She went of her own accord. You'll find her at
Shaw's," said her ladyship harshly. She hated to admit that she was to
blame. But as her husband left the room, banging the door after him,
she caught her breath several times in a futile effort to stay the
sobs, and then broke down and cried, a very much abused young woman.
She hated everybody and everything.
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH DAN CUPID TRESPASSES
Lady Bazelhurst was right. Penelope was making her way through the
blackest of nights toward the home of Randolph Shaw. In deciding upon
this step, after long deliberation, she had said to herself: "Randolph
Shaw is the only real man I've seen since coming to the mountains. I
can trust him to help me to-night."
It was fully three miles to Shaw's place, most of the way over the
narrow valley road. She knew she would encounter but few tortuous
places. The last half-mile, however, was steep, rugged, and unfamiliar
to her. She had ventured no nearer to his home than Renwood's deserted
cottage, lying above and to the south of the road, almost at the base
of the long hill on whose side Shaw had built his big home. To climb
that hill was no easy task in daylight; at midnight, with the stars
obscured by clouds and tree-tops, there was something perilously
uncertain in the prospect.
Only the knowledge that patience and courage eventually would bring
her to the end made the journey possible. Time would lead her to the
haven; care would make the road a friend; a stout heart was her best
ally.
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