(Reading time: 8 - 16 minutes)
The Mountain Girl
The Mountain Girl

of one humiliation, he set himself again on the path toward Hanging Rock cabin.

  

As he passed the great holly tree where Cassandra had sat beside him, he placed his hand on the stone and paused. His heart leaned toward her. He wanted her. Should he go down to her now and refuse to leave her? But no. He had promised. Something warm splashed down upon his hand as he bent over the rock. He sprang up, ashamed to weep, and, seizing the doctor's valise, plunged on through the shadows up the steep ascent.

  

He had no definite idea of how he would explain his act, for he did not comprehend his own motives. It was only a wordless repugnance that possessed him, vague and sullen, against this man's offered friendship; and his relief was great when he found David asleep before his open door.

  

Stealthily he entered and placed his burden beneath the couch, gazed a moment at the sleeping face whereon the firelight still played, and softly crept away. Cassandra should know that she had no need to thank the Englishman for his freedom.

  

Then came the weary tramp down the mountain, skulking and hiding by day, and struggling on again by night—taking by-paths and unused trails—finding his uncertain way by moonlight and starlight—barked at by dogs, and followed by hounds baying loudly whenever he came near a human habitation—wading icy streams and plunging through gorges to avoid cabins or settlements—keeping life in him by gnawing raw turnips which had been left in the fields ungathered, until at last, pallid,

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