Tess threw off her wraps and flung out of the room. In the kitchen she stirred the fire and heated some milk and broke bread into it.
While she was gone, the dwarf made up his mind that now, if ever, he must prove the power of the faith Tess'd taught him. Motionless, but watching the baby, he reviewed the proofs he'd had in the shack and during his years with Tessibel on the hill. Surely, the hands stronger'n Waldstricker's had lost none of their protective power! So absorbed did he become, he hardly noticed when the girl came back, but he heard her say to Elsie,
"Here, cat! I hate you so, I could strangle you with it!"
Tess was kneeling beside the chair and he noted that her fingers fed the child carefully, and when a few warm drops of milk ran down the shaking baby chin, Tess took out her handkerchief and wiped the little face gently.
"Uncle Forrie won't be back tonight," he observed, after a while.
"Don't talk about him," gasped Tess. "I don't want to think of 'im."
"I don't see what we're goin' to do, brat," returned Andy miserably.
"I'll never give her back to Waldstricker, that's certain," Tess gritted. "I'll throw her out in the snow first. Let 'im find her, then, if he can."
Hunger satisfied, warm and snug, the tired baby smiled her thanks and fell asleep. After placing the bowl on the table, Tess drew the blankets about the little figure and stood up.
"Don't tell me not to do it," she said fiercely.
"I weren't going to, brat, dear," sighed the little man.
Then, the girl went to the window again. For what seemed hours to the dwarf, she stared silently into the winter night.
In her mind's eye she could see the high waves of the lake rolling and tumbling from hill to hill, and could outline the forest opposing its rugged weight to the tempest. Under the successive attacks of the gale, the loosened old joints of the house creaked their protests at the blizzard's roughness. The shrieking of the wind, the sharp rattle of the storm-driven snow against the glass, everything in the wild night without, responded to the conflict in her own breast.
She felt sorry, now, she hadn't left Elsie to the mercy of the squatters; but the thought of what they would have done to the child made her shudder.
"No, not that!" she groaned aloud.
"What'd ye say, brat?" asked Andy, without moving.
"Nothing," muttered the girl, and she maintained her position at the window. It was as though she were waiting for something she knew not what. In a sudden hush of the storm, she heard, faintly, the chimes in the library tower on College Hill.
Ah, yes, it was Christmas Eve! How Boy had looked forward to Santa Claus! How many little things she'd made for his stocking! She drew a long, sobbing breath. Boy wouldn't want any of her love-things any more.
She knew the chimes were playing,
"Peace on earth, good will to men."
Every Christmas Eve, at midnight, the bells rang out the sacred chorus.
For many years, the music had completed her Christmas preparations. The annual message had always brought her inspiration and spiritual uplift.
A brick, torn from its place in the chimney, tumbled down the roof. Its clatter rudely broke in upon the joyous refrain. So had Waldstricker destroyed her peace. No peace for her, no peace for him! She tried to fit the words to the chiming notes but without success.
"Peace on earth, good will to men."
Straining her eyes into the darkness, while the angels' message tugged at her heart strings, the overwrought girl saw another vision. Boy smiled upon her out of the storm. Ineffable happiness shone in the lovely face and steady eyes. Freed from mortal chance and change, she beheld him safe and secure in the everlasting now of eternity. The apprehension of Life's unalterable continuity--unfolding to her uplifted thought--destroyed the hopeless sense of separation and banished hate and anger from her heart. The compelling light of reawakened Love penetrated the inmost recesses of her spirit, and dissipated the shadows of discord and resentment. Peace possessed her. While the wonder of her healing held her motionless a little longer, the song she'd often sung to Boy at twilight came bubbling to her lips.
"In heavenly love abiding, No change my heart shall fear."
Amazed, Andy stepped to her side. Gratitude for his darling's deliverance filled his heart. Turning to him, she put one arm around his shoulders. His throaty tenor joined the caroling soprano.
"The storm may roar without me, My heart may low be laid,"
Above the raging of the wind, they lifted the triumphant refrain,
"But God is round about me, How can I be dismayed?"
Moving into the brighter light of the shaded lamp, she seemed transfigured. All the strained hurt look was gone. The brown eyes expressed a deep brooding content and the bright face glowed with love.
"Tess, dear Tess," cried Andy, "you found 'im, didn't ye, Tess? It air wonderful."
"Boy lives forever!" the smiling lips ejaculated.
A tiny snore directed their attention to the little girl in the big rocking chair.
"Wrap her up, Andy," Tess directed. "I'm going to take her home."
Andy's shaking hands could hardly do the girl's bidding.
"It's an awful night, brat. Can you do it?"
"I'll get her back, all right," promised Tess, and she went out and down the stairs.
When she came back, Andy viewed her with amazement. She stood tall and slender before him, dressed like a stripling youth in one of Deforrest Young's riding suits, boots on her feet and a cap in her hand.
"I couldn't walk in a dress," she explained simply. "Help me wrap up my hair. I've got to go cross-lots."
Quickly, Andy fastened the shining curls under the big cap. Elsie was still asleep in the blankets. Tess picked her up and went out into the hall and down the stairs. When the dwarf opened the outside door, the stinging gale slashed at the open portal.
"God help my brat!" prayed Andy. Tess looked into his face a moment, and then strode away with her burden.
The lane was even harder to reach than it had been when she came from Brewer's. She labored to the tracks, and struck off across the fields.
The wind stung her face with particles of ice, that cut like needles. A snow owl dropped from the gloom of a tree, poised a moment on wing, and stared at her with glittering, hungry eyes. Then, he fluttered upward and was gone. To force her way along took all her skill and experience with snow and storm. Unable to wade through the deep drifts by the fences, she had to roll over and over the tops of them. At such times, she put down the warmly wrapped baby and as she rolled, jerked her along through the snow. The bitter gale contested every inch of the way. The wind blew with such tremendous power in the cleared spaces that she could not face the biting blast, but again and again was compelled to creep over the icy crust, and pull the blanketed baby behind her.
When she reached the Trumansburg road, she could hardly breathe. The icy winds froze the sweat upon her toiling body and chilled the very marrow of her aching bones. The little one lay a dead weight in her arms. The ceaseless attacks of the cruel wind sapped her strength. She wanted to rest, but she remembered it wouldn't do to stop. Every step was a nightmare of impossible effort.
Suddenly down the road but a little way, a white light spread before her like a beckoning hand. Gathering her remaining strength for a final effort, she staggered toward it.
CHAPTER LII
THE STORM
The blizzard that raged in the Storm Country, the day before Christmas, was general through the East. Frederick Graves, on his way home for the Yuletide festivities, had been hampered and delayed by the storm.
Indeed, the Lehigh train almost lost its way among the drifts, and instead of arriving about supper time, it came limping in late in the evening. When the much married man stepped off the train at the Ithaca depot, he moved slowly down the long platform toward the carriage stand.