om under his hat brim,
grunted, and then passed on. It was Mr. Burrus. Joe had a sense of
being too late. Over the house hung the stillness of death, and a
thing like Burrus leaving! It was an ugly thought. He walked up to the
porch and knocked softly on the door.

A moment's silence and then it slowly opened. Someone stood in the
doorway. A voice said, "Well?" in a low vibrant tone. There was
blended in it the soft mistiness of the night, something of regret,
something of purple shadows, something of stirring memories. He
moistened his lips with his tongue.

"Is it you?" the voice went on, and then Mary Louise came out.

"I just heard to-day that Miss Susie had had another spell," he
explained.

She stood beside him on the porch and looked up into his face. He
could see she was shivering a little.

"Not to amount to anything," she said. "Aunt Susie has 'em
periodically. She'll be all right in a day or two."

Joe stood in indecision. There had come a high-pitched, nervous
tension into her tone, an eagerness that he did not like. The other
thing had vanished.

"Won't you sit down?" said Mary Louise. "I'd ask you in, but Aunt
Susie's asleep and the sound of our voices might disturb her. She
hasn't had much sleep the last few nights."

Joe fingered his hat.

"Aren't you going to stay and tell me about yourself?" she urged.
"It's been ages since we had a talk. Let's go down to the
summerhouse."

He felt doubtful. Already a chill was gathering in the air, and he
fancied she spoke through set teeth. The charm was melting away and
the moon, rising above the tops of the maples, seemed cheerless and
cold. But he could not be unfriendly; she had had a lot to upset her.
He had read about Claybrook in the paper and while the news had caused
him no discomfort--if anything quite the contrary--still, it was
different now. She was alone in that bleak, staring house, alone with
a sick woman. So he followed her awkwardly across the grass that was
already gathering dew.

They sat facing each other in the summerhouse, sat on the edges of the
chairs, bending slightly forward. Mary Louise was softly chafing her
hands.

"So you've really come back," she began.

"Well, three miles from 'back,'" he replied. She was making a pretty
brave show; her voice sounded bright and cheery. If only she would
stop rubbing her hands together--be still for a moment.

"I expect we're meant for this place, Joe."

"Yes? How do you mean?"