She was standing quite still in front of the sign-post, peering up the
road toward Frogg's Corner,--confronted by a steep climb that led into
black and sinister timberlands above the narrow strip of pasture
bordering the pike.
The fierce wind pinned her skirts to her slender body as she leaned
against the gale, gripping her hat tightly with one hand and straining
under the weight of the bag in the other. The ends of a veil whipped
furiously about her head, and, even in the gathering darkness, he
could see a strand or two of hair keeping them company.
He hesitated. Evidently her way was up the steep, winding road and
into the dark forest, a far from appealing prospect. Not a sign of
habitation was visible along the black ridge of the wood; no lighted
window peeped down from the shadows, no smoke curled up from unseen
kitchen stoves. Gallantry ordered him to proffer his aid or, at the
least, advice to the woman, be she young or old, native or stranger.
Retracing his steps, he called out to her above the gale:
"Can I be of any assistance to you?"
She turned quickly. He saw that the veil was drawn tightly over her
face.
"No, thank you," she replied. Her voice, despite a certain nervous
note, was soft and clear and gentle,--the voice and speech of a well-
bred person who was young and resolute.
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