Northrup had cast himself upon Twombley’s hospitality with the plea of business. He outlined a programme and demanded silence.

“I’m going to buy this Point,” he confided, “and I’m going to go away, Twombley. I’m going to leave things exactly as they are until––well, perhaps always. Just consider yourself my superintendent.”

Twombley blinked.

“Snatching hot cakes?” he asked. “Spoiling Maclin’s meal?”

“Something like that, yes. I don’t know what all this means, Twombley, but I’m going to take no chances. I want to be in a position to hit square if anything needs hitting. If no one knows that I’m in on this deal, I’ll be better pleased––but I want you to keep me informed.”

Twombley nodded.

About noon Northrup departed, but he did not reach the inn until nearly dark.

Heathcote and Polly had been tremendously agitated by the appearance of the Morris car and the Japanese. They were in a sad state of excitement. The vicious circle of unbelievable happenings seemed to be drawing close.

“I guess I’ll put the Chinese”––Peter was not careful as to particulars––“out in the barn to sleep,” he said, but Polly shook her head.

“No, keep him where you can watch ’im,” she cautioned. “There’ll be no sleeping for me while this unchristian business is afoot. Peter, what do you suppose the creature eats?”

“I ain’t studying about that”––Peter shook with nervous laughter––“but I’m going to chain Ginger up. I’ve heard these Chinese-ers lean to animals.”

“Nonsense, brother! But do you suppose the young woman what’s on her way here is a female Chinese?”

“The Lord knows!” Peter bristled. “I wish Northrup would fetch up and handle these items of his. My God! Polly, we have been real soft toward this young feller. Appearances and our dumb feelings about folks may have let us all in for some terrible results. Maclin’s keener than us, perhaps.”

“Now, brother”––Polly was bustling around––“this is no time to set my nerves on edge. Here we be; here all this mess is. We best hold tight.”

So Peter and Polly “held tight” while inwardly they feared that King’s Forest was in deadly peril and that they had let the unsuspecting people in for who could tell––what?

About five o’clock Kathryn came upon the scene. Her late encounter had left her careless as to her physical appearance; she was a bit bedraggled and her low shoes and silk hose––a great deal of the latter showing––were evidences against her respectability.

“I’m Mr. Northrup’s fiancÉe,” she explained, and sank into a chair by the hearth.

Aunt Polly did not know what she meant, but in that she belonged to Northrup, she must be recognized, and plainly she was not Chinese!

Peter fixed his little, sparkling eyes on his guest and his hair rose an inch while his face reddened.

“Perhaps you better go to your room,” he suggested as he might to a naughty child. He wanted to get the girl out of his sight and he hated to see Polly waiting upon her. Kathryn detected the tone and it roused her. No man ever made an escape from Kathryn when he used that note! Her eyes filled with tears; her lips quivered.

“Mr. Northrup’s mother is dying,” she faltered; a shade more or less did not count now––“help me to be brave and calm for his sake. Please be my friend as you have been his!”

This was a wild guess but it served its purpose. Peter felt like a brute and Aunt Polly was all a-tremble.

“Dear me!” she said, hovering over the girl, “somehow we never thought about Brace’s folks and all that. Just you come upstairs and rest and wash. I’ll fetch you some nice hot tea. It’s terrible––his mother dying––and you having to break it to him.” Polly led Kathryn away and Peter sat wretchedly alone.

When Polly returned he was properly contrite and set to work assisting with the evening meal. Polly was silent for the most part, but she was deeply concerned.

“She says she’s going to marry Brace,” she confided.

“Well, I reckon if she says she is, she is!” Peter grunted. “She looks capable of doing it.”

“Peter, you mustn’t be hard.”

“I hope to the Lord I can be hard.” Peter looked grim. “It’s being soft and easy as has laid us open to––what?”

“Peter, you give me the creeps.”

Peter and Polly were in the kitchen when Kathryn came downstairs. She had had a bath and a nap. She had resorted to her toilet aids and she looked pathetically lovely as she crouched by the hearth in the empty room and waited for Northrup’s return. Every gesture she made bespoke the sweet clinging woman bent on mercy’s task.

She again saw herself in a dramatic scene. Northrup would open the door––that one! Kathryn fixed her eyes on the middle door––he would look at her––reel back; call her name, and she would rush to him, fall in his arms; then control herself, lead him to the fire and break the sad news to him gently, sweetly. He would kneel at her feet, bury his face in her lap–––

But while Kathryn was mentally rehearsing this and thrilling at the success of her wonderful intuitions, Northrup was striding along the road toward the inn, his head bent forward, his hands in his pockets. He was feeling rather the worse for wear; the consequences of his deeds and promises were hurtling about him like tangible, bruising things.

