"Say, Frank, dear," she cried ardently. "The more I think, why, the more I just love to feel you—you are my Frank, and it was you, and you only, could have brought Professor Hinkling through here. Say, you must have been well-nigh crazy with the worry—and—and anxiety. Oh, if you'd only known how we, Mr. Hendrie and I, felt standing right here to-day waiting—waiting with scarcely a reason to hope you'd make Deep Willows in time. D'you know, Mr. Hendrie was well-nigh clean crazed—sure?" She shuddered. "I never saw a crazy man before, but he was crazy then. I watched him. I was scared—scared to death."
Frank looked out over at the great house. Suddenly he breathed a deep sigh.
"I'm glad, Phyl," he said presently. "I'm glad—I got here in time. I'm glad, not only for poor Mon, but for—him." He looked down into the girl's eyes, and a half smile crept into his own: "It's all so queer," he went on. "I—I ought to hate that man. Yes, I ought. And I just feel like a sort of soft worm for not doing so. That's a fact, Phyl. I don't hate him. I—I like him. Do you know I seem to have seen into him, right deep down into his heart, and it's—a queer place. But I've seen something there that appeals to me. It appeals to me so big that I—simply can't hate him. It's his big manhood. He's full to the brim of something that I've never understood before. Something I'm just beginning to understand. And, d'you know, I don't believe there's nearly so much of it going around as folks pretend to believe. Do you know, Phyl, I believe if that man were dying to-morrow he'd just get right hold of Death, and—and he'd try to choke the life out of him before he'd give in."
Phyllis nodded her head wisely.
"You're right, dear," she cried impulsively. "Can you wonder he's where he is? Can you wonder he's right on top of the things other folks are shouting for, but haven't the strength, or grit to—to just grab hold of for themselves? You're feeling just like I do about him. Guess he's so big in spirit as well as body. That's why he's on top. It's—it's always the way."
"Yes," Frank admitted, "that's how you've always said—and I think—now—you're right. I didn't always think so—but I do now."
Phyllis turned away. She was gazing across at the house, and a deep look of enthusiasm and hope was shining in her eyes.
"Do you know, Frank," she said, after a pause. "I sort of feel our Mon will win out—now. No, I'm not just thinking of Professor Hinkling. I'm thinking of Mr. Hendrie. I sort of feel he's got to win out in—everything. His whole mind and heart's on Monica's recovery, and—and I believe they're too big and strong for Fate to break him. Oh, I'm foolish, I know. I'm talking like a crazy girl, but I just can't help it. I believe he's too strong even—for Fate."
Frank, too, was gazing across at the house. A curious look had crept into his eyes. They were stern, stern and cold, and his jaws had shut tight.
Phyllis, glancing up at him, wondered. It was the first time in her life she had seen such a look in her lover's eyes. Never, even in those dark days when he had first left prison, had she seen such a look in him. And yet it was quite familiar. It was a look she knew quite well.