Mary worked early and late to hasten the departure from The Gap. Always
in Mary's consciousness was that threatening old woman on Thunder Peak.

With care and comfort old Becky was more alert; more suspicious. She was
wondering _why_. And Mary felt that at any time she might defeat what
daily was gaining a hold on Mary's suspicions. The woman tried hard to
shield the secret from her own curiosity, but under all else lay the
conviction that it was Nancy's toys which were in peril. And gradually
the love that the silent, morose woman felt for the girl absorbed all
other emotions. It was like having banked everything on a desired hope
she was prepared to defend it. If her suspicions were true, then all the
more must the secret be hid.

And so in November Doris and Nancy went to New York and Mary, apparently
unmoved, saw them depart while she counted anew her assumed duties.

There was The Peak--and with winter to complicate her duties, it loomed
ominously.

"And I'll have to back letters for old Jed." Mary had promised to write
for the old man and to read from the Bible to him, as Nancy had always
done. "And keep the old man alive as well." Mary sighed wearily. "And
when there's a minute to rest--keep my own place decent." The cabin was
the one bright thought and, because of that which had made the cabin
possible, Mary bowed her back to her burdens.

"A strange woman is Mary," Doris confided to Nancy; "nothing seems to
make any impression upon her."

Nancy opened her lovely blue eyes wide at this.

"Why, Aunt Dorrie," she replied, "Mary would die for us--and never
mention it. She's made that still, faithful way."

Doris smiled, but did not change her mind. The people of the hills were
never to be to her what they had been to Sister Angela--her people.

CHAPTER XX

"_It Is Felicity on Her Wings._"

The old New York house was once more opened and the fountain set free.
Birds sang and flowers bloomed, but Joan was not there and for a blank
but silent moment both Doris and Nancy wondered if the lack were to
defeat them. The moment was appalling but it passed.

Felicity brooded over them and her wings did not droop.

Martin, with his sound common sense, came to the fore among the first.
He was never more alert. His nephew, Clive Cameron, was entrenched in
Martin's office and home--his name, alone, shone on the new sign.

"I've flung you in neck and crop, Bud, because I believe in you and have
told my