er stiff lips moved. She did piteously, Raven saw, try
to speak. But she could not manage it and after the long moment she sank
back into her seat. Nan placed the blue scarf about her shoulders,
carefully, as if the quiet concern of doing it might tell the woman
something--that she was companioned, understood--and, one hand on the
knot of Tira's clasped fingers, began to sing. She sang the Doxology,
and after that, through unbreakable custom, the meeting was over and you
had to go home. Men and women came to their feet, there were greetings
and good nights and about Nan gathered a group of those who remembered
her. But she kept her left hand on Tira's, and after the others had gone
she said something quickly to the woman who stood, looking dead tired,
uttering mechanical good nights. Martin, with a jovial good night to
Tenney, had hurried off at once.

"See you later," he called back to him at the door, and Tenney looked
after him with the livid concentration of a man who sends his curse
forward to warn where it is not yet time for a blow. A laughing group
followed Martin. There were girls who, horrified at the implications
that hung about his name, were yet swayed by his dashing gallantry, and
young men who sulkily held the girls back, swearing under their breath.
Tira broke loose from Nan and went, fast as running water, through the
room, to the back of the house. Raven made no pretense of saying good
night to Tenney. He forgot it, forgot Tenney, save as an element of
danger to be dealt with later. On the doorstep he stopped with Nan, in
the seclusion of the moment while the others were bringing out horses
and putting them into the sleighs.

"We can't leave her here with him," he said.

"What was the matter?" Nan returned as quickly. "What happened? That
man?"

"Yes. The one he's jealous of. We can't leave her here."

"No use," said Nan. "She won't go. I asked her, told her I was living
over at the house alone, wanted company. No use. She wouldn't go."

"She must go."

"She won't, I tell you. Then I asked if she'd let me stay over here and
she said no. She said----"

"What?" urged Raven when she stopped.

"I almost can't tell, it's so pathetic. Just a word--three words: 'You
don't know.' Then she stopped. Just that: 'You don't know.'"

Raven gave a little sound she could not bear, a breath, a curse--what
was it? Anyway, the breaking impatience of a helpless man. He did not
stir. He meant, she saw, to stay