And Jan-an. Poor groping creature! To have gained her affection and trust meant a great deal.
Then the Heathcotes! Polly and Peter! During those five distraught days they developed halos in Northrup’s imagination.
They had taken him in, a stranger. They had fathered and mothered him; staunchly and silently stood by him. What if they knew?
They must never know! He would make sure of that.
In this frame of mind, chastened and determined, Northrup on the fifth day took his place behind the laurel clump back of Mary-Clare’s cabin, and to his relief saw her coming out of the door. His manuscript was not in her hands, but her face had an uplifted and luminous look that set his heart to a quicker pulsing.
After a decent length of time, Northrup, whistling carelessly, scruffing the dead leaves noiselessly, followed on and 149 overtook Mary-Clare near the log upon which they had sat at their last meeting.
The quaint poise and dignity of the girl was the first impression Northrup always got. He had never quite grown accustomed to it; it was like a challenge––his impulse was to test it. It threatened his exalted state now.
“It’s quite mysterious, isn’t it?”
Mary-Clare sat down on her end of the log and looked up, her eyes twinkling.
“What is mysterious?” Northrup took his place. The log was not a long one.