Attendance upon the sick-room occupied Io's time for several days thereafter. Morning and afternoon Banneker rode over from the station to make anxious inquiry1. The self-appointed nurse reported progress as rapid as could be expected, but was constantly kept on the alert because of the patient's rebellion against enforced idleness. Seizures3 of the same sort she had suffered before, it appeared, but none hitherto so severe. Nothing could be done, she told Io, beyond the administration of the medicine, for which she had full directions. One day an attack would finish it all; meantime, in spite of her power of self-repression, she chafed4 at the monotony of her imprisonment5.
In the late afternoon of the day after the collapse6, while Io was heating water at the fireplace, she heard a drawer open in the sick-room and hurried back to find Miss Van Arsdale hanging to the dresser, her face gray-splotched and her fingers convulsively crushing a letter which she had taken from under lock. Alarmed and angry, the amateur nurse got her back to bed only half conscious, but still cherishing her trove7. When, an hour later, she dared leave her charge, she heard the rustle8 of smoothed-out paper and remained outside long enough to allow for the reading. On her return there was no sign of the letter. Miss Van Arsdale, a faint and hopeful color in her cheeks, was asleep.
For Banneker these were days of trial and tribulation9. Added to the anxiety that he felt for his best friend was the uncertainty10 as to what he ought to do about the developments affecting her guest. For he had heard once more from Gardner.
"It's on the cards," wrote the reporter, "that I may be up to see you again. I'm still working, on and off, on the tip that took me on that wild-goose chase. If I come again I won't quit without some of the wild goose's tail feathers, at least. There's a new tip locally; it leaked out from Paradise. ["The Babbling11 Babson," interjected the reader mentally.] It looks as though the bird were still out your way. Though how she could be, and you not know it, gets me. It's even a bigger game than Stella Wrightington, if my information is O.K. Have you heard or seen anything lately of a Beautiful Stranger or anything like that around Manzanita?... I enclose clipping of your story. What do you think of yourself in print?"
Banneker thought quite highly of himself in print as he read the article, which he immediately did. The other matter could wait; not that it was less important; quite the contrary; but he proposed to mull it over carefully and with a quiet mind, if he could ever get his mind back to its peaceful current again: meantime it was good for him to think of something quite dissociated from the main problem.
What writer has not felt the conscious red tingle13 in his cheeks at first sight of himself in the magnified personification of type? Here is something, once himself, now expanded far beyond individual limits, into the proportions of publicity14, for all the world to measure and estimate and criticize. Ought it to have been done in just that way? Is there not too much "I" in the presentation? Would not the effect have been greater had the method been less personal? It seemed to Banneker that he himself stood forth15 in a stark16 nakedness of soul and thought, through those blatantly17 assertive18 words, shameless, challenging to public opinion, yet delightful20 to his own appreciation21. On the whole it was good; better than he would have thought he could do.
What he had felt, in the writing of it, to be jerks and bumps were magically smoothed out in the finished product. At one point where the copy-reader's blue pencil had elided an adjective which the writer had deemed specially22 telling, he felt a sharp pang23 of disappointed resentment24. Without that characterization the sentence seemed lifeless. Again, in another passage he wished that he had edited himself with more heed25 to the just word. Why had he designated the train as "rumbling26" along the cut? Trains do not rumble27 between rock walls, he remembered; they move with a sustained and composite roar. And the finger-wringing malcontent28 who had vowed29 to "soom"; the editorial pencil had altered that to "sue 'em," thereby30 robbing it of its special flavor. Perhaps this was in accordance with some occult rule of the trade. But it spoiled the paragraph for Banneker. Nevertheless he was thrilled and elate.... He wanted to show the article to Io. What would she think of it? She had read him accurately31: it _was_ in him to write. And she could help him, if only by--well, if only by being at hand.... But Gardner's letter! That meant that the pursuit was on again, more formidably this time. Gardner, the gadfly, stinging this modern Io out of her refuge of peace and safety!
He wrote and dispatched a message to the reporter in care of the Angelica City Herald32:
Glad to see you, but you are wasting your time. No such person could be here without my knowing it. Thanks for article.
That was as near an untruth as Banneker cared to go. In his own mind he defended it on the ground that the projected visit would, in fact, be time wasted for the journalist since he, Banneker, intended fully12 that Gardner should not see Io. Deep would have been his disgust and self-derision could he have observed the effect of the message upon the cynical34 and informed journalist who, however, did not receive it until the second day after its transmission, as he had been away on another assignment.
