Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1903-03-05
q Uoman' S FFace
FLORENCE WARDEN

compatible with the possibility of it's
proving to be Mrs. Crosmont in the
flesh. He was walking at his best
pace, but yet he failed to make the
slightest ~apjpreciabIe difference in the
distance between them. When for a
few minute she broke into a rum, he
lost sight of the figure altogether, and
it was not until he had stopped and
peered about on all sides in the gloom
that he at last discerned the object of
Which he was in search, fainter than
eve against the bare trees at the bot
tom Of the hill on which the residence
of Lady Kildonan stood. The Crags!
Armathwaite's heart beat faster as the
conviction stole upon him that it was
no phantom of an excited imagination
that he was following. The figure
glided along under the steep cliff, pass
ing by the winding roadway which led
to the house, and seeming to pause for
an instant, as he had expected, before
the group of damp and struggling
bushes that blocked the secret path
up the hill.
He r%edoubled his pace, and reached
the clump of bushes while the
branches were still swinging. Brush
ing his way through them in his turn,
he began the ascent Of the hill; this
was by no NEAR easy, for the rain
had made the clayey soil loose and
slippery. On close inspection he
discerned in the darkness long,
smooth lines made by the sliding back
of smaller feet than his, but he saw
no sign of the figure he was following.
When he had reached the point where
the rough steps began, however, he
heard a sharp "click," like the snap Of
a lock; he fastened his pace, but on
arriving at the gate which had barred
his passage before, he found it secure
ly shut and impossible, while a last
glimpse that he caught of futtering
dIapery far above him among the trees
on the brow Of the hill, was seen so
family, and passed so swiftly, that it
might almost have been the flight of a
Wide-winged bat through the gloom,
A~rmathwaite stood for a few moments
at the gate, and speedily decided on
his course of action. He descended
the hill, pushed his way out into the
road, and drawing his pipe from his
pocket, proceeded to fill and light it;
then buttOning his coat, and turning up
down between the entrance to the pri-
vate path and the foot of the drive,
keeping a sharp watch on both points.
For four hours he paced up and down
in the darkness, without sight or sound
Of a living creature. By midnight
the drizzle had ceased, and the wind
had gone down; the moon, hung with
a rainy haze, shone out over the black
hills, and threw silver-grayish lines
upon the lake, on which the mist still
lowered. The dark tufts and patches
of trees and brushwood which fringed
its shores broke up the outline of the
water with a blurred and ragged belt,
and here and there a white villa gleam-
ed out, looking from the opposite shore
like a tombstone in a valley of shad-
OWs. To a man in A~rmathwaite's
present mood the scene was unspeak-
ably gloomy and depressing. He felt,
as he glanced from the turrets to The
CragS, just visible from one point of
the road below, to the corner where
Crosmont's house stood on the oppo-
site shore of the lake, as if, instead of
keeping watch for the living, he were
guarding the homes of the dead. So
strong a hold, indeed, had these som
bre fancies taken upon him when,
after four hours dreary pacing up and
down, he looked at his watch and
found that it was just past two o'clock,
that as he approached the entrance to
the private path and found himself face
to face with a woman who was fore
ing her way out through the bushes,
he uttered a short, hoarse cry, as if he
had been confronted by a corpse.
1t was Alma Crosmont. In the
weak white moonlight she looked
haggard and death-like, with deep,
dark burrows under eyes which stared
out before them and saw nothing, dry
lips slightly parted, and a dull express
sion which never changed. She ap-
peared neither to see nor hear the man
standing in front of her, but came
straight on with her hands held a lit
tie in front Of her, as if cropping to find
her way. When quite close to him
she took a step aside to avoid his per
son, and as she passed at a flying pace
he noticed thather breathing was heavy
and s%tertorOus, like that of a person in
a deep, unrestful sleep. He turned and
followed her, calling to her by name.
She made no answer, but fastened
on with the same rapid. yet striding
steps. as if her feet, quickly as they
moved. were heavy, and could not
rise well from the ground. Her pace
never varied as she skirted the head
of the lake, and glided up the hill to-
wards her house without a pause or a
look behind. 1t was a walk of quite
two miles, the roads and paths were
deep in mud, and Armathwaite, who
was splashed and despatched to the
knees long before the end. wondered
at lne lGDflIe SIIenSIn WHICH udpleu
the fragile woman to accomplish her
mysterious task. She went in by the
back door Of the house, which was on
the latch for her, and Armathwaite,
having waited in vain for a light to APP
pear at any of the windows, tramped
rapidly back to Branksome, tormented
by indignation and anxiety, but con-
WINGED that he had made one important
step towards the discovery of the mys-