For all that up-hill, down-dale journey to Riverton, he lived over this moonlit lake and wilderness camp episode, and every hour and every thought shared with him by this girl--a playmate and lover combined--returned again like echoes of past and gone heart throbs, each time a little sweeter, each time a trifle more piercing, until his own self-complacency faded quite away and an abject penitence began to replace it. For the first time in his callow youth he began to reflect, and once started on this beneficial course, the barometer of his vanity fell rapidly. It was not long ere his own conduct since he returned to Greenvale also added an assault. He had utterly failed to realize the meaning of Chip's abject devotion--her pitiful first-hour confessions of how hard she had studied, and all for his sake; how she had counted days and hours until he was likely to return; how many times she had gone to the hilltop to watch for him; and even the eagerness of her arms and the warmth of her lips at that first moment of meeting, now came back to him. Another and even a more painful self-reproach followed this--his own neglect of opportunities and the result. He had returned to Greenvale feeling that Chip was his devoted slave and had found that she was. Like many another arrogant youth, he had plumed himself upon that fact, taking everything for granted. He had yielded to his aunt's and other friends' coaxings to tell his past winter's history of life in the woods, feeling that Chip could and would wait; and then, an unexpected and most vexatious frost had fallen upon his little love-garden, and presto! his confiding sweetheart, his almost abject slave, was one no longer. At the moment of starting, that wildwood camp and charming lake had seemed a Mecca which he must hasten to reach once more. When he again beheld it, it had lost its fairness, and to return to Greenvale and beg and implore Chip's forgiveness--ay, even kneel to her, if need be--seemed the only duty life held. His punishment had only just begun. PART II VERA RAYMOND CHAPTER XXV For a few more days, Chip lived the life that had now become unbearable, and then the end came. It was hastened, perhaps, by Hannah, for that ill-tempered spinster had been ever watchful, and with shrewd insight had seen or guessed all that had transpired. "I s'pose ye know why the Frisbies hurried away so soon after Ray got back," she said to Chip that last day. "If you don't, I can tell ye. It was 'cos they noticed the goin's on 'tween you an' him, an' wanted to head it off." Not a word of protest came from the poor child in response to this sneer, and that night she wrote two notes, one to Miss Phinney, the other to Aunt Comfort. Then, making a bundle of the few belongings she could call her own--the beaded moccasins, cap, and fur cape old Tomah had given her, and other trifles--she waited until almost midnight and stole out of the house.