The Yale expositor., 1912-06-27
CHAPTER XI.
The Log Hut in the Mountains.

The Log Hut in the Mountains.
What awakened the woman she did
not know; in all probability it was
| the bright sunlight streaming through
the narrow window before her. The
cabin was so placed that the sun did
not strike fairly into the room until
it was some hours high, consequently
she had her long sleep out entirely un-
disturbed. The man had made no eff
fort whatever to awaken her. What
ever tasks he had performed since day
break had been so silently accomplish
cd that she had not been aware of
them.
So soon as he could do so, he had left
the cabin and was now busily engaged
and beyond earshot. He knew that
sleep was the very best medicine for
her, and it was best that she should
rot be disturbed until in her own good
time she awoke.
The clouds had emptied themselves
during the night, and the wind had
at last died away coward morning, and
now there was a great calm abroad in
the land. The sunlight was dazzling.
Outside, where the untempered rays
beat full upon the Crests of the noun
tains, it was doubtless warm, but with
in the cabin It was chilly The fire
had long since burned completely
away, and he had not entered the room
to replenish it, Yet Enid Maitland had
lain snug and warm under her blan-
kets. She presently tested her wound
ed foot. by moving it gently. and dis
covered agreeably that it was much
less painful than she had anticipated.
The treatment the night before had
been very successful.
She did not get up Immediately, but
the GOODNESS Of the room struck her so
soon as she got out OF bed. Upon her
first awakening she was hardly con-
scious of her situation: her sleep had
been too long and too heavy, and her
awakening too gradual for any sud
den appreciation of the new condition.
1t was not until she had stared around
the walls of the rude cabin for some
time, that she realized where she was
and what had happened. When she
did so she arose at once.
Her first impulse was to call Never
in her life had she felt such death
like stiffness. Even in the camp al
most always there had been a wills
per of breeze through the pine trees,
or the chatter Of water over the rocks.
But here there were no pine trees and
no sound of rushing brook came to
her. 1t was almost painful. She was
keen to dress and go out of the house.
She stood upon the rude puncheon
floor on one foot, scarcely able yet to
bear even the lightest pressure upon
the other. There were her clothes on
chairs and tables before the fireplace.
Such had been the heat thrown out by
that huge blaze that brief inspec.
ton convinced her that everything
was thoroughly dry. Dry or wet, she
must needs put them on, since they
were all she had She noticed that
there were no locks on the doors, and
she realized that the only protection
she had was the sense of decency and
the honor of the man. That she had
been allowed her sleep unmolested
made her the more confident on that
account.
She dressed hastily, although It was
the work Of some difficulty in view of
her wounded foot and of the stiff con-
dition of her rough. dried apparel.
Presently she was completely clothed,
save for that disrobed foot. With the
big clumsy bandages upon it. she could
not draw her stocking over it, and even
IL she succeeded In that, she could In
no way make shift to put on her boot.
The situation was awkward, the pre-
dicament annoying. She was wearing
boomers and short skirt for her
mountain climbing, and she did not
know quite what to do. She thought of
tearing up one of the rough unbleach-
ed sheets and wrapping It around her
leg. but she hesitated as to that. Il
was very trying Otherwise. she would
have opened the door and stepped out
into the open air. Now she felt her
self virtually a prisoner.
She had been thankful that no one
had disturbed her. bat aow she wished