The Mystery of the Hasty ArrowGreen, Anna Katharine
General
The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow
Green, Anna Katharine
Detective and mystery stories
The fate which had pursued her ever since she had left her happy home
in France had not spared her at this crisis. The storm, of so little
consequence to her, had roused the driver's sympathy. This had not only
fixed her image in his mind but given away her destination. All hope of
hiding herself among the mountains was therefore gone. She would have to
move on; but where? If she were but able to leave now, she might before
morning find some covert from which help might be given her for further
escape. But the condition of the roads, as well as her own weakness,
forbade that. She needed food: she needed sleep. Of food she would find
plenty, she was sure; but sleep! How could she sleep, with the promise
of the morrow before her? Yet she must; everything depended upon her
strength. How could she win that rest which alone would secure it.
Pausing in the midst of the hall whither her restless thought had driven
her, she stared in a fruitless inquiry at the wall confronting her. Her
mind, like her feet, was at a standstill. She could neither think nor
act. In fact, she was at the point of a nervous collapse, when slowly
from out the void there rose to her view and pierced its way into her
mind the outline of the door upon which she had been steadily looking but
without seeing it till now. Why did she start as it thus took on shape
before her? There was nothing strange or mysterious about it. It led
nowhere; it hid nothing, unless it was the yard upon which it directly
opened.
But that yard! She remembered it well. It was unlike any other she had
ever seen in this country or her own. It was small and semicircular; it
was shut in by a high board fence except at the extreme end, where it was
met by a swinging bridge topping a forty-foot chasm. That bridge led
through a sparsely wooded forest to a road running in a quite different
direction from the one by which the house was approached. As she strove
to recall her memories of it, she became more and more assured that her
one and only opportunity for a successful flight lay that way. Moved to
joy at the thought, she bowed her head for one wild moment in heartfelt
thankfulness and then quickly drew the bolts of the door which offered
her this happy deliverance.
She did not mean to seek escape to-night, but an irresistible impulse,
which quite robbed her of her judgment, drove her to take a look into the
yard and make sure for herself that the bridge was still there and
everything as she had last seen it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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