s, like
this, are such perfect places."

"I thought perhaps"--Northrup looked what he dared not voice--"I
thought perhaps in that cabin of yours we might be more comfortable,
more undisturbed."

Mary-Clare smiled and shook her head.

"No, I think it would be impossible. That cabin is too full--well, I'm
sure I could not listen as I should, to you, in that cabin."

And so it was that the book became the medium of expression to
Northrup and Mary-Clare. It justified that which might otherwise have
been impossible. It drugged them both to any sense of actual danger.
It was like a shield behind which they might advance and retreat
unseen and unharmed. And if the shield ever fell for an unguarded
moment, Northrup believed that he alone was vouchsafed clear vision.

He grew to marvel at the simplicity and purity of Mary-Clare's point
of view. He knew that she must have gone through some gross
experiences with a man like Rivers, but they had left her singularly
untouched.

But, while Northrup, believing himself shielded from the woman near
him, permitted his imagination full play, Mary-Clare drew her own
conclusions. She accepted Northrup without question as far as he
personally was concerned. He was making her life rich and full, but he
would soon pass; become a memory to brighten the cold, dark years
ahead, just as the memory of the old doctor had done: would always
do.

Desperately Mary-Clare clung to this thought, and reinforced by it
referred constantly to her own position as if to convince Northrup of
perfect understanding of their relations.

But the book! That was another matter. In that she felt she dared
contemplate the real nature of Northrup. She believed he was
unconsciously revealing himself, and with that keenness of perception
that Northrup had detected, she threshed the false notes from the true
and, while hesitating to express herself--for she was timid and
naturally distrustful of herself--she was being prepared for an hour
when her best would be demanded of her.

Silently Mary-Clare would sit and listen while Northrup read. Without
explanation, the children had been eliminated and, if the day was too
cool to sit by the trail side, they would walk side by side, the
crushed leaves making a soft carpet for their feet; the falling leaves
touching them gently as they were brushed from their slight holdings.

Mary-Clare had suddenly abandoned her rough boyish garb. She was sweet
and womanly in her pl