The weeks passed, quickly for the rest of the household, slowly enough for Rosamund. She took long walks with Yetta; as Grace grew in strength she went with them, taking them to call on her mountain friends, who had shown themselves more friendly toward Rosamund since they had watched her at play—and since the arrest of Joe Tobet, always a disturbing personality. They came to see Grace at the brown house, where Rosamund made them feel at home, and gave them coffee and cake and talked to them about their children, and loaned them patterns, which she bought for the purpose, and which Eleanor showed them how to use. Rosamund's greatest comfort lay in the fact that she was coming to be of use to them, thus fulfilling the desire which had been her excuse for remaining among them.
For other exercise she had no desire; she could not put on snowshoes or skis without recalling a time which she was trying to forget; besides, she had no heart for play. And soon even the walks became not unalloyed pleasure. Although no further warnings had come, either to herself or Grace, and although the mountain people continued to show themselves more and more friendly, Rosamund was conscious of a feeling of uneasiness, a dread of ominous, unseen horrors hovering near, of stealthy presences following her, of eyes peering at her from the leafless undergrowth or through the branches of the scrub pine. She tried to persuade herself that it was all a part of the foolish imaginings of a timid woman, yet had to admit that she had never been timid before; gradually the feeling of uneasiness became almost unbearable, in her increasing nervousness.
She welcomed the relief of Christmas, although it was Eleanor who went to New York for their Christmas shopping. Rosamund resolved with herself that she would not leave the Summit until she had overcome the vague fear that was now present with her whenever she left the house. She would conquer that, or find out the reason for it, even though the relations between herself and Ogilvie were at an end forever. So she sent Eleanor in her place, reigning alone for two weeks in the house which had come to seem more Eleanor's than her own.
Eleanor returned on Christmas eve, all prepared to be a most munificent Santa Claus. It was only after the tree was trimmed, and they had filled bulging stockings for everybody—including the Carys and John Ogilvie—that she had a moment alone with Rosamund.
At last, however, Grace went upstairs, and Sue and Matt beamingly bade them good night; Tim had not yet awakened with the first of his repeated demands to go downstairs and see whether "Santy" had come. Eleanor threw herself wearily into a big chair, and Rosamund perched on its arm.
"Well, who did you see, and where did you go, and what did you do?" she demanded.
Eleanor laughed. "I saw Mrs. Maxwell, for one, and she was looking exceedingly pretty and youthful."
"Was she in a good humor?"
"Well, she invited me to luncheon!"
"Oh, then she was! I suppose she had gotten my Christmas check. I've sent to Tiffany's for some emeralds for her, besides. She'll get them as a surprise, to-morrow morning."