or loving. This child--God sent her to
you, to get you out of this desolation, to lead you back to loving and
living, to give you what you ought to have--Life."

It was as though she had struck him. He started and drew himself away.
"Shut up, Bella," he said with boyish roughness and limped past her into
the house.

CHAPTER V

In these days Hugh must have known that his magic-making, as he led the
little blind girl through the forest of his romancing, was at the mercy
of those two that knew him for what he really was; except for queer,
wild, threatening looks now and again, he gave no sign. He played his
part magnificently, even trusting them to come in with help when they
were given their cue. He had dominated them for so long that even they
and the picture of him that they held in their minds were not so real
as his dreams. It was a queer game, queer and breathless, played in this
narrow space shut in by the white wilderness. And as the slow days went
by, the low log house seemed to be filled more and more with smothered
and conflicting emotions. A dozen times the whole extravaganza came near
collapse; a dozen times Hugh saved it by a word, or Pete and Bella by a
silence. Their parts were not easy, and although Pete still smiled,
his young clear face grew whiter and more strained. Sylvie treated him
always as though he were a child. She would pat his head and rumple his
hair if he sat near her; once, suddenly, she kissed him lightly on the
cheek, after he had moved the chair for her.

"You're a dear, quiet boy," she said. "I frightened you to death, then,
didn't I? Hasn't anyone ever kissed you before?" His cheek burned so
that, touching it with her fingers, she laughed. "I've made you blush,
poor kid! I know. Boys hate petting, don't they? You'll have to get used
to it, Pete, because I mean to pet you--oh, a lot! You need some one
to draw you out. These two people snub you too much. Boys of
fourteen aren't quite children, after all, are they? Besides, they're
interesting. I know. I was fourteen myself not such ages back. You're
not cross, are you, Pete?"

His eyes were misty, and his hands were cold. He could not understand
his own emotion, his own pain. He muttered something and got himself
away. She called him "sullen" and was angry with him, complaining to
Hugh at supper that "Petey" had been "a bear" to her. Hugh simulated a
playful annoyance and began to scold; then a sort of nervous fury came
over