He was never to see Mary-Clare again! That had sounded fine and noble when it meant her freedom from Larry Rivers, but what a beastly thing it seemed, viewed from Mary-Clare’s 199 side. What would she think of him? After those hours of understanding––those hours weighted with happiness and delight that neither of them dared to call by their true names, so beautiful and fragile were they! Those hours had been like bubbles in which all that was real was reflected. They had breathed upon them, watched them, but had not touched them frankly. And now–––

How ugly and ordinary it would all seem if he left without one last word!

The past few weeks might become a memory that would enrich and ennoble all the years on ahead or they might, through wrong interpretation, embitter and corrode.

Northrup was prepared to make any sacrifice for Mary-Clare; he had achieved that much, but he chafed at the injustice to his best motives if he carried out, literally, what he had promised. He was face to face with one of those critical crises where simple right seemed inadequate to deal with complex wrong.

To leave Mary-Clare free to live whatever life held for her, without bitterness or regret, was all he asked. As for himself, Northrup had agreed to go back––he thought, as he plunged along, in Manly’s terms––to his slit in the wall and keep valiantly to it in the future. But he, no matter what occurred, would always have a wider, purer vision; while Mary-Clare, the one who had made this possible, would–––Oh! it was an unbearable thought.

And just then a rustling in the bushes by the road brought him to a standstill.

“Who’s that?” he asked roughly.

Jan-an came from behind a clump of sumach. A black shawl over her head and falling to her feet made her seem part of the darkness. Northrup turned his flashlight upon her and only her vague white face was visible.

“What’s up?” he asked, as Jan-an came nearer. The girl no longer repelled him––he had seen behind her mask, had known her faithfulness and devotion to them he must leave forever. Northrup was still young enough to believe in that word––forever.

Jan-an came close.

“Say, there’s a queer lot to the inn. They’re after you!”

Northrup started.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“A toot cart with an image setting up the front––and a dressy piece in the glass cage behind.”

So vivid was the picture that Jan-an portrayed that Northrup did not need to question.

“Lord! but she was togged out,” Jan-an went on, “but seemed like I felt she had black wings hid underneath.” Poor Jan-an’s flights of fancy always left her muddled. “If you want that I should tell her anything while you light out–––”

Northrup laughed.

“There, there, Jan-an,” he comforted. “Why, this is all right. You wanted me to know, in case––oh! but you’re a good sort! But see here, everything is safe and sound and”––Northrup paused, then suddenly––“to-morrow, Jan-an, I want you to go to––to Mary-Clare and tell her I left––good-bye for her and Noreen.”

“Yer––yer going away?” Jan-an writhed under the flashlight.

“Yes, Jan-an.”

“Why–––” The girl burst into tears. Northrup tried to comfort her. “I’ve been so stirred,” the girl sobbed. “I had feelin’s–––”

“So have I, Jan-an. So have I.”

They stood in the dark for a moment and then, because there was nothing more to say––Northrup went to meet Kathryn Morris.

He went in at one of the end doors, not the middle one, and so disturbed Kathryn’s stage setting. He opened and closed the door so quietly, walked over to the fire so rapidly, that to rise and carry out her programme was out of the question, so Kathryn remained on the hearth and Northrup dropped into the chair beside her.

“Well, little girl,” he said––people always lowered their voices when speaking to Kathryn––“what is it?”

Northrup was braced for bad news. Of course Manly had given his address to Kathryn––it was something beyond the realm of letters and telegrams that had occurred; Kathryn had been sent! That Manly was not prime mover in this matter could not occur to Northrup.

“Is it Mother?” he whispered.

Kathryn nodded and her easy tears fell.

“Dead?” The word cut like a knife and Kathryn shivered. For the first she doubted herself; felt like a bungler.

“Oh! no, Brace; Brace, do not look like that––really––really––listen to me.”

Northrup breathed heavily.

“An accident?” he demanded. A hard note rang in his words. This turn of affairs was rather more than Kathryn had arranged for. It was like finding herself on the professional stage when she had bargained for an amateur performance.

She ran to cover, abandoning all her well-laid plans. She knew the advantage of being the first in a new situation, so she hurried there.

“Brace dear, I––you know I have been bearing it all alone and I dared not take any further responsibility even to––to shield you, dearest, and your work.”

By some dark magic Northrup felt himself a selfish brute; a deserter of duty.

“Kathryn,” he said, and his eyes fell, “please tell me. I suppose I have been unforgivable, but––well, there’s nothing to say!” Northrup bowed his head to take whatever blow might fall.

“I may be all wrong, dear. You know, when one is alone, is the confidante of another, one as precious as your mother is to you and me, it unnerves one––I did not know what to do. It may not be anything––but how could I know?”

