"Are you _sure_ she is dead, Mr. Morley?"

The unreality held Martin, too.

"I reckon she is," he faltered; "I--I couldn't hear her heart--and she laid right still. I expect she is dead."

The ludicrous overpowered even the turn of possibility, and the little doctor said:

"You just mustn't kill yourself or harm Sandy unless it is necessary, you know. If you will go out and harness my horse to the buggy, you and I will make sure."

By the time Morley had mechanically fulfilled these commands, Marcia Lowe had decided, from the sound of Molly's breathing, that she might safely be left alone, and, cloaked and hooded, joined Martin outside.

It was a dreary ride, and the two spoke seldom.

"You are to be no coward, Morley," Marcia Lowe had said; "you're to face your future like a man--like Sandy's father. He will well understand. I will stand by you and see fair play for you; I'll pay for a good lawyer, and you will take your medicine, whatever it is, and be clean and decent for your boy and girl. I'll take care of Molly."

After a time Martin agreed to this, but from the shivering of the form beside her, the little doctor realized the struggle.

And so they reached Morley's cabin and entered, like ghosts, into the fear-haunted place. Mary was gone. The fire was smouldering in the last flashes, the damp ashes were drying--but Mary had made a bodily escape.

"So!" whispered Marcia Lowe. "It was better to make sure. Go upstairs, see if she is there."

Mary was not there.

"Now come back."

Through the chill of the early morning the two drove silently back to Trouble Neck and with strange foreboding the little doctor made her way at once to the lean-to bed-chamber--Molly, too, was gone! She had made her way to Teale's, Miss Lowe felt sure.

The next morning the news spread fast, garbled by many tongues.

Teale's place had been raided! Teale had escaped and the Morleys had accompanied him.

"Well!" said Sally Taber to Cynthia; "I 'spect Mart Morley had to get his livin' somehow. The yaller streak's got the best of him."

Cynthia made no reply. Oddly enough in her fancy she was gazing upon the portrait of "The Biggest of Them All."

CHAPTER XII

Martin Morley slept, in the clean loft over Marcia Lowe's living-room.

There was a good warm bed there, and before he had gone up the ladder to his much-needed rest, the little doctor had fed him and given him hot coffee to drink.

"You are safe," she had comforted him. "God has been good to you, Martin Morley. Molly is with her mother and, sad as it is, we can do nothing more for her. Forget it all, and to-morrow you and I will consider the future."

So Martin slept and slept, and the front door of the cabin was kept closed and locked.

Refreshed and humble, Martin, on the evening of the following day, cautiously crept down the ladder from his loft-chamber and tapped upon the outer door of the cabin.

It was a very smiling and trim little body that welcomed him and bade him sit down to a table laid for an evening meal.

"You see I've waited for you, Mr. Morley; we have a slice of ham, some hot biscuits, and baked potatoes. There's a loaf of cake, too, and coffee and a try at a pudding for which my mother used to be famous."

Every nerve of Martin's starved stomach thrilled, but his eyes did not meet Marcia Lowe's.

"You are feeling better, Martin Morley?"

"Yes, ma'am; thank you, ma'am."

"Well, then I want you to share my meal."

"I--I ain't worthy, ma'am. I can never pay you, ma'am, for what you've done and meant to me. I'm ready to go now, ma'am."

"Where, Martin Morley?" The little doctor was pouring the coffee, and the odour made Morley dizzy with longing.

"I ain't just settled in my mind as to that, ma'am. The world's big, beyond The Hollow."

"Too big for you, Mr. Morley, until you are yourself--your best self again. And you can pay me--I have my bill ready."

Martin eyed her furtively and tried to steady his hand as he reached out for the plate of savoury food she was passing to him. They ate silently for a while, then Marcia Lowe tried to cheer him by scraps of gossip that had drifted to her during the day.

"They think you have gone with Teale," she said with a little laugh; "the idea of your flying off in that company! Have another potato, Mr.

Morley; the staying power of a baked potato is simply marvellous."

When the meal was finished and the dishes put away, Marcia Lowe faced her gloomy guest with deep, serious eyes.

"You feel you owe me something, Mr. Morley?" she asked. They were sitting opposite each other by the hearth; a pouring rain dashed against the window and a rising wind howled through the trees. A sleek yellow cat turned around two or three times and then settled comfortably at Marcia Lowe's feet and purred happily.

"I do that, mum."

"You are--willing to do something for me--for Sandy, but most of all for yourself?"

Morley was becoming accustomed to the little doctor's quaint way of putting questions, but her manner still puzzled him.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered confusedly.

"Then listen, Martin Morley. I want to save you, first of all for yourself--next for that boy of yours, who, I somehow feel confident, will come back to honour us all. I believe I can do what I have in mind--there is a little risk, very little, but will you run it for me?"

Morley's thin face twitched. Many emotions swayed him. Doubt, suspicion, superstition, the ingrained revolt of sex--the male resenting this power of the female--all, all held part in Morley's mind, weakened by trouble and malnutrition, but above all was the innate yearning to prove himself for Sandy. Martin had the supreme instinct of parenthood.

"You know you were willing to die for him, Mr. Morley. Are you not willing to run the chance of a better, cleaner life?"

Marcia Lowe was bending forward now, her face radiant and inspired--she looked young, lovely and compassionate.

"I--I--don't follow you, ma'am." Poor Martin was caught in the toils of the enthusiast.

"Then listen. I have studied and--conquered to a certain extent--a great and noble help for humanity--but I am hampered in my work because I am a woman. Oh! no one--no man can understand how terrible it is for us women to look beyond the man and woman part of life and see _human beings_ needing us, crying out to us, and for us, to realize that often we might help, in our own way best of all--if only something, over which we have no control, did not bar us. You see, men have no right to deprive human beings of any assistance the world can give. If we women tell men of our hopes and our beliefs, they accept or decline as they think best--and so much is lost! Why, I have been pleading with The Forge doctor ever since I came, to work with me in doing what I long to do, and he will not--he laughs! I am not rich enough or important enough to bring a big doctor from my home to do this thing for you, all that I could do alone. So here I stand with, I solemnly believe, a precious gift and I--I--cannot give it to you because--you won't trust a woman!"