"The poor fish!" was Gardner's comment. "He doesn't even say that she isn't there. He's got to lie better than that if he goes into the newspaper game."
Further, the reporter had received a note from the cowman whom Ban and Io had encountered in the woods, modestly requesting five dollars in return for the warranted fact that a "swell35 young lady" had been seen in Banneker's company. Other journalistic matters were pressing, however; he concluded that the "Manzanita Mystery," as he built it up headline-wise in his ready mind, could wait a day or two longer.
Banneker, through the mechanical course of his office, debated the situation. Should he tell Io of the message? To do so would only add to her anxieties, probably to no good purpose, for he did not believe that she would desert Miss Van Arsdale, ill and helpless, on any selfish consideration. Fidelity36 was one of the virtues37 with which he had unconsciously garlanded Io. Then, too, Gardner might not come anyway. If he did Banneker was innocently confident of his own ability to outwit the trained reporter and prevent his finding the object of his quest. A prospective38 and possible ally was forecast in the weather. Warning of another rainfall impending39 had come over the wire. As yet there was no sign visible from his far-horizoned home, except a filmy and changeful wreath of palest cloud with which Mount Carstairs was bedecked. Banneker decided40 for silence.
Miss Van Arsdale was much better when he rode over in the morning, but Io looked piteously worn and tired.
"You've had no rest," he accused her, away from the sick woman's hearing.
"Rest enough of its kind, but not much sleep," said Io.
"But you've got to have sleep," he insisted. "Let me stay and look after her to-night."
"It wouldn't be of any use."
"Why not?"
"I shouldn't sleep anyway. This house is haunted by spirits of unrest," said the girl fretfully. "I think I'll take a blanket and go out on the desert."
"And wake up to find a sidewinder crawling over you, and a tarantula nestling in your ear. Don't think of it."
"Ban," called the voice of Camilla Van Arsdale from the inner room, clear and firm as he had ever heard it.
He went in. She stretched out a hand to him. "It's good to see you, Ban. Have I worried you? I shall be up and about again to-morrow."
"Now, Miss Camilla," protested Banneker, "you mustn't--"
"I'm going to get up to-morrow," repeated the other immutably41. "Don't be absurd about it. I'm not ill. It was only the sort of knock-down that I must expect from time to time. Within a day or two you'll see me riding over.... Ban, stand over there in that light.... What's that you've got on?"
"What, Miss Camilla?"
"That necktie. It isn't in your usual style. Where did you get it?"
"Sent to Angelica City for it. Don't you like it?" he returned, trying for the nonchalant air, but not too successfully.
"Not as well as your spotty butterflies," answered the woman jealously. "That's nonsense, though. Don't mind me, Ban," she added with a wry42 smile. "Plain colors are right for you. Browns, or blues43, or reds, if they're not too bright. And you've tied it very well. Did it take you long to do it?"
Reddening and laughing, he admitted a prolonged and painful session before his glass. Miss Van Arsdale sighed. It was such a faint, abandoning breath of regret as might come from the breast of a mother when she sees her little son in his first pride of trousers.
"Go out and say good-night to Miss Welland," she ordered, "and tell her to go to bed. I've taken a sleeping powder."
Banneker obeyed. He rode home slowly and thoughtfully. His sleep was sound enough that night.
Breakfast-getting processes did not appeal to him when he awoke in the morning. He walked over, through the earliest light, to the hotel, where he made a meal of musty eggs, chemical-looking biscuits, and coffee of a rank hue44 and flavor, in an atmosphere of stale odors and flies, sickeningly different from the dainty ceremonials of Io's preparation. Rebuking45 himself for squeamishness, the station-agent returned to his office, caught an O.S. from the wire, took some general instructions, and went out to look at the weather. His glance never reached the horizon.
In the foreground where he had swung the hammock under the alamo it checked and was held, absorbed. A blanketed figure lay motionless in the curve of the meshwork. One arm was thrown across the eyes, warding46 a strong beam which had forced its way through the lower foliage47. He tiptoed forward.
