here--there always has been--and I'm shut out of it. Lynde won't
confide in me--in me who'd give my life's blood to help her. Perhaps I
can help her--I could tell you something. Have you stopped coming to
Four Winds--has she made you stop coming--because she's got such a
wicked old scamp for a father? Is that the reason?"

Alan shook his head.

"No, that has nothing to do with it."

"And you won't come back?"

"It is not a question of will. I cannot--must not go."

"Lynde will break her heart then," said Emily in a tone of despair.

"I think not. She is too strong and fine for that. Help her all you
can with sympathy but don't torment her with any questions. You may
tell her if you like that I advise her to confide the whole story to
you, but if she cannot don't tease her to. Be very gentle with her."

"You don't need to tell me that. I'd rather die than hurt her. I came
here full of anger against you--but I see now you are not to blame.
You are suffering too--your face tells that. All the same, I wish
you'd never set foot in Four Winds. She wasn't happy before but she
wasn't so miserable as she is now. Oh, I know Anthony is at the bottom
of it all in some way but I won't ask you any more questions since you
don't feel free to answer them. But are you sure that nothing can be
done to clear up the trouble?"

"Too sure," said Alan's white lips.

* * * * *

The autumn dragged away. Alan found out how much a man may suffer and
yet go on living and working. As for that, his work was all that made
life possible for him now and he flung himself into it with feverish
energy, growing so thin and hollow-eyed over it that even Elder Trewin
remonstrated and suggested a vacation--a suggestion at which Alan
merely smiled. A vacation which would take him away from Lynde's
neighbourhood--the thought was not to be entertained.

He never saw Lynde, for he never went to any part of the shore now;
yet he hungered constantly for the sight of her, the sound of her
voice, the glance of her luminous eyes. When he pictured her eating
her heart out in the solitude of Four Winds, he clenched his hands in
despair. As for the possibility of Harmon's return, Alan could never
face it for a moment. When it thrust its ugly presence into his
thoughts, he put it away desperately. The man was dead--or his fickle
fancy had veered elsewhere. Nothing else could explain his absence.
But they could never know, and