “Mr. Willard” who had followed them, and not “my father,” or “Dad”?
And what an extraordinary plea she had put forward to excuse her precipitate flight? “He has forced me to believe that duty demands my return to Hugh Marten!” When had woman ever convinced herself more thoroughly than Nancy that “duty” did not “demand” the sacrifice of her whole life? Had she not weighed “duty” in the balance, and found it wanting, before she cast all other considerations to the winds, and fled from Newport with the man she loved? But “Mr. Willard” had “forced” that view upon her. Forced! A strange word! Had he threatened to murder her? Had she written that letter at the dictation of a maniac? Why, of course! The notion stung Power to the quick, and he groaned aloud. How crass and blind had been his anguished spirit when first it quivered under the shock of her disappearance! How much wiser and saner was Peter Granite! Even Guess, the dog, read the riddle aright, and had urged instant action. And how fortunate that these two faithful friends had raced off in pursuit rather than wait at the cabin until belated reason shed its light on the brain of the one person in the world Nancy must have trusted to understand her dilemma. At the thought of his failure to grasp the essential elements of a mystery that was simplicity itself when analyzed in cold logic, the blood rushed through his veins like a stream of molten metal, and he leaped to his feet, all afire now to be up and doing. He ran out, and was plunging wildly into the tangle of forest and scrub, when it occurred to him that undirected search in that wilderness was worse than useless. He was no Indian, skilled in jungle lore, that he should discern the tracks of pursued and pursuers, and follow them unerringly. Better possess his soul in patience until some sight or sound announced the return of Peter—with Nancy. Oh, yes, Peter and the dog would soon overtake that vengeful old man and his terrified victim! Pray Heaven there might be no opportunity given Willard to do evil to the girl who had thwarted his plans! Yet how often had the chance to do ill deeds made ill deeds done. Power wilted now under a horrible doubt which brought fresh tortures. He listened for the distant pistol-shot which might shatter his new-found hope. Perforce, he stilled his frenzy, and stood in anguished silence.
But no sound of death-dealing weapon jarred on the brooding solitude of that lake amid the hills; the earliest intimation he received of the real nature of his loss was when Granite and the dog came back—alone.
He strode a few paces to meet his allies, and in that moment of black despair the pride of his manhood sustained him, and choked the bitter words, the fierce ravings, the storming of the very heavens, which tore and raged for utterance, yet were so futile and helpless in the one way that mattered—the rescue of his lost love.
“So, then, you could not overtake them?” he said, and, if Granite had not seen Power when the blow fell, he would never have estimated the volcanic fury of the furnace hidden under Power’s unemotional voice and manner.
“No, sir,” came the quiet answer. “Thar was hosses in waitin’, three hosses. They’ve circled the head of the lake, an’ I saw Mrs. Power’s dress as they rode away from the hotel.”