Io's breast was rising and falling gently in the hardly perceptible rhythm of her breathing. From the pale yellow surface of her dress, below the neck, protruded48 a strange, edged something, dun-colored, sharply defined and alien, which the man's surprised eyes failed to identify. Slowly the edge parted and flattened49 out, broadwise, displaying the marbled brilliance50 of the butterfly's inner wings, illumining the pale chastity of the sleeping figure as if with a quivering and evanescent jewel. Banneker, shaken and thrilled, closed his eyes. He felt as if a soul had opened its secret glories to him. When, commanding himself, he looked again, the living gem51 was gone. The girl slept evenly.
Conning52 the position of the sun and the contour of the sheltering tree, Banneker estimated that in a half-hour or less a flood of sunlight would pour in upon the slumberer's face to awaken54 her. Cautiously withdrawing, he let himself into the shack55, lighted his oil stove, put on water to boil, set out the coffee and the stand. He felt different about breakfast-getting now. Having prepared the arrangements for his prospective guest, he returned and leaned against the alamo, filling his eyes with still delight of the sleeper56.
Youthful, untouched, fresh though the face was, in the revealing stillness of slumber53, it suggested rather than embodied57 something indefinably ancient, a look as of far and dim inheritances, subtle, ironic58, comprehending, and aloof59; as if that delicate and strong beauty of hers derived60 intimately from the wellsprings of the race; as if womanhood, eternal triumphant61, and elusive62 were visibly patterned there.
Banneker, leaning against the slender tree-trunk, dreamed over her, happily and aimlessly.
Io opened her eyes to meet his. She stirred softly and smiled at him.
"So you discovered me," she said.
"How long have you been here?"
She studied the sun a moment before replying. "Several hours."
"Did you walk over in the night?"
"No. You told me not to, you know. I waited till the dawn. Don't scold me, Ban. I was dead for want of sleep and I couldn't get it in the lodge63. It's haunted, I tell you, with unpeaceful spirits. So I remembered this hammock."
"I'm not going to scold you. I'm going to feed you. The coffee's on."
"How good!" she cried, getting to her feet. "Am I a sight? I feel frowsy."
"There's a couple of buckets of water up in my room. Help yourself while I set out the breakfast."
In fifteen minutes she was down, freshened and joyous64.
"I'll just take a bite and then run back to my patient," she said. "You can bring the blanket when you come. It's heavy for a three-mile tramp.... What are you looking thoughtful and sober about, Ban? Do you disapprove65 of my escapade?"
"That's a foolish question."
"It's meant to be. And it's meant to make you smile. Why don't you? You _are_ worried. 'Fess up. What's happened?"
"I've had a letter from the reporter in Angelica City."
"Oh! Did he send your article?"
"He did. But that isn't the point. He says he's coming up here again."
"What for?"
"You."
"Does he know I'm here? Did he mention my name?"
"No. But he's had some information that probably points to you."
"What did you answer?"
Ban told her. "I think that will hold him off," he said hopefully.
"Then he's a very queer sort of reporter," returned Io scornfully out of her wider experience. "No; he'll come. And if he's any good, he'll find me."
"You can refuse to see him."
"Yes; but it's the mere66 fact of my being here that will probably give him enough to go on and build up a loathsome67 article. How I hate newspapers!... Ban," she appealed wistfully, "can't you stop him from coming? Must I go?"
"You must be ready to go."
"Not until Miss Camilla is well again," she declared obstinately68. "But that will be in a day or two. Oh, well! What does it all matter! I've not much to pack up, anyway. How are you going to get me out?"
"That depends on whether Gardner comes, and how he comes."
He pointed2 to a darkening line above the southwestern horizon. "If that is what it looks like, we may be in for another flood, though I've never known two bad ones in a season."
Io beckoned69 quaintly70 to the far clouds. "Hurry! Hurry!" she summoned. "You wrecked72 me once. Now save me from the Vandal. Good-bye, Ban. And thank you for the lodging73 and the breakfast."
Emergency demands held the agent at his station all that day and evening. Trainmen brought news of heavy rains beyond the mountains. In the morning he awoke to find his little world hushed in a murky74 light and with a tingling75 apprehension76 of suspense77 in the atmosphere. High, gray cloud shapes hurried across the zenith to a conference of the storm powers, gathering78 at the horizon. Weather-wise from long observation, Banneker guessed that the outbreak would come before evening, and that, unless the sullen79 threat of the sky was deceptive80, Manzanita would be shut off from rail communication within twelve hours thereafter. Having two hours' release at noon, he rode over to the lodge in the forest to return Io's blanket. He found the girl pensive81, and Miss Van Arsdale apparently82 recovered to the status of her own normal and vigorous self.
