“Smythe!” she gasped.
“On a day like this!” cried Claire.
He had dismounted quickly, and was walking toward the house; and as he neared the steps Marion saw in his face what caused her to press her hand on her bosom to still her heart. Something had happened! And she had known it all the time––had known it even in her sleep!
Claire ran to the door and opened it.
“Well, Mr. Smythe!” she cried. “You’re just in time to cheer us up. We’re deep in the mulligrubs.”
He entered smiling, removing his sombrero with his customary flourish. But as he advanced he shot a swift, keen look at Marion.
“Something’s happened!” she repeated to herself.
But she came forward with a smile, and shook hands with Smythe, searching his face. And he was warning her again. She could have shrieked with impatience and anxiety, but she held herself, and waited.
“A terrible night, wasn’t it?” said Claire, giving Smythe a chair.
“Terrific!” replied he. “You know the big pine that hung over the road just this side of Toumine’s? Well, it’s down, right across the road. I had to ride around it, up among the underbrush.”