In the home of old Enos Dugan on that lonely island of Grand Lake was a handsome rosewood piano of the very best make, and the music old Dugan’s daughter could conjure from the instrument was the wonder and comment from Vanceborough to Houlton. She could play wild dance tunes that set the feet of all hearers to shuffling, or she could draw from the polished box sad, sweet melodies which brought the unbidden tear welling to the eye. Then, again, she could make the piano thunder and roar with the wild music of Wagner till all the forest rumbled and boomed and shuddered with the sound. Again, her fingers tinkled over the ivory keys, and the piano laughed and sang like a dancing brook in the June sunshine, drawing the birds and the squirrels to the open window, where they listened in wonder and admiration.
Few and ill-favored were the men freely permitted to visit the Dugan home, but they sat and wondered to see Hilda’s white fingers fluttering over the keys so fast that the eye could scarcely follow their swift movements. To them it was a marvel they never understood.
Hilda’s fame spread afar, but the sturdy youths of the region were brave indeed if they ventured near Dugan’s island. Even the officers were afraid of the man, and though he was reputed to be a smuggler, they generally kept as far from him as possible.
When Frank had first seen Hilda on board the little steamer that plied on the lake, she was in company with a ministerial-looking man by the name of Jones. This individual pretended that he was earnestly seeking to spread the “holy light” in dark places, but Jones it was who aided Dugan in capturing Frank, and Merry found that the pretended minister was nothing more than one of the old smuggler’s chosen allies in crime.
It was reported that Hilda Dugan was to marry this man, but Merry had seen that his attentions were decidedly unpleasant to her.
Sitting beside her in the cab, Frank fancied that her face was a trifle thinner and more refined than when he had seen her last. He had sometimes wondered in thinking of her if she had remained pretty or if time had hardened and turned her into a woman of the wilds. Now he realized that there was something in this girl that had battled with and conquered the commoner part of her nature.