"I'll come back with her, Rivers, soon. I'm going to stay at the inn for a time."

Their hands clung together for a moment longer while one man relinquished, the other accepted. Then Northrup turned to the door.

There was a dull purplish glow falling on the Forest. The subtle, haunting smell of wood smoke rose pungently. It brought back, almost hurtingly, the past. Northrup walked rapidly along the trail.

Hurrying, hurrying to meet--he knew not what!

Presently he saw Mary-Clare, from a distance, in the ghostly woods.

Her head was bowed, her hands clasped lightly before her. There was no haste, no antic.i.p.ation in her appearance; she simply came along!

The sight of youth beaten is a terrible sight, and Mary-Clare, off her guard, alone and suffering, believed herself beaten. She was close to Northrup before she saw him. For a moment he feared the shock was going to be too great for her endurance. She turned white--then the quick red rose threateningly, the eyes dimmed.

Northrup did not speak--he could not. With grat.i.tude he presently saw the dear head lift bravely, the trembling smile curl her cold lips.

"You--have come!"

"Yes, Mary-Clare."

"How--did you know--where I was?"

"I stopped at the yellow house. I saw your--I saw Larry--he told me where to find you."

"He told you that?"

The bravery flickered--but pride rallied.

"He is very changed." The words were chosen carefully. "He is very patient and--and Noreen loves him. She never could have, if he had not come back! She--well, you remember how she used to take care of me?"

"Yes, Mary-Clare."

"She takes care of her father in that way, now that she understands his need."

"She would. That would be Noreen's way."

"Yes, her way. And I am glad he came back to us. It might all have been so different."

There was a suggestion of pa.s.sionate defence in the low, hurried words, a quick insistence that Northrup accept her position as she herself was doing.

"Yes, Mary-Clare. Your old philosophy has proved itself."

"I am glad you believe that."

"I have come to the Forest to tell you so. The things that do not count drop away. We do not have to push them from our lives."

"Oh! I am glad to hear you say that."

Mary-Clare caught her breath.

There seemed to be nothing to keep them apart now--a word, a quick sentence were all that were necessary to bridge the past and the present. Neither dared consider the future.

The small, common things crept into the conversation for a time, then Mary-Clare asked hesitatingly:

"You--you are happy? And your book?"

"The book is awaiting its time, Mary-Clare. I must live up to it. I know that now. And the girl you once saw here, well! that is all past.

It was one of those things that fell away!"

There was nothing to say to this, but Northrup heard a sharp indrawing of the breath, and felt the girl beside him stumble on the darkening trail.

"You know I went across the water to do my part?" he asked quickly.

"You would, of course. That call found such men as you. Larry went, too!" This came proudly.

"Yes, and he paid more than I did, Mary-Clare."

"He had more to pay--there was Maclin. Do you know about Maclin?"

"Yes. It was d.a.m.nable. We all scented the evil, but we're not the sort of people to believe such deviltry until it's forced upon us."

"It frightened us all terribly," Mary-Clare's voice would always hold fear when she spoke of Maclin. "I do not know what would have happened to the Forest if--a Mrs. Dana had not come just when things were at the worst."

There are occurrences in life that seem always to have been half known. Their acceptance causes no violent shock. As Mary-Clare spoke that name, Northrup for a moment paused, repeated it a bit dazedly, and, as if a curtain had been withdrawn, he saw the broad, illuminating truth! "You have heard of Mrs. Dana?" Mary-Clare asked. That Northrup knew so much did not surprise her.

"Yes, of course! And it would be like her to drop in at the psychological moment."

"She set us to work!" Mary-Clare went on. "She is the most wonderful woman I ever knew."

"She must be!"

Slower and slower the two walked down the trail. They were clutching the few golden moments.

It was quite dark when they came to the yellow house. The door was wide open, the heart of the little home lay bare to the pa.s.ser-by.

Jan-an was on her knees by the hearth, puffing to life the kindlings she had lighted. Larry's chair was drawn close and upon its arm Noreen was perched.

"They always leave it so for me," Mary-Clare whispered. "You see how everything is?"

"Yes, I see, Mary-Clare."

Northrup reached forth and drew the small clasped hands into his own!--then he bent and kissed them.

"I see, I see."

"And you will come in? Larry loves company."

"Not to-night, Mary-Clare, but to-morrow. I am going to stay at the inn for a few days."

"Oh! I am glad!" Almost the brave voice broke.

"There is something else I see, my dear," Northrup ignored the poor disguise for a moment. "I see the meaning of _you_ as I never saw it before. You have never broken faith! That is above all else--it is all else."