Nance was chattering her answer to his greeting.
“Oh, I'm feelin' fine, Doctor—” she dropped her voice confidentially—“and you're just in time for a good dinner. My boy that was lost has come home. He's a great big fellow, wears fine clothes and come up the mountain all the way in a devil wagon.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Sh! He's asleep! We won't wake him till dinner! He's all tired out.”
The Doctor nodded understandingly and turned toward Mary.
“And this young lady?”
“Oh, that's his wife from New York—ain't she purty?”
The Doctor saw the delicate hands trembling and extended his.
No word was spoken. None was needed. There was healing in his touch, healing in his whole being. No man or woman could resist the appeal of his personality. Their secrets were yielded with perfect faith.
“Come with me quickly,” Mary whispered.
“I understand,” he answered carelessly.
Turning again to Nance, he said with easy confidence: