“Don’t work too hard, little girl,” he said pressing her hand. “I’m glad you are to be among friends.” And that was the last of Dr. Paul for some months.
Nan kept out of the way all the next day, not even appearing at dinner. She took some lunch in her pocket and spent the morning in her woodland haunt. In the afternoon she went with Ran for a horseback ride, and she left the supper table before the others. As she passed her mother she leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, dearest. I’m not going far, and please don’t let them look me up. I’ll tell you why some time.”
Her mother understood, and when a little later Marc Wells appeared, Nan was not to be found.
“I believe she is mourning after Dr. Paul,” declared Jo, “for we have scarcely seen her all day.”
“Dr. Paul?” Mr. Wells knitted his brows. “Well, please make my adieux.” He left a small sketch for Mrs. Corner, delighted Jack with a photograph of the picture for which she had posed, and when Nan entered her tent at bedtime, she saw a tiny note pinned to her cushion and a package by the side of it. The note read:
“Farewell, Brunhilde! You are cruel to hide away in this manner. Loge guards you well, for you are not to be found. I hope you will not forget to send me word when you get to New York. You must remember that you have an engagement to come to one of our studio teas. I enclose my card so you cannot make the excuse of not knowing the address. I hope you will like the little sketch and the reminder of
Siegfried.”
Nan opened the package to see a small water-color study of Place o’ Pines, the name written underneath, and a photograph of Marcus Wells in his Siegfried dress. The little log cabin in the green-wood, with a shimmer of lake just beyond, made a pretty sketch. The photograph was posed with the horn uplifted after the manner of one of Knote which Nan had shown the artist.
She laid the gifts away, a sharp pang at heart, and went to bed, but not to sleep. The lights were all out and the camp very still when suddenly she heard the joyous notes of the Siegfried call, the “Son of the Woods.” Had she been asleep and dreaming? No, there it was again, nearer. She sprang up, slipped on her wrapper, and drew on her shoes, then she stole out into the starlit night and through the wooded ways to the border of the lake. A canoe with a light at its prow was gliding over the water. There was a soft plash of the paddles and presently again the sound of the horn. Then Nan distinguished a figure standing up with horn at lips. It was so quiet she could hear the voices of those in the boat.
“You oughtn’t to do that, Marc,” she made out a man’s voice. “You will wake up all those little schoolgirls at camp.”