The doctor looked very moody for a few minutes; then his brow brightened. Faith's straightforward truth had served her as well as the most exquisite piece of involution. The doctor could not very well see the face with which her words were spoken and had to make up his mind upon them alone.

"It is so!" was his settled conclusion. "She has only a child's friendly liking for him--nothing more--or she never, simple as she is, would have said that to me with that frankness!"

Moodiness returned to the doctor's brow no more. He left Quapaw creek in the distance and talked of all manner of pleasant things. And so, with no second break of the order of march, they went on and went home.

"Mr. Linden," said Faith when she was lighting the lamp for study in the evening,--"you'll never ask anything of me so hard to do as that was to-day."

"Hard?" he replied. "Why?"

"To keep in front, where I could not see you and that horse."

"Miss Faith! I am very sorry!--But you know I had you in charge--I felt bound to keep you in sight."

"I know,"--she said; and sat down to her work.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

There was no more riding after that--the weather grew too cold, and Mattabeeset was put off till spring; but with walks and talks and reading aloud, Gothe's maxim was well carried out. For there is music that needs no composer but Peace, and fireside groups that are not bad pictures in stormy weather. And so December began to check off its short days with busy fingers.

There came a sudden interruption to all this, except December's part of it. For a letter arrived from Miss Delia Danforth, at Pequot, begging that Faith would come and spend a little time with her. Miss Delia was very unwell, and suffering and alone, with the exception of her brother's French wife; and she wrote with longing desire to see Faith.

Mr. Danforth had been some years dead, and the widow and the sister who had lived so long together with him, since his death had kept their old household life, in a very quiet way, without him. But now Miss Danforth longed for some of her own kindred, or had a special liking or desire for Faith's company, for she prayed her to come. And it was not a call that Faith herself a moment doubted about answering. Mrs. Derrick's willingness lingered, for various natural reasons; but that too followed. It was clear that Faith ought not to refuse.

The day before she was to go, Mrs. Derrick made her self unusually busy and tired, so as to spare Faith's study-time; and thus it fell out, that when night came and prayers were over, Mrs. Derrick went straight to bed; partly from fatigue, partly to be ready for an early start next day; for she was to drive Faith over to Pequot. No such need or inducements sent Faith to bed; and the two students planned a longer evening of work than common, to antic.i.p.ate lost time. But when the hours were about half spent, Cindy came to the door and called out, "Miss Faith!"--Faith left her book and went to the door, which she held open.

"There was a boy come to-night," said Cindy, "from that old starvation creatur' down by Barley point, and he says she's more in a box than ever. Haint a crumb of bread for breakfast--nor supper neither, for that."

"Is the boy here now?"

"Why sakes no!" said Cindy. "He come while you was to supper. I s'pose I might ha' telled ye before, but then again I was busy bakin'

cakes--and I'm free to confess I forgot. And prayers always does turn everything out of ray head. I can't guess how I thought of it now. Mr.

Skip's away to-night, too," said Cindy in conclusion. Faith shut the door behind her.

"It's too far for you to go alone. Can you find somebody to go with you, Cindy? I'll put up a basket of things for her."

"Aint a soul in sight--" said Cindy. "I'd as lieves go the hull way alone as to snoop round, hunting folks."

"Then Cindy, if you'll get ready I'll go with you. She must have something."

Cindy looked at her. "Guess you better get fixed first, Miss Faith.

'Taint hardly worth my while, I reckon. Who shouldn't we have after us!"

"Just have your shawl and bonnet ready, Cindy, will you?" said Faith gravely,--"and I'll be ready in a very few minutes."

She went with business speed to pantry and cellar, and soon had a sizeable basket properly filled. Leaving that in Cindy's charge, Faith went back to the sitting-room, and came and stood by the table, and said quietly, "I can't do any more to-night, Mr. Linden. I must be busy in another way. I am going out for a little while."

"May I ask--not from curiosity--with whom?" he said looking up at her.

"With Cindy--to attend to some business she didn't tell me of in proper time." Faith had laid her books together and was going off. Mr. Linden rose from the table.

