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Updated: June 25, 2025
Tomorrow night, and the night after, he would come again to close the hole entirely with earth and stones, hiding forever the grewsome thing in Quill's "chimney," as the flue-like passage was called. Extinguishing the lantern, he started down the hill at a reckless, break-neck speed. He had the uncanny feeling that he was being followed, that Edward Crown was dogging his footsteps.
He had been given to understand that there was no other means of reaching Quill's Window save from the top of the rock. These niches or "hand-holds" were about two feet apart. He examined the lower ones. They were deeply chiselled, affording a substantial foothold as well as a grip for a strong, resolute climber.
Before Mike the Angel could answer, Captain Quill's head jerked around. "That will do, Mister Vaneski!" he barked. "Boot ensigns don't snicker when their superiors and their betters are being reprimanded! I only use sarcasm on officers I respect. Until an officer earns my sarcasm, he gets nothing but blasting when he goofs off. Understand?" The last word was addressed to the whole group.
She had followed him to the top of Quill's Window, she had witnessed the ghastly interment, and she had whispered a prayer for the boy who was gone. The next day her baby was born and that night she died. Coming out of a stupor just before death claimed her, she said to David Windom: "I am going to Edward. I do not forgive you, father. You must not ask that of me.
Lowering himself into the opening, he began digging at one end with his hands, scooping back quantities of wet leaves. There was snow down there in the pit, a foot or more of it. After a few minutes of vigorous clawing, a hole in the side of the fissure was revealed, an aperture large enough for a man to crawl into. He knew where it led to: down into Quill's cave twenty feet below.
It contained a nightgown, a pair of black stockings, and several toilet articles. Across the river, several hundred yards above Quill's Window, a small gravelly "sand-bar" reached out into the stream. Here the practised eyes of Gilfillan found unmistakable indications of a recent landing. The prow of the boat, driven well out upon the bar, had left its mark.
"No harm in striking a match now," he chattered aloud. "I may as well see what sort of a place it is." He crawled farther back in the cave, out of the wind, and struck a match. His hand shook violently, his chin quivered. During the life of the brief flare, the interior of Quill's Window was revealed to him.
And like her grim, silent grandsire, she "rode" the lanes that twined through field and timber, only she rode gaily, blithely, with sunshine in her heart. The darkness was always behind her, never ahead. Courtney undoubtedly had overcome the prejudice his visit to Quill's Window had inspired in her. They never spoke of that first encounter. It was as a closed book between them.
They would never think of looking for him in that sinister hole in the wall, Quill's Window! There he could lie in perfect safety until the coast was clear, and then by night steal down the river in the wake of pursuit. Their first thoughts would be of the railroad, the highways and the city. They would not beat the woods for him.
There was no likelihood of serpents being abroad on this chill October morning. Leaving the road at the cut above the ferry landing, he turned into the trail. A half hour's walk brought him to the gradually rising, rock-covered slope that led to the base of Quill's Window.
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