At this Maclin was obliged to do some original conjecturing. There must have been a scene––likely enough in that wood cabin. Northrup’s woman had got the whip hand and Northrup had accepted terms––leaving Mary-Clare. That would account for the illness.
So far, so good. But with both Larry and Northrup off the ground, the Heathcotes would have to take responsibility. This would be the psychological moment to buy the Point! So Maclin, keeping watch, followed Mary-Clare to chapel island.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed as if surprised to see the girl in the angle of the old church. “Decided to get well, eh? Taking a sun bath?”
Mary-Clare gathered her cloak closer, as if shrinking from the smiling, unwholesome-looking man.
“Yes, I’m getting well fast,” she said.
“Hear anything from Larry?” It seemed best to hide his own feelings as to Larry.
“No.”
“Some worried, I expect?”
“No, I do not worry much, Mr. Maclin.” Mary-Clare was thinking of her old doctor’s philosophy. She wasn’t going to die, so she must live at once!