Winter drew a gray veil over the mountains,wove into it tiny jewels of frost and turned it many times into a mask of snow,before spring broke again among them and in Marston's impatient heart.No spring had ever been like that to him.The coming of young leaves and flowers and bird-song meant but one joy for the hills to him--the Blight was coming back to them.All those weary waiting months he had clung grimly to his work.He must have heard from her sometimes,else I think he would have gone to her;but I knew the Blight's pen was reluctant and casual for anybody,and,moreover,she was having a strenuous winter at home.That he knew as well,for he took one paper,at least,that he might simply read her name.He saw accounts of her many social doings as well,and ate his heart out as lovers have done for all time gone and will do for all time to come.
I,too,was away all winter,but I got back a month before the Blight,to learn much of interest that had come about.
The Hon.Samuel Budd had ear-wagged himself into the legislature,had moved that Court-House,and was going to be State Senator.The Wild Dog had confined his reckless career to his own hills through the winter,but when spring came,migratory-like,he began to take frequent wing to the Gap.So far,he and Marston had never come into personal conflict,though Marston kept ever ready for him,and several times they had met in the road,eyed each other in passing and made no hipward gesture at all.But then Marston had never met him when the Wild Dog was drunk--and when sober,I took it that the one act of kindness from the engineer always stayed his hand.But the Police Guard at the Gap saw him quite often--and to it he was a fearful and elusive nuisance.He seemed to be staying somewhere within a radius of ten miles,for every night or two he would circle about the town,yelling and firing his pistol,and when we chased him,escaping through the Gap or up the valley or down in Lee.