Some time later Tillie spoke again. “We have her trunk, the lady cop’s. You are goin’ to-morrow. Will you take it?”
“I believe not,” Florence said thoughtfully. “I haven’t her true name. It will be safer here. If I find her I will send for it.”
After that for a space of a full half hour silence reigned supreme. Not a boat left that unbroken circle. What held them there? There was nothing they could do. What is the dread, all-potent charm that holds a throng to the scene of a fire until the last shingle has flared up, the last rafter fallen? Does it hark back to days when our ancestors knew no homes, but slept by camp fires in the forest? Who can say?
As the last wall crumbled in and the chimney came down with a crash, as if touched by a magic wand the circle melted away into the night.
Half an hour later Florence and Jeanne were once more sleeping soundly. Such is the boundless peace of youth.
CHAPTER XXIX
FADING SHORE LINES
The following night found Florence seated on the after deck of a large lake steamer bound for Chicago. Strange and varied were the thoughts and emotions that stirred her soul as she watched the dark shoreline of the North Peninsula fade in the distance.
There was a moment when she sprang to her feet and stretched her arms far out as she cried, “I want to go back! Oh, I want to go back!”
At this moment the woods and the water, the sunsets, the moon at midnight, the fish, all the wild forest creatures were calling her back.
Yet, even as this yearning passed, she felt the smooth comfort of silk stockings, caught the bright gleam of red and blue in her dress and knew that here, too, was joy. In her imagination she heard the rush and felt the thrill of a great city, experienced again the push and pull of it, and once more accepted its challenge.