of it, but Tira, oblivious of her, was staring at Tenney,
and Nan found herself outside, trouble in her mind. Tira had not gone to
the door with her. She had staid still staring, in that fixed
interrogation, at Tenney. He looked at her now, met her eyes, and gave a
little grimace. He had done well, the movement said. He had seen through
it all. He was pleased with himself. Now he spoke to her, so affably
that she frowned with perplexity at finding him kind.

"'Tain't so terrible hard," said Tenney, "to see through folks, once ye
set your mind on it. He started her out on that, he an' you together,
mebbe. ''F I git rid o' the young one,' you says, 'I shall have more
freedom to range round, outdoor.' Mebbe you said it to him. Mebbe he
said it to you. Mebbe 'twas t'other one--Martin--that said it an' you
took it up. No, 'tain't so hard to see through folks, once ye git a
start."

He turned and took, with a difficulty half assumed, the few steps to the
wood-box, selected a couple of sticks and, with a quiet deftness that
seemed to indicate a mind bent only on the act itself, put them in the
stove. Tira watched him, fascinated by him, the strength in abeyance,
the wayward will. When he set on the stove cover, it seemed to break the
spell of her rigidity and she turned, hurried into the scullery and came
back. She had, he saw, a knife. That was not alarming. It was a small
kitchen knife, but he recognized it as the one she made a great fuss
about, asking him to sharpen it often and keeping it for special use.
But she gripped it strangely. Besides, there was the strangeness of her
face.

"Here! here!" he said. "What you doin' o' that knife?"

Tira was not thinking of him. She had gone, with her quick, lithe step,
to the window where the vine was tapping, and thrown it up.

"Here!" he called again, his uneasiness shifting; whatever a woman was
doing, with a face like that, she must be stopped. "What you openin'
winders for, a day like this, coldin' off the room?"

Tira reached out and seized the woodbine spray, cut it savagely and then
shut the window. She came back with the spray in her hand, took off the
stove cover and thrust it in, twining and writhing as if it had life and
rebelled against the flame.

"There!" she said. "I ain't goin' to have no vines knockin' at winders
an' scarin' anybody to death."

Then she went into the scullery and put the knife in its place, blade up
in a little frame over the sink, and ca