ch of a muchness, but come thick or thin, Mary-Clare, I'll
do my first and last for you 'cause of the secret lying 'twixt us."

Then Mary-Clare asked the question that was hurting her with its
weight.

"Peneluna, was it love, the thing that made you glad, through it all,
just to wait?"

"I don't rightly know, Mary-Clare. It was something too big for me to
call by name, but I just couldn't act different and kill it, not even
when her as once was French made me feel I oughter. I wouldn't darst
harm that feeling I had, child."

"And it paid?"

"I don't know. I only know I was glad, when he called last night, that
I was waiting."

Then Mary-Clare raised her face and kissed the old, troubled, fumbling
lips. The thing, too big for the woman, was too big for the girl; but
she knew, whatever it was, it must not be hurt.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"God knows, Mary-Clare. The old doctor gave this place to Philander,
and he gave me mine, next door. I think, till I get my leadings, I'll
hold to this and see what the Lord wants me to do with my old shack.
I allas find someone waiting to share. Maybe Jan-an will grow to fit
in there in time. When she gets old and helpless she'll need some
place to crawl to and call her own. I don't know, but I'm a powerful
waiter and I'll keep an eye and ear open."

On the walk home Mary-Clare grew deeply thoughtful. The recent scene
took on enormous significance. Detached from the pitiful setting,
disassociated from the two forlorn creatures who were the actors in
the tragic story, there rose, like a bright and living flame, a
something that the girl's imagination caught and held.

That something was quite apart from laws and codes; it came; could not
be commanded. It was something that marriage could not give, nor death
kill. Something that could exist on the Point. Something that couldn't
be got out of one's heart, once it had entered in. What was it? It
wasn't duty or just living on. It was something too big to name. Why
was the wonder of it crowding all else out--after the long years?

Mary-Clare left the Point behind her. She entered the sweet
autumn-tinted woods beyond which lay her home. She hoped--oh!
yearningly she hoped--that Larry would not be there, not just yet. She
would go for Noreen; she would stay awhile with Aunt Polly and tell
her about what had just occurred--the service, but not the secret
thing.

Suddenly she stood still and her face shone in t