"Why not? He may be an agent, or a friend," Celia suggested, laughing.
A whistle in the distance left no time for argument. Belle flew back to the platform, where Maurice had joined Jack. Celia turned toward home.
She was more perplexed over Belle's story about the ring than she cared to own. Not for a moment did she think Morgan had taken it; and yet he was getting to be an old man and she recalled something she had heard her father say about a certain brain disease that first showed itself in acts wholly out of keeping with the character of its victim. Could this be the explanation?
It was a relief to know that it would soon be in Allan Whittredge's hands. That he would do the kindest, wisest thing, she never thought of doubting.
She had heard with a sinking of heart that he had gone away, and she scorned herself for the sensation of relief when Belle added, it was only for a few days. Celia deeply regretted the way in which she had met his request to speak with her that night at Friendly Creek. Why could she not have listened quietly? In these days she was torn by conflicting feelings. The spirit of the Forest was slowly tempering the bitterness in her heart, but it sometimes seemed to her that her loyalty to her father was weakening.
It was fortunate matters at home demanded her thoughts. Plans for the winter, getting the boys off to school, and the many small cares of the housekeeper left little time for brooding.
At the station Belle, in her eagerness to be the first to greet Rosalind, had to be dragged back out of harm's way by the baggage master, as the long train swept around the curve.
"You'll find yourself killed one of these days if you don't look out," remarked Jack, descending from the trunk.
But Belle gave small heed. "I am so glad you have come," she cried, seizing upon Rosalind almost before she had her foot on the ground. "Such lots of things have happened."
"Aren't you glad to see me too?" asked Mr. Whittredge.