Larry, Mary-Clare knew she must not overlook
Noreen.

Now, if fools rush in where angels fear to tread, surely they often
rush to their undoing. Kathryn followed the trail to the cabin in the
woods, breathlessly and in momentary danger of breaking her ankles,
for she teetered painfully on her French heels and humorously wished
that when the Lord was making hills He had made them all down-grade;
but at last she came in sight of the vine-covered shack and stood
still to consider.

It was characteristic of Kathryn that she never doubted her intuitions
until she was left high and dry by their incapacity to hold her up.

"Ho! ho!" she murmured. "So _this_ is where he burrows? Another
edition of the East Side tenement room where he hid while writing his
abominable book!"

Kathryn went nearer, stepping carefully--Northrup might be inside! No;
the strange room was empty! Kathryn recalled the one visit she had
made to the tenement while Northrup was writing. There had been a
terrible woman with a mop outside the door there who would not let her
pass; who had even cast unpleasant suggestions at her--suggestions
that had made Kathryn's cheeks burn.

She had never told Northrup about that visit; she would not tell him
about this one, either, unless her hand were forced. In case he came
upon her, she saw, vividly, herself in a dramatic act--she would be a
beautiful picture of tender girlhood nestling in his environment, led
to him by sore need and loving intuition.

Kathryn, thus reinforced by her imagination, went boldly in, sat down
by the crude table, smiled at the Bible lying open before her--then
she raised her eyes to Father Damien. The face was familiar and
Kathryn concluded it must be a reproduction of some famous painting of
the Christ!

That, and the Bible, made the girl smile. Temperament was insanity,
nothing less!

Kathryn looked about for evidences of Northrup's craft.

"I suppose he takes his precious stuff away with him. Afraid of fires
or wild beasts."

This latter thought wasn't pleasant and Kathryn turned nervously to
the door. As she did so her arm pushed the Bible aside and there,
disclosed to her ferret glance, were the pages of Northrup's
manuscript, duplicate sheets, that Mary-Clare had been rereading.

"Ho! ho!" Kathryn spread them before her and read greedily--not
sympathetically--but amusedly.

There were references to eyes, hair, expressions; even "mud-stained
breeches." With elbows on th