"I'll pay it all back yet," he gritted. "Betty or no Betty, I'll make him wish he'd kept his hands off the MacRaes."
About the time Jack MacRae with his burden of venison drew near his own dooryard, Betty Gower came out upon the winter-sodden lawn before their cottage and having crossed it ran lightly up the steps to the wide porch. From there she saw her father standing on the Point. She called to him. At her hail he came trudging to the house. Betty was piling wood in the living-room fireplace when he came in.
"I was beginning to worry about you," he said.
"The wind got too much for me," she answered, "so I put the boat on the beach a mile or so along and walked home."
Gower drew a chair up to the fire.
"Blaze feels good," he remarked. "There's a chill in this winter air."
Betty made no comment.
"Getting lonesome?" he inquired after a minute. "It seems to me you've been restless the last day or two. Want to go back to town, Betty?"
"I wonder why we come here and stay and stay, out of reach of everything and everybody?" she said at last.