"What do you propose doing now?" Mr. Britton asked of him as they were walking together the evening after his return from camp.

"That is just what I have been asking myself," Darrell replied.

"Without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion?"

"Not as yet."

"What would you wish to do, were you given your choice?"

"What I wish to do, and what I intend to do if possible, is to devote the next few months to the completion of my book. I can now afford to devote my entire time to it, but I could not do the work justice unless amid the right surroundings, and the question is, where to find them. I do not care to remain here, and yet I shrink from going among strangers."

"There is no need of that," Mr. Britton interposed, quickly; after a pause he continued: "You once expressed a desire for a sort of hermit life. I think by this time you have grown sufficiently out of yourself that you could safely live alone with yourself for a while. How would that suit you for three or four months?"

"I should like it above all things," Darrell answered enthusiastically; "it would be just the thing for my work, but where or how could I live in such a manner?"

"I believe I agreed at that time to furnish the hermitage whenever you were ready for it."

"Yes, you said something of the kind, but I never understood what you meant by it."

"Settle up your business here, pack together what things you need for a few months' sojourn in the mountains, be ready to start with me next week, and you will soon understand."

"What is this hermitage, as you call it, and where is it?" Darrell asked, curiously.

The other only shook his head with a smile.

"All right," said Darrell, laughing; "I only hope it is as secluded and beautiful as Camp Bird; I am homesick to-night for my old quarters."

"You can spend your entire time, if you so desire, without a glimpse of a human being other than the man who will look after your needs, except as I may occasionally inflict myself upon you for a day or so."

"Good!" Darrell e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"It is amid some of the grandest scenery ever created," Mr. Britton continued, adding, slowly, "and to me it is the most sacred spot on earth,--a veritable Holy of Holies; some day you will know why."

"I thank you, and I beg pardon for my levity," said Darrell, touched by the other's manner. And the two men clasped hands and parted for the night.

A few days later, as Darrell bade his friends at The Pines good-by, Kate whispered,--

"You think this is a parting for three or four months; I feel that it is more. Something tells me that before we meet again there will be a change--I cannot tell what--that will involve a long separation; but I know that through it all our hearts will be true to each other and that out of it will come joy to each of us."

"G.o.d grant it, Kathie!" Darrell murmured.

_Chapter XXV_

THE "HERMITAGE"

Deep within the heart of the Rockies a June day was drawing to its close. Behind a range of snow-crowned peaks the sun was sinking into a sea of fire which glowed and shimmered along the western horizon and in whose transfiguring radiance the bold outlines of the mountains, extending far as the eye could reach in endless ranks, were marvellously softened; the nearer cliffs and crags were wrapped in a golden glory, while the h.o.a.ry peaks against the eastern sky wore tints of rose and amethyst, and over the whole brooded the silence of the ages.

Less than a score of miles distant a busy city throbbed with ceaseless life and activity, but these royal monarchs, towering one above another, their hands joined in mystic fellowship, their heads white with eternal snows, dwelt in the same unbroken calm in which, with noiseless step, the centuries had come and gone, leaving their footprints in the granite rocks.

Amid those vast distances only two signs of human handiwork were visible. Close clinging to the sides of a rugged mountain a narrow track of shining steel wound its way upward, marking the pathway of civilization in its march from sea to sea, while near the summit of a neighboring peak a quaint cabin of unhewn logs arranged in Gothic fashion was built into the granite ledge.

On a small plateau before this unique dwelling stood John Britton and John Darrell, the latter absorbed in the wondrous scene, the other watching with intense satisfaction the surprise and rapture of his young companion. They stood thus till the sun dipped out of sight. The radiance faded, rose and amethyst deepened to purple; the mountains grew sombre and dun, their rugged outlines standing in bold relief against the evening sky. A nighthawk, circling above their heads, broke the silence with his shrill, plaintive cry, and with a sigh of deep content Darrell turned to his friend.

"What do you think of it?" the latter asked.

"It is unspeakably grand," was the reply, in awed tones.

Beckoning Darrell to follow, Mr. Britton led the way to the cabin, which he unlocked and entered.

"Welcome to the 'Hermitage!'" he said, smilingly, as Darrell paused on the threshold with an exclamation of delight.

A huge fireplace, blasted from solid rock, extended nearly across one side of the room. Over it hung antlers of moose, elk, and deer, while skins of mountain lion, bear, and wolf covered the floor. A large writing-table stood in the centre of the room, and beside it a bookcase filled with the works of some of the world's greatest authors.

Darrell lifted one book after another with the reverential touch of the true book-lover, while Mr. Britton hastily arranged the belongings of the room so as to render it as cosey and attractive as possible.

"The evenings are so cool at this alt.i.tude that a fire will soon seem grateful," he remarked, lighting the fragrant boughs of spruce and hemlock which filled the fireplace and drawing chairs before the crackling, dancing flames.

Duke, who had accompanied them, stretched himself in the firelight with a low growl of satisfaction, at which both men smiled.

It was the first time Darrell had ever seen his friend in the role of host, but Mr. Britton proved himself a royal entertainer. His experiences of mountain life had been varied and thrilling, and the cabin contained many relics and trophies of his prowess as huntsman and trapper. As the evening wore on Mr. Britton opened a small store-room built in the rock, and took therefrom a tempting repast of venison and wild fowl which his forethought had ordered placed there for the occasion. To Darrell, sitting by the fragrant fire and listening to tales of adventure, the time pa.s.sed only too swiftly, and he was sorry when the entrance of the man with his luggage recalled them to the lateness of the hour.

"There is a genuine hermit for you," Mr. Britton remarked, as the man took his departure after agreeing to come to the cabin once a day to do whatever might be needed.

"Who is he?" Darrell asked.

"No one knows. He goes by the name of 'Peter,' but nothing is known of his real name or history. He has lived in these mountains for thirty years and has not visited a city or town of any size in that time. He is a trapper, but acts as guide during the summers. He is very popular with tourist and hunting parties that come to the mountains, but nothing will induce him to leave his haunts except as he occasionally goes to some small station for supplies."

"Where does he live?"

"In a cabin about half-way down the trail. He is a good cook, a faithful man every way, but you will find him very reticent. He is one of the many in this country whose past is buried out of sight."

Mr. Britton then led the way to two smaller rooms,--a kitchen, equipped with a small stove, table, and cooking utensils, and a sleeping-apartment, its two bunks piled with soft blankets and wolf-skins.

As Darrell proceeded to disrobe his attention was suddenly attracted by an object in one corner of the room which he was unable to distinguish clearly in the dim light. Upon going over to examine it more closely, what was his astonishment to see a large crucifix of exquisite design and workmanship. As he turned towards Mr. Britton the latter smiled to see the bewilderment depicted on his face.

"You did not expect to find such a souvenir of old Rome in a mountain cabin, did you?" he asked.

"Perhaps not," Darrell admitted; "but that of itself is not what so greatly surprises me. Are you a----" He paused abruptly, without finishing the question.

"I will answer the question you hesitate to ask," the other replied; "no, I am not a Catholic; neither am I, in the strict sense of the word, a Protestant, or one who protests, since, if I were, I would protest no more earnestly against the errors of the Catholic Church than against the evils existing in other so-called Christian churches."

Darrell's eyes returned to the crucifix.

"That," continued Mr. Britton, "was given me years ago by a beloved friend of mine--a priest, now an archbishop--in return for a few services rendered some of his people. I keep it for the lessons it taught me in the years of my sorrow, and whenever my burden seems greater than I can bear, I come back here and look at that, and beside the suffering which it symbolizes my own is dwarfed to insignificance."