e had never been so nearly happy in her life;
neither had Mary-Clare nor Noreen nor--though he did not own
it--Northrup, himself.

No wonder Maclin, and the outraged Larry, saw distinctly the ridge on
which the wreck was to occur.

But no one was taking into account that idealism in Mary-Clare that
the old doctor had devoutly hoped would save her, not destroy her.
Northrup began to comprehend it during the more intimate conversations
that took place when the children, playing apart, left him and
Mary-Clare alone. The wonder grew upon him and humbled him. It was
something he had never encountered before. A philosophy and code built
entirely upon knowledge gained from books and interpreted by a
singular strength and purity of mind. It piqued Northrup; he began to
test it, never estimating danger for himself.

"Books are like people," Mary-Clare said one day--she was watching
Northrup build a campfire and the last bit of sunlight fell full upon
her--"the words are the costumes." She had marked the surprised look
in Northrup's eyes as she quoted rather a bald sentiment from an old
book.

"Yes, of course, and that's sound reasoning." For a moment Northrup
felt as though a clear north wind were blowing away the dust in an
overlooked corner of his mind. "But it's rather staggering to find
that you read French," he added, for the quotation had been literally
translated. "You do, don't you?"

"I do, a little. I'm taking it up again for Noreen."

Noreen's name was continually being brought into focus. It had the
effect of pushing Northrup, metaphorically, into a safe zone. He
resented this.

"She is afraid!" he thought. "Rivers has left his mark upon her mind,
damn him!"

This sentiment should have given warning, but it did not.

"I study nights"--Mary-Clare was speaking quite as if fear had no part
in her thought--"French, mathematics--all the hard things that went in
and--stuck."

"Hard things do stick, don't they?" Northrup hated the pushed-aside
feeling.

"Terribly. But my doctor was adamant about hard things. He used to say
that I'd learn to love chipping off the rough corners." Here
Mary-Clare laughed, and the sound set Northrup's nerves a-tingle as
the clear notes of music did.

"I can see myself now, Mr. Northrup, sitting behind my doctor on his
horse, my book flattened out against his back. I'd ask questions; he'd
fling the answers to me. Once I drew the map of Italy on his blessed
old shoulders with cr