Power spoke no word until the canoe rested by the side of the small landing-stage provided by the hotel. Bidding the guide await his return, he hastened into the building, and found the proprietor. Yes, a Mr. Francis had registered two days ago. He had rented a room overlooking the lake, and had hired the hotel’s three horses this morning. Two of the animals were carrying him and a lady to Racket, and the rider of the third was a groom, who had charge of Mr. Francis’s grip, and who would bring the nags back from the depot. Mr. Francis seemed to be in a desperate hurry; but that was not to be wondered at if he meant to catch the next south-bound train, there being just fifty minutes in which to cover the five miles. There was no other train until the night mail, which was due to leave Racket at seven o’clock. The hotel possessed a buggy; but Mr. Francis refused to use it. In fact, he was willing to pay any price for the horses; though it was most inconvenient that there should not even be one horse left in the stable, as it might be wanted in an emergency.
Power thanked his informant, who doubtless wondered what whiff of excitement had stirred this remote corner of New York state that morning; but gleaned little from his cool, self-contained questioner. Indeed, Power raised only one more point—could he be driven to Racket for the late train?—and was assured that there would be no difficulty in that respect.
Then Peter received his orders.
“Pack Mrs. Power’s baggage and mine, and bring everything here,” said Power. “I want you to remain in the cabin till you hear from me; but come to the hotel every day for a letter or telegram.”
Granite nodded, and paddled off silently and swiftly. He understood, not all, but some part, of Power’s mood. There were ordeals from which any man would flinch, and high among these for the bereaved husband (as the guide deemed him) would rank the heartbreaking task of sorting out and folding Nancy’s clothes, and replacing her toilet requisites in a dressing-case. Each garment would speak of her with a hundred mouths, each tiny silver article and cut-glass bottle would recall the grace of her gestures when she was brushing her luxuriant hair or shrugging her slim shoulders in laughing protest against Derry’s clumsiness as a lady’s-maid.
Before Peter returned, a luncheon-gong boomed from the porch of the hotel, and a number of men came in from their canoes or fishing-punts. One of a small party noticed Power sitting on a shaded seat in the little garden which ran down to the water’s edge.
“Isn’t that the man with the pretty wife who lives in Granite’s shack?” he asked. “He looks as though he’d lost a dollar and found a nickel.”
“P’r’aps he’s lost his missis,” laughed another.
“No fear. They’re a honeymoon couple if ever there was one. Why, when he comes here for stores she stands at the door of the hut the whole time he is absent, watching him all the way here and waving to him all the way home again.”
The hotelkeeper, noting Power’s absence from the dining-room, sent a maid to remind him that the meal was being served.