"With me, if you please, Miss Faith. I will not intrude upon your business."

"It's no business to be intruded upon!" she said with her simple look into his face. "But Cindy and I can do it. Please do not let me take you away! I am not afraid--much."

"Miss Faith, you want a great many lessons yet!--and I do not deserve this. Don't you know that in Mrs. Derrick's absence I am guardian of her house--and of you? I will go with you, or without you--just as you choose," he added smiling. "If you would rather study than walk, you shall. Is the business too intricate for me to manage?"

"It's only to carry some things to an old woman who is in great want of them. They can't wait till to-morrow. If you will go, Mr. Linden,--I'll be ready in a minute. I'd like to go."

She ran to get ready, and Mr. Linden went to the kitchen and took the basket from Cindy, and then waited at the front door till Faith came, and they went out into the moonlight together. A very bright moonlight, and dark shadows--dark and still; only one of them seemed to move; but that one made Faith glad of her change of companions. Perhaps it made the same suggestion to Mr. Linden, for his first words looked that way.

"Miss Faith, you did not do quite right, to-night. Don't you know--"

with a gentle half smiling tone--"you must not let _anything_ make you do wrong?"

Her look and tone were both very confiding, and touched with timidity.

"Did I, Mr. Linden? I didn't mean it."

"I know that--but you must remember for another time." And he went off to other subjects, giving her talk and information that were perhaps better than books. The walk was good, too; the air bracing, and the village sights and sounds in a subsiding glimmer and murmur. The evening out of doors was worth as much as the evening within doors could have been. Faith thought so. The way was down the road that led to Barley point, branching off from that. The distance to the poor cottage seemed short enough, but if it had seemed long Faith would have felt herself well paid--so much was the supply needed, so joyfully was it received. The basket was left there for Mr. Skip to bring home another time, and at a rather late hour in the evening the return walk began.

The night was sharp and frosty, and still, now, with a depth of silence. The moon, high and full, beamed down in silver splendour, and the face of the earth was all white or black. The cold, clear light, the sharp shadows angling and defining everything, the absolute stillness--how well they chimed!--and chime they did, albeit noiselessly. In that bracing air the very steps of the two homeward bound people seemed to spring more light and elastic, and gave little sound. They went on together with a quick even step,--the very walking was pleasant. For a while they talked busily too,--then Thought came in and claimed her place, and words ceased.

They had left the turn to the belt of woods, and were now pa.s.sing one or two empty fields where low hedges made a black line of demarcation, and the moonlight seemed even whiter than before. Faith was on the side next the road, and both a little way out, for the walking was smoother and dryer.

How it was done Faith could not tell--the next two seconds seemed full of separate things which she remembered afterwards--but her hand was disengaged from Mr. Linden's arm, and he was standing before her and she behind him, almost before she had fairly seen a little flash of red light from the hedge before them. A sharp report--a powdery taint on the sweet air, came then to give their evidence--to what?

That second past, Mr. Linden turned, but still standing so as to shield her, and laid both hands on her shoulders.

"Are you hurt?" he said, in a voice lowered by feeling, not intent.

One bewildered instant she stood mute--perhaps with no breath for words; the next minute, with a motion too unexpected and sudden to be hindered, lifting both hands she threw his off, bounded to one side to be clear of him, and sprang like a gazelle towards the spot where the red flash had caught her eye. But she was caught and stopped before she reached it, and held still--that same shield between her and the hedge.

"Did it touch you?" Mr. Linden repeated.

"No--Let me! let me!"--she said eagerly endeavouring to free herself.

He was silent a moment--a deep drawn breath the only reply; but he did not loose his hold.

"My dear child," he said, "you could find nothing--for what would you go?"--the tone was very gentle, even moved. "You must walk on before me as quick as you can. Will you promise to do it? I will keep you in sight."

"Before you?--no. What are you going to do? Are you touched?"--Her voice changed as she went on.

"I am not hurt--and mean to do nothing to-night but follow you home.

But give me your promise, Miss Faith,--you must not stand here."

"Why in front? will they be behind us?"