But he knew too much
to be completely indifferent. His mind kept turning upon what her life
had been, and what it must be now. He was curious. What had become of
the money? Why did she and her English husband bury themselves in a
rude shack by a river that whispered down a lonely valley?
Hollister's mind thrust these people aside, put them out of
consideration, when he reached the flat and found his canoe where he
left it, his tiny silk tent suspended intact from the limb. He ranged
about the flat for an hour or so. He had an impression of it in his
mind from his winter camp there; also he had a description of it from
Doris, and her picture was clearer and more exact in detail than his.
He found the little falls that trickled down to a small creek that
split the flat. He chose tentatively a site for their house, close by
a huge maple which had three sets of initials cut deeply in the bark
where Doris told him to look.
Then he dragged the canoe down to the river, and slid it afloat and
let the current bear him down. The air was full of pleasant odors from
the enfolding forest.
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