“You went to Manly?” Northrup asked this with a sense of relief while at the same time Kathryn had risen to a plane so high that he felt humbled before her. He was still dazed and in the dark, but all was not lost!

While he had been following his selfish ends, Kathryn had 202 stood guard over all that was sacred to him. He had never before realized the strength and purpose of the pretty child near him. He reached out and laid his hand on the bowed head.

“No, dear, that was it. Your mother would not let me––she thought only of you; you must not be worried, just now––oh! you know how she is! But, dearest, she has had, for years, a strange and dreadful pain. It does not come often, but when it does, it is very, very bad––it comes mostly at night––so she has been able to hide it from you; the day following she always spoke of it as a headache––you know how we have sympathized with her––but never were alarmed?”

Northrup nodded. He recalled those headaches.

“Well, a week ago she called me to come to her––she really looked quite terrible, Brace. I was so frightened, but of course I had to hide my feelings. She says––oh! Brace, she says there is––way back in the family–––”

“Nonsense!” Northrup got up and paced the floor. “Manly has told me that was sheer nonsense. Go on, Kathryn.”

“Well, dear, she was weak and so pitiful and she––she confided things to me that I am sure she would not have, had she been her brave, dear self.”

“What kind of things?”

It was horrible, but Northrup was conscious of being in a net where the meshes were wide enough to permit of his seeing freedom but utterly cutting him off from it.

What he had subconsciously hoped the night before, what his underlying strength had been founded upon, he would never be able to know, for now he felt every line of escape from, heaven knew what, closing upon him; permitting no choice, wiping out all the security of happiness; leaving––chaff. For a moment, he forgot the question he had just asked, but Kathryn was struggling to answer it.

“About you and me, Brace. Oh! help me. It is so hard; so hard, dear, to tell you, but you must realize that because of the things she said, I estimated the seriousness of her condition and I cannot spare myself! Brace, she knows that 203 you and I––have been putting off our marriage because of her!”

There was one mad moment when Northrup felt he was going to laugh; but instantly the desire fled and ended in something approaching a groan.

“Go on!” he said quietly, and resumed his seat by the fire.

“I think we have been careless rather than thoughtful, dear. Older people can be hurt by such kindness––if they are wonderful and proud like your mother. She cannot bear to––to be an obstacle.”

“An obstacle? Good Lord!” Northrup jammed a log to its place and so relieved his feelings.

“Well, my dearest, you must see the position I was placed in?”

“Yes, Kathryn, I do. You’re a brick, my dear, but––how did you know where I was, if you did not go to Manly?”

Kathryn looked up, and all the childlike confidence and sweetness she could summon lay in her lovely eyes.

“Dearest, I remembered the address on the letter you sent to your mother. Because I wanted to keep this secret about our fear from her––I came alone and I knew that people here could direct me if you had gone away. I was prepared to follow you––anywhere!”––Kathryn suddenly recalled her small hand-bag upstairs––“Brace, I was frightened, bearing it alone. I had to have you. Oh! Brace.”

Northrup found the girl in his arms. His face was against hers––her tears were falling and she was sobbing helplessly. The net, it was a purse net now, drew close.

“Brace, Brace, we must make her happy, together. I will share everything with you––I have been so heedless; so selfish––but my life is now yours and––hers!”

Guilt filled the aroused soul of Northrup. As far as in him lay he––surrendered! With characteristic swiftness and thoroughness he closed his eyes and made his dash!

“Kathryn, you mean you will marry me; you will––do this for me and her?”

“Yes.”

Just then Aunt Polly came into the room. Her quick, keen eye took in the scene and her gentle heart throbbed in sympathy. She came over to the two and hovered near them, patting Northrup’s shoulder and Kathryn’s head indiscriminately. She crooned over them and finally got them to the dining-room and the evening meal.

An early start for the morrow was planned, and by nine o’clock Kathryn went to her room.

Northrup was restless and nervous. There was much to be done before he left. He must see Rivers and finish that business––it might have to be hurried, but he felt confident that by raising Larry’s price he could secure his ends. And then, because of the finality in the turn of events, Northrup desperately decided upon a compromise with his conscience. Strange as it now seemed he had, before his talk with Kathryn, believed that he was done forever with his experience, but he realized, as he reconsidered the matter, that hope, a strange, blind hope, had fluttered earlier but that now it was dead; dead!

Since that was the case, he would do for a dead man––Northrup gruesomely termed himself that––what the dead man could not do for himself. Surely no one, not even Rivers, would deny him that poor comfort, if all were known. He would write a note to Mary-Clare, go early in the morning to that cabin on the hill and leave it––where her eye would fall upon it when she entered.

That the cabin was sacred to Mary-Clare he very well knew; that she shared it with no one, he also knew; but she would forgive his trespassing, since it was his only way in honour out––out of her life.

