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Updated: May 22, 2025
"That's good enough for me!" cried Raley. "Say it, Jud!" There was a distant thunder of hoofs as Haig's horse took the short bridge over the Brightwater. The crowd backed still farther away from Huntington, who was again fingering his roll of bills. "Two thousand!" he roared, shaking the handful of "yellowbacks" at the wavering Smith. Raley leaned from his saddle, and grabbed Smith's arm.
In a few minutes she had emerged again from the woods, descended the hill, and regained the main-traveled road along the Brightwater. Still she rode slowly, forgetting that she had learned at last to ride like a cowboy. She was reluctant to return to Huntington's, reluctant to relate her experiences as she had always related them until to-day. Haig had sent a warning to Huntington.
She dressed hastily in her oldest clothes, stole on tiptoe to the kitchen for a biscuit and a glass of milk, found fishing tackle on the veranda, and was soon running breathlessly past the corrals toward the banks of the Brightwater. And all this was a deliberate deception. She purposed to fish, of course a little, to justify the clandestine expedition; but what she really sought was solitude.
"Saw him go out to Brightwater in a motor boat this morning," Louise said. "Well, we simply have got to keep up our troop tactics until we run this down," declared Cleo. "Think of her saying we tried to drown the boy!" "And she called him Bentley. That's rather a pretty name. He surely doesn't belong to her class," said Grace.
"Have you forgotten," Randal asked, "that the marriage has been dissolved?" Bennydeck's answer ignored the law. "I remember," he said, "that the marriage has been profaned." The front windows of Brightwater Cottage look out on a quiet green lane in Middlesex, which joins the highroad within a few miles of the market town of Uxbridge.
As for Larkin, he met Haig's questioning scrutiny with a look of mingled triumph and guilt. "Well, why don't you go on?" asked Haig, with a smile. There was no response. The silence was again so complete that the music of the Brightwater was heard across the meadows. Haig slowly swept the crowd with an inquiring glance.
Choosing flowers and then rejecting them, trying other colors and wondering whether she had accomplished a change for the better, Kitty was startled by the sound of a voice calling to her from the direction of the brook. She looked round, and saw a gentleman crossing the bridge. He asked the way to Brightwater Cottage.
She rode casually down the Brightwater, and casually up the Brightwater; she loitered at crossroads, and tarried at Thompson's store; and not one glimpse did she catch of Philip Haig. Then one morning she rose at dawn, as she had risen on the day of her fishing exploit, with a purpose. But this time she dressed with exceeding care, in a riding suit she had not yet worn in the Park.
On the other, the valley of the Brightwater lay green and bronze in the sun, with the white stream curling and curving among the meadows. Far across the valley, beyond the ridge that divided the Park in unequal halves that fateful ridge! the western range of mountains glittered, dazzling white. Marion's eyes at once sought out Thunder Mountain. What would it say to her to-day? Storm!
There was no sound except the prattle of the Brightwater and the murmur of the breeze in the foliage. She assured herself that she was quite alone.
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