"I've been telling Io," said the older woman, "that, since the rumor83 is out of her being here, she will almost certainly be found by the reporter. Too many people in the village know that I have a guest."
"How?" asked Banneker.
"From my marketing84. Probably from Pedro."
"Very likely from the patron of the Sick Coyote that you and I met on our walk," added the girl.
"So the wise thing is for her to go," concluded Miss Van Arsdale. "Unless she is willing to risk the publicity."
"Yes," assented85 Io. "The wise thing is for me to go." She spoke86 in a curious tone, not looking at Banneker, not looking at anything outward and visible; her vision seemed somberly introverted.
"Not now, though," said Banneker.
"Why not?" asked both women. He answered Io.
"You called for a storm. You're going to get it. A big one. I could send you out on Number Eight, but that's a way-train and there's no telling where it would land you or when you'd get through. Besides, I don't believe Gardner is coming. I'd have heard from him by now. Listen!"
The slow pat-pat-pat of great raindrops ticked like a started clock on the roof. It ceased, and far overhead the great, quiet voice of the wind said, "Hush--sh--sh--sh--sh!", bidding the world lie still and wait.
"What if he does come?" asked Miss Van Arsdale
"I'll get word to you and get her out some way."
The storm burst on Banneker, homebound, just as he emerged from the woodland, in a wild, thrashing wind from the southwest and a downpour the most fiercely, relentlessly87 insistent88 that he had ever known. A cactus89 desert in the rare orgy of a rainstorm is a place of wonder. The monstrous90, spiky91 forms trembled and writhed92 in ecstasy93, heat-damned souls in their hour of respite94, stretching out exultant95 arms to the bounteous96 sky. Tiny rivulets97 poured over the sand, which sucked them down with a thirsting, crisping whisper. A pair of wild doves, surprised and terrified, bolted close past the lone98 rider, so near that his mount shied and headed for the shelter of the trees again. A small snake, curving indecisively and with obvious bewilderment amidst the growth, paused to rattle99 a faint warning, half coiled in case the horse's step meant a new threat, then went on with a rather piteous air of not knowing where to find refuge against this cataclysm100 of the elements.
Lashing101 in the wind, a long tentacle102 of the giant ocatilla drew its cimeter-set thong103 across Ban's horse which incontinently bolted. The rider lifted up his voice and yelled in sheer, wild, defiant104 joy of the tumult105. A lesser106 ocatilla thorn gashed107 his ear so that the blood mingled108 with the rain that poured down his face. A pod of the fishhook-barbed cholla drove its points through his trousers into the flesh of his knee and, detaching itself from the stem, as is the detestable habit of this vegetable blood-seeker, clung there like a live thing of prey109, from barbs110 which must later be removed delicately and separately with the cold steel. Blindly homing, a jack-rabbit ran almost beneath the horse's hooves, causing him to shy again, this time into a bulky vizcaya, as big as a full-grown man, and inflicting111 upon Ban a new species of scarification. It did not matter. Nothing mattered. He rode on, knees tight, lines loose, elate, shouting, singing, acclaiming112 the storm which was setting its irrefragable limits to the world wherein he and Io would still live close, a few golden days longer.
What he picked from the wire when he reached it confirmed his hopes. The track was threatened in a dozen places. Repair crews were gathering. Already the trains were staggering along, far behind their schedule. They would, of course, operate as far as possible, but no reliance was to be placed upon their movements until further notice. Through the night traffic continued, but with the coming of the morning and the settling down of a soft, seeping113, unintermittent pour of gray rain, the situation had clarified. Nothing came through. Complete stoppage, east and west. Between Manzanita and Stanwood the track was out, and in the other direction Dry Bed Arroyo114 was threatening. Banneker reported progress to the lodge and got back, soaked and happy. Io was thoughtful and content.
Late that afternoon the station-agent had a shock which jarred him quite out of his complacent115 security. Denny, the operator at Stanwood, wired, saying:
Party here anxious to get through to Manzanita quick. Could auto116 make upper desert?
No (clicked Banneker in response). Describe party.
The answer came back confirming his suspicion:
Thin, nice-spoken, wears goggles117, smokes cork-tips. Arrived Five from Angelica held here.
