Then that night, the marriage night of Mary-Clare! Peneluna had been near the old doctor when Larry bent to catch the distorted words that were but whispered. She knew, she seemed always to have known, that Larry had lied; he had not understood anything.
Peneluna had tried to interfere, but she was always fumbling; she could patiently wait, but action, with her, was slow.
And then Maclin! Since Maclin came and bought the mines and Larry––oh! what did it all mean? Had things been slumbering, needing only a touch?
And who was this man at the inn? Was he the Touch? What was going to happen in this dull, sluggish life of King’s Forest?
The night was growing old, old! Peneluna, too, was old and tired. The Highway was fraught with terrors for her; the ghosts frightened her. They were trying to make her understand what she must do, now that they had shown her The Way. She must keep the old doctor’s son from Maclin if she could and from the stranger at the inn, if she had need. If trouble came she must defend her own.
The weary woman nodded; her eyes closed; the Book slipped from her lap and lay like a “light unto her feet.” She had, somehow, got an understanding of Larry Rivers: she believed that through his “difficult streaks” Maclin had got a hold upon him; was using him now for evil ends. It was for her, for all who loved the old doctor, to shield, at any cost, the doctor’s son. That Larry was unworthy did not weigh with Peneluna. Where she gave, she gave with abandon.
CHAPTER VIII
Aunt Polly came into the living-room of the inn noiselessly, but Peter, at the fireside, opened his eyes. Nothing could have driven him to bed earlier, but he appeared to have been sleeping for hours.