Afterwards, absurd as it seemed to her, Gill could not walk on at once. Instead she leaned against a nearby tree, closing her eyes to avoid the spectacle before her. She could hunt without especial emotion or regret, when her aim was steady and there was no suggestion of long pain or suffering afterwards. But to kill, as she had felt herself forced to do in the last few moments, had upset her in the most acute fashion.
Gill opened her eyes when she heard some one coming toward her.
“You seem to appear only when I am in the act of taking a life, Mr. Drain,” she exclaimed with poorly concealed bitterness, allowing her state of mind to find expression in the tone of her voice. “I am sorry to have you a witness to what I have just done and yet I felt it was unavoidable.”
“You have only accomplished what I have been trying to find courage to do this last half hour, Miss Gilchrist. But you do look used up. My little cabin is not an eighth of a mile away, won’t you come in and rest for a moment? I am sure your friends will not object. I am fairly intimate with most of them except you. Somehow we never seem to meet when I am at Tahawus cabin.”
CHAPTER IX
The Poet’s Corner
The little pine house had only two rooms, one a small bed-room, the other serving as kitchen, dining-room and living-room. As there was no furnace and a wood fire would afford insufficient heat, an old-fashioned stove extended its stove pipe up the fireplace chimney.
This stove, packed tight with small chunks of wood, was now red hot and on top a kettle was pouring forth a thin stream of steam.
Allan Drain kneeled down.
“You’ll allow me to take off your snowshoes so you can be more comfortable? I envy you your skill in being able to manage them as I have been struggling for several weeks without success. Please don’t mind the small amount of snow you have brought into the room. I am not a particular housekeeper.”
Gill glanced about the room.