Tell impossible by any route (instructed Banneker). Wire result.
An hour later came the reply:
Won't try to-night. Probably horse to-morrow.
Here was a problem, indeed, fit to chill the untimely self-congratulations of Banneker. Should the reporter come in--and come he would if it were humanly possible, by Banneker's estimate of him--it would be by the only route which gave exit to the west. On the other side the flooded arroyo cut off escape. To try to take Io out through the forest, practically trackless, in that weather, or across the channeled desert, would be too grave a risk. To all intents and purposes they were marooned118 on an island with no reasonable chance of exit--except! To Banneker's feverishly119 searching mind reverted121 a local legend. Taking a chance on missing some emergency call, he hurried over to the village and interviewed, through the persuasive122 interpretation123 of sundry124 drinks, an aged125 and bearded wreck71 whose languid and chipped accents spoke of a life originally far alien to the habitudes of the Sick Coyote where he was fatalistically awaiting his final attack of delirium126 tremens.
Banneker returned from that interview with a map upon which had been scrawled127 a few words in shaky, scholarly writing.
"But one doesn't say it's safe, mind you," had warned the shell of Lionel Streatham in his husky pipe. "It's only as a sporting offer that one would touch it. And the courses may have changed in seven years."
Denny wired in the morning that the inquiring traveler had set out from Manzanita, unescorted, on horseback, adding the prediction that he would have a hell of a trip, even if he got through at all. Late that afternoon Gardner arrived at the station, soaked, hollow-eyed, stiff, exhausted128, and cheerful. He shook hands with the agent.
"How do you like yourself in print?" he inquired.
"Pretty well," answered Banneker. "It read better than I expected."
"It always does, until you get old in the business. How would you like a New York job on the strength of it?"
Banneker stared. "You mean that I could get on a paper just by writing that?"
"I didn't say so. Though I've known poorer stuff land more experienced men."
"More experienced; that's the point, isn't it? I've had none at all."
"So much the better. A metropolitan129 paper prefers to take a man fresh and train him to its own ways. There's your advantage if you can show natural ability. And you can."
"I see," muttered Banneker thoughtfully.
"Where does Miss Van Arsdale live?" asked the reporter without the smallest change of tone.
"What do you want to see Miss Van Arsdale for?" returned the other, his instantly defensive130 manner betraying him to the newspaper man.
"You know as well as I do," smiled Gardner.
"Miss Van Arsdale has been ill. She's a good deal of a recluse131. She doesn't like to see people."
"Does her visitor share that eccentricity132?"
Banneker made no reply.
"See here, Banneker," said the reporter earnestly; "I'd like to know why you're against me in this thing."
"What thing?" fenced the agent.
"My search for Io Welland."
"Who is Io Welland, and what are you after her for?" asked Banneker steadily133.
"Apart from being the young lady that you've been escorting around the local scenery," returned the imperturbable134 journalist, "she's the most brilliant and interesting figure in the younger set of the Four Hundred. She's a newspaper beauty. She's copy. She's news. And when she gets into a railroad wreck and disappears from the world for weeks, and her supposed fiance, the heir to a dukedom, makes an infernal ass19 of himself over it all and practically gives himself away to the papers, she's big news."
"And if she hasn't done any of these things," retorted Banneker, drawing upon some of Camilla Van Arsdale's wisdom, brought to bear on the case, "she's libel, isn't she?"
"Hardly libel. But she isn't safe news until she's identified. You see, I'm playing an open game with you. I'm here to identify her, with half a dozen newspaper photos. Want to see 'em?"
"No, thank you."
"Not interested? Are you going to take me over to Miss Van Arsdale's?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Why should I? It's no part of my business as an employee of the road."
"As to that, I've got a letter from the Division Superintendent135 asking you to further my inquiry in any possible way. Here it is."
Banneker took and read the letter. While not explicit136, it was sufficiently137 direct.
"That's official, isn't it?" said Gardner mildly.
"Yes."
"Well?"
"And this is official," added Banneker calmly. "The company can go to hell. Tell that to the D.S. with my compliments, will you?"
"Certainly not. I don't want to get you into trouble. I like you. But I've got to land this story. If you won't take me to the place, I'll find some one in the village that will. You can't prevent my going there, you know."
"Can't I?" Banneker's voice had grown low and cold. A curious light shone in his eyes. There was an ugly flicker138 of smile on his set mouth.
