“All?”
“Everything. Books, even. And his desk, that he's had since the first years out here. Mr. Withery is going to be in charge at T'ainan, and Dad's leaving the final arrangements to him.”
“You speak as if your father were going away, far off. And in a hurry.”
“He is. That's the strange thing. Just to tell about it, like this, makes it seem'—well, almost wild. But when you talk with him you feel all right about it. He's so steady and sure. Just as if at last he's hit on the truth.”
The night drew its cloak swiftly over the valley. For a long time after this conversation they sat there in silent communion with the dim hills; she nestling in his arms; he dreaming of the years to come in which his life—such was his hope—might through love find balance and warmth.
3
Doane was at the residence when Brachey left Betty there—at the door, chatting with M. Pourmont. He walked away with Brachey. And the tired but still genial Frenchman looked after them with a puzzled frown.
“Stroll a bit with me, will you?” said Doane. “I've got a few things to say to you.” And outside the gate, he added soberly: “About the beastly thing I did.”
“I've forgotten that,” said Brachey; stiffly, in spite of himself.
“No, you haven't. You never will. Neither shall I. What I have to say is just this—it was an overwrought, half-mad man who attacked you.”