That was all.
A wise old man, when he finds himself in a blind alley, no sooner
touches the terminal wall than he faces about and goes back the
way he came. Under like circumstances a young man must needs try
to batter the wall down with his head. Beverley endeavored to
break through the web of mystery by sheer force. It seemed to him
that a vigorous attempt could not fail to succeed; but, like the
fly in the spider's lines, he became more hopelessly bound at
every move he made. Moreover against his will he was realizing
that he could no longer deceive himself about Alice. He loved her,
and the love was mastering him body and soul. Such a confession
carries with it into an honest masculine heart a sense of
contending responsibilities. In Beverley's case the clash was
profoundly disturbing. And now he clutched the thought that Alice
was not a mere child of the woods, but a daughter of an old family
of cavaliers!
With coat buttoned close against the driving wind, he strode
toward the fort in one of those melodramatic moods to which youth
in all climes and times is subject. It was like a slap in the face
when Captain Helm met him at the stockade gate and said:
"Well, sir, you are good at hiding."
"Hiding! what do you mean, Captain Helm?" he demanded, not in the
mildest tone.
"I mean, sir, that I've been hunting you for an hour and more,
over the whole of this damned town.
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