The reporter rose from the chair into which he had wetly slumped139. He walked over to face his opponent who was standing140 at his desk. Banneker, lithe141, powerful, tense, was half again as large as the other; obviously more muscular, better-conditioned, more formidable in every way. But there is about a man, singly and selflessly intent upon his job in hand, an inner potency142 impossible to obstruct143. Banneker recognized it; inwardly admitted, too, the unsoundness of the swift, protective rage rising within, himself.
"I don't propose to make trouble for you or to have trouble with you," said the reporter evenly. "But I'm going to Miss Van Arsdale's unless I'm shot on the way there."
"That's all right," returned the agent, mastering himself. "I beg your pardon for threatening you. But you'll have to find your own way. Will you put up here for the night, again?"
"Thanks. Glad to, if it won't trouble you. See you later."
"Perhaps not. I'm turning in early. I'll leave the shack unlocked for you."
Gardner opened the outer door and was blown back into the station by an explosive gust33 of soaking wind.
"On second thought," said he, "I don't think I'll try to go out there this evening. The young lady can't very well get away to-night, unless she has wings, and it's pretty damp for flying. Can I get dinner over at the village?"
"Such as it is. I'll go over with you."
At the entrance to the unclean little hotel they parted, Banneker going further to find Mindle the "teamer," whom he could trust and with whom he held conference, brief and very private. They returned to the station together in the gathering darkness, got a hand car onto the track, and loaded it with a strange burden, after which Mindle disappeared into the storm with the car while Banneker wired to Stanwood an imperative144 call for a relief for next day even though the substitute should have to walk the twenty-odd miles. Thereafter he made, from the shack, a careful selection of food with special reference to economy of bulk, fastened it deftly145 beneath his poncho146, saddled his horse, and set out for the Van Arsdale lodge. The night was pitch-black when he entered the area of the pines, now sonorous147 with the rush of the upper winds.
Io saw the gleam of his flashlight and ran to the door to meet him.
"Are you ready?" he asked briefly148.
"I can be in fifteen minutes." She turned away, asking no questions.
"Dress warmly," he said. "It's an all-night trip. By the way, can you swim?"
"For hours at a time."
Camilla Van Arsdale entered the room. "Are you taking her away, Ban? Where?"
"To Miradero, on the Southwestern and Sierra."
"But that's insanity," protested the other. "Sixty miles, isn't it? And over trailless desert."
"All of that. But we're not going across country. We're going by water."
"By water? Ban, you _are_ out of your mind. Where is there any waterway?"
"Dry Bed Arroyo. It's running bank-full. My boat is waiting there."
"But it will be dangerous. Terribly dangerous. Io, you mustn't."
"I'll go," said the girl quietly, "if Ban says so."
"There's no other way out. And it isn't so dangerous if you're used to a boat. Old Streatham made it seven years ago in the big flood. Did it in a bark canoe on a hundred-dollar bet. The Arroyo takes you out to the Little Bowleg and that empties into the Rio Solano, and there you are! I've got his map."
"Map?" cried Miss Van Arsdale. "What use is a map when you can't see your hand before your face?"
"Give this wind a chance," answered Banneker. "Within two hours the clouds will have broken and we'll have moonlight to go by.... The Angelica Herald man is over at the hotel now," he added.
"May I take a suitcase?" asked Io.
"Of course. I'll strap149 it to your pony150 if you'll get it ready. Miss Camilla, what shall we do with the pony? Hitch151 him under the bridge?"
"If you're determined152 to take her, I'll ride over with you and bring him back. Io, think! Is it worth the risk? Let the reporter come. I can keep him away from you."
A brooding expression was in the girl's deep eyes as she turned them, not to the speaker, but to Banneker. "No," she said. "I've got to get away sooner or later. I'd rather go this way. It's more--it's more of a pattern with all the rest; better than stupidly waving good-bye from the rear of a train."
"But the danger."
"_Che sara, sara_," returned Io lightly. "I'll trust him to take care of me."
While Ban went out to prepare the horses with the aid of Pedro, strictly153 enjoined154 to secrecy155, the two women got Io's few things together.
"I can't thank you," said the girl, looking up as she snapped the lock of her case. "It simply isn't a case for thanking. You've done too much for me."
The older woman disregarded it. "How much are you hurting Ban?" she said, with musing156 eyes fixed157 on the dim and pure outline of the girlish face.