Very well, then! At nine-thirty he decided to go over to the Point again and, if he found Larry, finish that business. If Larry were not there, he would lie in wait for him and gain his ends. So he prepared for another night away from the inn, if necessary.

Aunt Polly, hovering on the outskirts of all that was going on, materialized, as he was about leaving the house like a thief of the night.

“Now, son, must you go out?” she pleaded, her spectacles awry on the top of her head, her eyes unnaturally bright.

“Yes, Aunt Polly.” Northrup paused, the knob of the door in hand, and looked down at the little creature.

“Is it fair, son?” Aunt Polly was savagely thinking of the gossip of the Forest––she wildly believed that Northrup might be going to the yellow house. The hurry of departure might blind him to folly.

“Fair––fair to whom, Aunt Polly?” Northrup’s brows drew together.

“To yourself, son. Bad news and the sudden going away–––” the old voice choked. It was hard to use an enemy’s weapon against one’s own, even to save him.

“Aunt Polly, look at me.” This was spoken sternly.

“I am looking, son, I am looking.” And so she was.

“I’m going out, because I must, if I am to do my duty by others. You must trust me. And I want you to know that all my future life will be the stronger, the safer, because of my weeks here with you all! I came to you with no purpose––just a tired, half-sick man, but things were taken out of my hands. I’ve been used, and I don’t know myself just yet for what. I’m going to have faith and you must have it––I’m with you, not against you. Will you kiss me, Aunt Polly?”

From his height Northrup bent to Polly’s littleness, but she reached up to him with her frail tender arms and seemed to gather him into her denied motherhood. Without a word she kissed him and––let him go!

Northrup found Rivers in his shack. He looked as if he had been sitting where Northrup left him the night before. He was unkempt and haggard and there were broken bits of food on the untidy table, and stains of coffee.

“I’m going away, Rivers,” Northrup explained, sitting opposite Larry. “I couldn’t wait to get word from you––my mother is ill. I must put this business through in a sloppy way. It may need a lot of legal patching after, but I’ll take my chances. Heathcote has straightened out your wife’s part––the Point is yours. I’ve made sure of that. 206 Now I’m going to write out something that I think will hold––anyway, I want your signature to it and to a receipt for money I will give you. What we both know will after all be the real deed, for if you don’t keep your bargain, I’ll come back.”

Larry stared dully, insolently at Northrup but did not speak. He watched Northrup writing at the table where the food lay scattered. Then, when the clumsy document was finished, Northrup pushed it toward Rivers.

“Sign there!” he said.

“I’ll sign where I damn please.” Larry showed his teeth. “How much you going to give me for my woman?”

For a moment the sordid room seemed to be swirling in a flood of red and yellow. Northrup got on his feet.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he muttered, “but you deserve it.”

“Ah, have it your own way,” Larry cringed. The memory of the night before steadied him. He’d been drinking heavily and was stronger––and weaker, in consequence.

“How much is––is the price for the Point?” he mumbled.

Northrup mastered his rage and sat down. Feeling sure that Rivers would dicker he said quietly:

“A thousand dollars.”

“Double that!” Rivers’s eyes gleamed. A thousand dollars would take him out of Maclin’s reach, but all that he could get beyond would keep him there longer.

“Rivers, I expected this, so I’ll name my final price. Fifteen hundred! Hurry up and sign that paper.”

Larry signed it unsteadily but clearly.

“Have you seen your wife, Rivers?” Northrup passed a cheque across the table.

“I’m going to see her to-morrow––I have up to Friday, you know.”

“Yes, that’s true. I must go to-morrow morning, but I’ll make sure you keep to your bargain.”

“And––you?” Rivers’s lips curled.

“I have kept my bargain.”

“And you’ll get away without talking to my wife?”

Northrup’s eyes grew dark.

“Yes. But, Rivers, if I find that you play loose in any way, by God, I’ll settle with you if I have to scour the earth for you. Remember, she is to know everything––everything, and after that––you’re to get out––quick.”

“I’ll get out all right.”

“I hope, just because of your wife and child, Rivers, that you’ll straighten up; that something will get a grip on you that will pull you up––not down further. No man has a right to put the burden of his right living or his going to hell on a woman’s conscience, but women like your wife often have to carry that load. You’ve got that in you which, put to good purpose, might–––”

“Oh! cut it out.” Rivers could bear no more. “I’m going to get out of your way––what more in hell do you want?”

“Nothing.” Northrup rose, white-lipped and stern. “Nothing. We are both of us, Rivers, paying a big price for a woman’s freedom. It’s only just––we ought not to want anything more.”

With that Northrup left the shack and retraced his lonely way to the inn.