'Tilda Jane scarcely dared to breathe, and, gazing down the hall behind her, shook in her substantial shoes. She could see the office at the end of the hall, and the sleepy clerk napping at his desk. If she retreated toward him, he might wake up and discover her, and if the men entered she could not possibly avoid being caught by them.
In intense anxiety she awaited results. There were only a few seconds of uncertainty, then her heart gave a bound of thankfulness. The footsteps had passed on, and only waiting till they died away, she opened the door and glided through.
Now she was on the brightly lighted platform at the mercy of any passer-by, or any wakeful person who might be at one of the hotel windows. She made one swift rush across it, one leap over the railway tracks, and with a stifled exclamation of thankfulness found herself on the village road.
Like a dark, diminutive ghost she sped up the hill past the silent houses. Now she was comparatively safe, yet which way should she go? She was completely puzzled, yet she had a vague idea that there were great forests surrounding Vanceboro, for she had heard the men at the hotel talk of fishing and shooting.
Trembling in every limb from excitement, and pressing her precious bundle closely to her, she took a road to the left. She must not go to the right, for across the river was Canada, and if she got into that foreign country again, she would have fresh difficulties in returning to her own native one. She would press on through the village, take to the woods, and trust to luck to find some house where she could ask the way to Ciscasset.
There was a moon to-night, an old, pale moon, and it cast a tremulous light over the soft, white fields sloping down to the Sainte-Croix River, the sleeping village, and the brightly lighted station yard in the hollow. She turned around, took one farewell glance at the habitations of men, and plunged into the winding road leading into the heart of the forest.
Hour after hour she plodded on. This reminded her of her walk with Ruth Ann two evenings before, only here there was more light, the snow was deeper, and the trees were not as high as those on the way to the Moss Glen station. She hoped with a shiver that she should meet no wild beasts. Hark! What was that crashing through the alder bushes? She stopped short, clasped her dog to her breast, and looked about for some means of defence. Nothing offered but a dry tree branch, and she was just bending over to seize it when there rushed by her, so quickly that she had no time to be afraid, an object that caused a faint smile of pleasure to come to her pale lips.
This was a large deerhound running along with his nose to the snow, and he paid no more attention to her than if she had been one of the stumps by the side of the road.
"Here, doggie, doggie!" she called, wistfully, but he did not return, and, startled by the sound of her voice in the intense stillness, she hastily resumed her way.