"I? Hurt him?"
"Of course he won't realize it until you've gone. Then I'm afraid to think what is coming to him."
"And I'm afraid to think what is coming to me," replied the girl, very low.
"Ah, you!" retorted her hostess, dismissing that consideration with contemptuous lightness. "You have plenty of compensations, plenty of resources."
"Hasn't he?"
"Perhaps. Up to now. What will he do when he wakes up to an empty world?"
"Write, won't he? And then the world won't be empty."
"He'll think it so. That is why I'm sorry for him."
"Won't you be sorry a little for me?" pleaded the girl. "Anyway, for the part of me that I'm leaving here? Perhaps it's the very best of me."
Miss Van Arsdale shook her head. "Oh, no! A pleasantly vivid dream of changed and restful things. That's all. Your waking will be only a sentimental159 and perfumed regret--a sachet-powder sorrow."
"You're bitter."
"I don't want him hurt," protested the other. "Why did you come here? What should a girl like you, feverish120 and sensation-loving and artificial, see in a boy like Ban to charm you?"
"Ah, don't you understand? It's just because my world has been too dressed up and painted and powdered that I feel the charm of--of--well, of ease of existence. He's as easy as an animal. There's something about him--you must have felt it--sort of impassioned sense of the gladness of life; when he has those accesses he's like a young god, or a faun. But he doesn't know his own power. At those times he might do anything."
She shivered a little and her lids drooped160 over the luster161 of her dreaming eyes.
"And you want to tempt158 him out of this to a world where he would be a wretched misfit," accused the older woman.
"Do I? No; I think I don't. I think I'd rather hold him in my mind as he is here: a happy eremite; no, a restrained pagan. Oh, it's foolish to seek definitions for him. He isn't definable. He's Ban...."
"And when you get back into the world, what will you do, I wonder?"
"I won't send for him, if that's what you mean."
"But what _will_ you do, I wonder?"
"I wonder," repeated Io somberly.
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1
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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seizures
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| n.起获( seizure的名词复数 )；没收；充公；起获的赃物 | |
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4
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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trove
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| n.被发现的东西，收藏的东西 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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10
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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11
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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12
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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13
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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15
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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16
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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17
blatantly
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| ad.公开地 | |
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18
assertive
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| adj.果断的，自信的，有冲劲的 | |
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19
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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20
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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21
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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22
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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23
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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24
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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25
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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26
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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27
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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28
malcontent
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| n.不满者，不平者；adj.抱不平的，不满的 | |
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29
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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30
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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31
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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32
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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33
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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34
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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35
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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36
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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37
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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38
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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39
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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40
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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41
immutably
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| adv.不变地，永恒地 | |
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42
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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43
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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44
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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45
rebuking
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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46
warding
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| 监护，守护（ward的现在分词形式） | |
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47
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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48
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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50
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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51
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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52
conning
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| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
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53
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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54
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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55
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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56
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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57
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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58
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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59
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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60
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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61
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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63
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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64
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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65
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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66
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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69
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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71
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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72
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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73
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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74
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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75
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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76
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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77
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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78
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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79
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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80
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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81
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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82
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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83
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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84
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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85
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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87
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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88
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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89
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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90
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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91
spiky
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| adj.长而尖的，大钉似的 | |
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92
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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94
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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95
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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bounteous
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| adj.丰富的 | |
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rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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98
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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99
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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100
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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101
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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102
tentacle
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| n.触角，触须，触手 | |
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103
thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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104
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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105
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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106
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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107
gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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109
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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110
barbs
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| n.（箭头、鱼钩等的）倒钩( barb的名词复数 )；带刺的话；毕露的锋芒；钩状毛 | |
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111
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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112
acclaiming
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| 向…欢呼( acclaim的现在分词 )； 向…喝彩； 称赞…； 欢呼或拥戴（某人）为… | |
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113
seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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114
arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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115
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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116
auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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117
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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118
marooned
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| adj.被围困的；孤立无援的；无法脱身的 | |
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119
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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120
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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121
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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122
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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123
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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124
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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125
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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126
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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127
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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129
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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130
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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138
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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139
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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143
obstruct
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| v.阻隔，阻塞(道路、通道等)；n.阻碍物，障碍物 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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poncho
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| n.斗篷，雨衣 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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150
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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