Chapter 30

by Jack London

　　Next morning, Jacob Welse, for all of the Company and his millions inmines, chopped up the day's supply of firewood, lighted a cigar, andwent down the island in search of Baron Courbertin. Frona finished thebreakfast dishes, hung out the robes to air, and fed the dogs. Thenshe took a worn Wordsworth from her clothes-bag, and, out by the bank,settled herself comfortably in a seat formed by two uprooted pines.But she did no more than open the book; for her eyes strayed out andover the Yukon to the eddy below the bluffs, and the bend above, andthe tail of the spit which lay in the midst of the river. The rescueand the race were still fresh with her, though there were strangelapses, here and there, of which she remembered little. The struggleby the fissure was immeasurable; she knew not how long it lasted; andthe race down Split-up to Roubeau Island was a thing of which herreason convinced her, but of which she recollected nothing.The whim seized her, and she followed Corliss through the three days'events, but she tacitly avoided the figure of another man whom shewould not name. Something terrible was connected therewith, she knew,which must be faced sooner or later; but she preferred to put thatmoment away from her. She was stiff and sore of mind as well as ofbody, and will and action were for the time being distasteful. It wasmore pleasant, even, to dwell on Tommy, on Tommy of the bitter tongueand craven heart; and she made a note that the wife and children inToronto should not be forgotten when the Northland paid its dividendsto the Welse.The crackle of a foot on a dead willow-twig roused her, and her eyesmet St. Vincent's."You have not congratulated me upon my escape," he began, breezily."But you must have been dead-tired last night. I know I was. And youhad that hard pull on the river besides."He watched her furtively, trying to catch some cue as to her attitudeand mood."You're a heroine, that's what you are, Frona," he began again, withexuberance. "And not only did you save the mail-man, but by the delayyou wrought in the trial you saved me. If one more witness had gone onthe stand that first day, I should have been duly hanged before Gow putin an appearance. Fine chap, Gow. Too bad he's going to die.""I am glad that I could be of help," she replied, wondering the whilewhat she could say."And of course I am to be congratulated--""Your trial is hardly a thing for congratulation," she spoke upquickly, looking him straight in the eyes for the moment. "I am gladthat it came out as it did, but surely you cannot expect me tocongratulate you.""O-o-o," with long-drawn inflection. "So that's where it pinches." Hesmiled good-humoredly, and moved as though to sit down, but she made noroom for him, and he remained standing. "I can certainly explain. Ifthere have been women--"Frona had been clinching her hand nervously, but at the word burst outin laughter."Women?" she queried. "Women?" she repeated. "Do not be ridiculous,Gregory.""After the way you stood by me through the trial," he began,reproachfully, "I thought--""Oh, you do not understand," she said, hopelessly. "You do notunderstand. Look at me, Gregory, and see if I can make you understand.Your presence is painful to me. Your kisses hurt me. The memory ofthem still burns my cheek, and my lips feel unclean. And why? Becauseof women, which you may explain away? How little do you understand!But shall I tell you?"Voices of men came to her from down the river-bank, and the splashingof water. She glanced quickly and saw Del Bishop guiding a poling-boatagainst the current, and Corliss on the bank, bending to the tow-rope."Shall I tell you why, Gregory St. Vincent?" she said again. "Tell youwhy your kisses have cheapened me? Because you broke the faith of foodand blanket. Because you broke salt with a man, and then watched thatman fight unequally for life without lifting your hand. Why, I hadrather you had died in defending him; the memory of you would have beengood. Yes, I had rather you had killed him yourself. At least, itwould have shown there was blood in your body.""So this is what you would call love?" he began, scornfully, hisfretting, fuming devil beginning to rouse. "A fair-weather love,truly. But, Lord, how we men learn!""I had thought you were well lessoned," she retorted; "what of theother women?""But what do you intend to do?" he demanded, taking no notice. "I amnot an easy man to cross. You cannot throw me over with impunity. Ishall not stand for it, I warn you. You have dared do things in thiscountry which would blacken you were they known. I have ears. I havenot been asleep. You will find it no child's play to explain awaythings which you may declare most innocent."She looked at him with a smile which carried pity in its cold mirth,and it goaded him."I am down, a thing to make a jest upon, a thing to pity, but I promiseyou that I can drag you with me. My kisses have cheapened you, eh?Then how must you have felt at Happy Camp on the Dyea Trail?"As though in answer, Corliss swung down upon them with the tow-rope.Frona beckoned a greeting to him. "Vance," she said, "the mail-carrierhas brought important news to father, so important that he must gooutside. He starts this afternoon with Baron Courbertin in La Bijou.Will you take me down to Dawson? I should like to go at once, to-day."He . . . he suggested you," she added shyly, indicating St. Vincent.