e time on the Point had been put to some purpose, and it had
occupied Northrup. Noreen and Jan-an had helped, too. It was rather
tragic the way Northrup had grown to feel about Noreen. The child had
developed his latent love for children--they had never figured in his
life before. So much had been left out, now that he came to think of
it!

And Jan-an. Poor groping creature! To have gained her affection and
trust meant a great deal.

Then the Heathcotes! Polly and Peter! During those five distraught
days they developed halos in Northrup's imagination.

They had taken him in, a stranger. They had fathered and mothered him;
staunchly and silently stood by him. What if they knew?

They must never know! He would make sure of that.

In this frame of mind, chastened and determined, Northrup on the fifth
day took his place behind the laurel clump back of Mary-Clare's cabin,
and to his relief saw her coming out of the door. His manuscript was
not in her hands, but her face had an uplifted and luminous look that
set his heart to a quicker pulsing.

After a decent length of time, Northrup, whistling carelessly,
scruffing the dead leaves noiselessly, followed on and overtook
Mary-Clare near the log upon which they had sat at their last
meeting.

The quaint poise and dignity of the girl was the first impression
Northrup always got. He had never quite grown accustomed to it; it was
like a challenge--his impulse was to test it. It threatened his
exalted state now.

"It's quite mysterious, isn't it?"

Mary-Clare sat down on her end of the log and looked up, her eyes
twinkling.

"What is mysterious?" Northrup took his place. The log was not a long
one.

"The way we manage to meet."

She was setting him at a safe distance in that old way of hers that
somehow made her seem so young.

It irritated Northrup now as it never had before.

He had prepared himself for an ordeal, was keyed to a high note, and
the quiet, smiling girl near him made it all seem a farce.

This was dangerous. Northrup relaxed.

"It's been nearly a week since I saw you," he said, and let his eyes
rest upon Mary-Clare's face.

"Yes, nearly a week," she said softly, "but it took me all that time
to make up my mind."

"About what?"

"Your book."

Northrup had forgotten, for the moment, his book, and he resented its
introduction.

"Damn the book!" he thought. Aloud he said: "Of course! You were going
to tell me where I have fallen down."