Since his return his old unrest claimed him. It was blotting out all that he had believed was his––ideals; the meaning of life; love; duty; even his city––his––was threatened. Nothing any longer seemed safe unless it were battled for. There was something he owed––what was it?
Try as he valiantly did, Northrup could put little thought in his work––it eluded him. He began, at first unconsciously, to plan for going away, while, consciously, he deceived himself by thinking that he was readjusting himself to his own widened niche in the wall!
When Northrup descended from his tower, he became as other men and the grim lines of lips and jaws relaxed. He was with them who first caught the wider vision of brotherhood.
At once, upon his return, he had taken Manly into his confidence about his mother, and that simple soul brushed aside the sentimental rubbish with which Kathryn had cluttered the situation.
“It’s all damned rot, Brace,” he snapped. “You had a 229 grandmother who did work that was never meant for women to do––laid a carpet or tore one up, I forget which, I heard the story from my father––and she developed cancer––more likely it wasn’t cancer––I don’t think my father was ever sure. But, good Lord! why should her descendants inherit an accident? I thought I’d talked your mother out of that nonsense.”
Thus reassured, Northrup told Kathryn that all the secret diplomacy was to be abandoned and that his mother must work with them.
“But, Brace dear, you don’t blame me for my fright? I was so worried!”
“No, little girl, you were a trump. I’ll never forget how you stood by!”
So Helen Northrup put herself in Manly’s hands––those strong, faithful hands. She went to a hospital for various tests. She was calm but often afraid. She sometimes looked at the pleasant, thronged streets and felt a loneliness, as if she missed herself from among her kind. Manly pooh-poohed and shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Women! women!” he ejaculated, but there were hours when he, too, had his fears.