once more--her constant companion and unending comfort: the one
and only thing in her whole life that understood her.

Soon the warmth and strength of the full man began to reach her heart.
She drew him still closer, this strong son who loved her, and in the
embrace there grew a new and strange tenderness--one born of confidence.
It was this arm which must defend her now; this head and heart which
must guide her. She was no longer adrift.

The two had not moved when St. George re-entered the room some moments
later. Harry's head still lay on her breast, the thin, transparent hands
tight about his neck.

CHAPTER XII

The colonel's treatment of Harry at the club had cleared the air of
any doubt that either the boy or St. George might have had concerning
Rutter's frame of mind. Henceforth the boy and the man would conduct
their lives as if the Lord of Moorlands did not exist.

So the boy unpacked the things which Alec had brought in, and with
his mother's assistance--who came in once a week--hung up his
hunting-clothes in the closet, racked up his guns and fishing-rods over
the mantel, and suspended his favorite saddle by a stirrup on a hook in
the hall. Then the two had set out his books and miniatures; one of his
mother, which he kissed tenderly, with the remark that it wasn't half as
pretty as the original, and then propped up in the place of honor in
the middle of his desk, and another of his father, which he placed on an
adjoining table--as well as his few belongings and knickknacks. And so
the outcast settled down determined not only to adapt himself to the
comforts--or want of them--to be found under St. George's roof, but to
do it cheerfully, gratefully, and like a man and a gentleman.

To none of all this did his father offer a single objection. "Make a
clean sweep of Mr. Harry Rutter's things," he had said to Alec, "so that
I may be relieved from the annoyance of a second delivery."

Alec had repeated the order to Harry word for word, adding: "Don't you
sass back, Marse Harry--let him blow hisse'f out--he don't mean nothin'.
He's dat mad he's crazy--gits dat way sometimes--den purty soon he's
fit to bust hisse'f wide open a-cryin'! I see him do dat once when you
warn't mo'n so high, and de doctor said you was daid fo' sho'."

Harry made no reply, but it did not ruffle his temper. His duty was no
longer to be found at Moorlands; his Uncle George claimed him. All his
hours would now be devoted to