But, now, it all came back to him with
menacing strength.
The man, Green, would talk to his companions of his visit to the log
house that afternoon. He would tell what he had discovered. Curiosity
would lead others of the clubhouse party to call. Some one might
remember the story of the bank clerk, who was supposed to have lost his
life in that neighborhood, but whose body was never found. There might
even be one in the party who knew the former clerk. Through them the
story would go back to the outside world. There would be investigations
by those whose business it was never to forget a criminal who had
escaped the law.
Brian felt his Re-Creation to be fully established; but what if his
identity should be discovered before the restitution he would make
should be also accomplished? And always, as he paced to and fro in his
little room in the log house, there was, like a deep undercurrent in the
flow of his troubled thought, his love for Betty Jo.
It is little wonder that, to Brian Kent, that night, the voices of the
river were filled with fearful doubt and sullen, dreadful threatenings.
And what of the woman who watched the tiny spot of light that marked
the window of the room where the re-created Brian Kent kept his lonely
vigil? Did she, too, hear the voices of the river? Did she feel the
presence of that stream which poured its dark flood so mysteriously
through the night between herself and the man yonder?
Away back, somewhere in the past, the currents of their lives in the
onward flow of the river had drawn together.
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