Larry chuckled amiably as he buried his nose in the glass of whisky that had been prepared for Jim, and caught Blanche’s smiling, censorious glance. Jim laughed outright in the depths of his chair.
“That’s the way they always go on, Molly,” he said, to the girl at the table. “If Blanche reckoned it was Tuesday, Larry here would assure her it was Broadway, New York, or something equally foolish. But Sis is right,” he went on. “She certainly is. There’s a peace around this valley that makes me feel good.” He laughed. “And it’s a peace that’s not a thing to do with stars, or northern lights, and not even frogs.” His smile died out. “I made a trip down to your farm to-day.”
Molly was startled out of her contemplation of the valley. She sat up, and her eyes were shining as she gazed at the white-haired creature who had brought her to this haven of rest and human kindliness.
Blanche’s efforts had succeeded far beyond her best hopes. The girl was daily growing stronger. She was no longer sick and ailing. But, best of all, her recovery, both mental and physical, was complete. The men had watched the progress, and applauded the nurse. But Blanche understood the reality of the thing that had happened. She knew that the last of Molly’s childhood had passed. The days of her child-dreaming were over. She was a woman now, with all the rest lost in the passionate storms that had swept over her. A real understanding of the hard things of life had come to her, for, in her agony, her eyes had been widely opened. The hate to which her love for Andy McFardell had turned was an act of Providence which had brought about the rest.
“Then you’ve seen Lightning?” she asked. “He’ll be harvesting.”
There was eagerness in Molly’s tone. It told of a mind that was again full of the affairs of life that had always been hers.
A quick glance passed between brother and sister. The man was questioning, and Blanche inclined her head. Jim leant back in his chair. He knocked out his pipe in a fashion intended to rob any words of his of unusual significance.
“No,” he said, “he wasn’t there.”
A moment passed before Molly spoke again. Blanche was observing her closely, and wondering. The red-headed Larry turned his freckled face in the girl’s direction.
“He—he wasn’t there?”