, 1922-08-30
CHAPTER VII

Bruce couldn't mistake the cabin. At
the end of the trail he found tia
little shack of implanted boards with
a single door and a single window.
He stood a moment In the sunlight.
He could not guess what was his des-
tiny behind that rude door. 1t was
a moment long waited; for one of the
few times in his life he was trembling
with excitement. He felt as II n key,
long lost, WIS turning in the doorway
of understanding.
He walked nearer and tapped with
his knuckles on the door.
If the forests have one all-pervad-
ing quality it is silence. What sound
there is carries far and seems rather
out of place. Bruce could picture the
whole of the little drama that followed
his knock by just the faint sounds
inaudible In a less silent land-that
reached him from behind the door. AT
first 1t was just a start; then a short
pering voice of old, old age. A mo-
ment more of silence-as IL a slow
moving, aged brain were trying TO
conjecture who stood outside-then
the creaking of a chair as some one
rose. The last sounds were of a
strange hobbling toward him-a rustic
of shoes half dragged on the floor and
the intermittent tapping of a cane
The face that showed so dimly In
the Swallowed room looked just as
Bruce had expected-wrinkled past
belief, lean and hawk-nosed from age.
The hand that rested on the cant was
like a birds claw, the skin blue and
hard and dry. She stood bowed over
her cane.
Yet in that first instant Bruce had
an inexpllcable impression of being in
have the wave of pity with which one
usually greets the decrepit. And at
first he didn't know why. But soon
he grew accustomed to the shadows
and he could see the woman's eyes.
Then he understood.
They were set deep behind grizzled
brows, but they glowed like Goals.
There was nj other word. They were
not the eyes of n whom time is
about TO conquer. Her bodily strength
was gone; any personal beauty that
she might have had was ashes long
and long ago, but some great fire
burned in her yet.
She blinked in the light. "Who is
IT." she croaked.
Bruce did not answer. He had not
prepared a reply for this question. But
1t was not needed. The woman leaned
forward. and a vivid light began to
dawn in her dark, furrowed face.
Even to Bruce, already succumbed
to this atmosphere II mystery into
which his adventure had led him, that
dawning light was the single most
startling phenomenon he had ever be-
held. The witchlike face seemed to
CLEAN with d white flame. And
Bruce knew that his coming was the
answer to the prayer of a whole life
time. 1t was a thought to sober him.
No small passion, no weak desire, no
prayer that time or despair could ST.
lence could effect sue a light as this.
Bruce" he said simply. 1t did not
even to him to use the
of Duncan. 1t was a name of a time
and sphere already forgotten. 81
don't know what my real last name
Is"
"Bruce-Bruce." the woman whis-
pered. She stretched a palsied hand
TO him as II 1t would feel his flesh to
reassure her Of Its reality. He saw
the %exultation In her wrinkled, lifted
face. "Oh, praises to His Everlasting
Name !" she cried. "oh, Glory-Glory
to on High 1"
And this was not b~lasphemy. The
words came from the heart. No mat
ter how terrible the passion from
which they sprang, whether It was
such evil as would cast her to hell,
such a cry as this could not go un-
heard. The strength seemed t. go out
of her as water fows. She rocked on
her cane, and Bruce, thinking she was
about to fall, seized her shoulders.
"At last-at last" she cried. you've
come at last"
She gripped herself, as IL trying to
find renewed strength. $50 at once"
she said. ito the end of the Pine