still looking down at
her.

"Does this sort of thing happen very often?" he said with an air of
intimate interest that reassured her.

"I'd forgotten about you," she said jerkily. "I'm so sorry--if I'd known
you were coming I'd have arranged for you to stay at the Homestead
to-night."

"But does it?"

"He can't help it."

"It can't go on, you know," said Kraill, lighting a cigarette and
throwing it down impatiently.

"I know. That's why I wrote you that letter. He is so unhappy."

Kraill made an impatient gesture. Marcella stood up slowly.

"Are you tired? You must be," she said.

"No. I want to see this thing settled," he said. She felt very hopeful
to hear him speak so determinedly.

"It's queer that you think as I do about that, Professor Kraill," she
said with a faint smile. "People say other's troubles are not their
business. But I think that's a most wicked heresy. I always interfere if
I see people miserable. I can't bear to be blank and uninterested."

"Neither can I. I often get disliked for it, however," he said with a
quick, impatient sigh. "And they don't often accept one's interference."

"I shall," she said gently. "I shall do whatever you tell me if it will
make Louis well. I think that is really all I care about in the world.
Sometimes, even, I think I care more about Louis than Andrew. I've a
feeling that he's much more a little boy than Andrew is. You know, all
my life, since I saw my father very unhappy and ill, I've wanted to save
people--in great droves! And now I'm beginning to think I can't save one
man."

"And you think I can?"

"I'm quite sure of it. People are not wise like you are just for fun.
But will you come along the clearing with me a little way? I'm afraid
our voices will waken Louis, and then he won't get any sleep. That is,
if you're really not tired."

They went through the moon-silvered grass down to the lake. She sat
under the big eucalyptus which clapped its leathery hands softly.

"I was sitting here when I read your lectures--the last ones--and
decided to write to you. It is like--like Mount Sinai to me now. Will
you talk to me out of the thunders, Professor Kraill?"

He looked at her for a moment, recalling the rather heart-breaking
calmness and common-sense with which she had soothed Louis a while ago;
he remembered her cool, patient logic in the midst of the drunken man's
ravings--and he decided in a flash of insight that this rather
rhetorical way o