How she had learned to watch for his coming, and to look
often toward the corner window of the house on the other side of the
garden! But, after all--she asked herself--was her regard for him more
than a natural admiration for his strong character, as she had seen it
revealed in the past months? Their peculiar situation had placed him more
in her thoughts than any man had ever been before. Was not this all? The
possibility had not yet become a certainty. The revelation of Hope
Farwell to herself was yet to come.
The hack, with its one passenger, arrived at Gordon's Mills about four
o'clock, and Miss Farwell, climbing down from the ancient vehicle in
front of the typical country hotel, inquired for Dr. Oldham.
The slouchy, slow-witted proprietor of the place passed her inquiry on
to a group of natives who lounged on the porch, and one, whose horse
was hitched in front of the blacksmith shop across the way, gave the
information that he had seen the Doctor and the big parson at the mouth
of the creek as he came past an hour before. He added that he "reckoned
they wouldn't be in 'til dark, fer they was a-ketchin' a right smart of
bass."
"Is it far from here?" asked the nurse.
"Somethin' less than a mile, ain't hit, Bill?"
Bill "'lowed hit war about that. Mile an' a quarter to Bud Jones', Bud
called hit."
"And the road?"
"Foller the creek--can't miss it." This from the chorus. And Miss Farwell
set out, watched by every eye on the place until she disappeared around
the first bend.
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