"She is right, Gaunt," said Palmer. "You stay here at the risk of your life. Come to the house. Theodora can hide us; and if they discover us, we can protect her together."
Gaunt smiled faintly.
"I must make my way to Springfield to-morrow. My work is there,—my new work, Palmer."
Palmer looked troubled.
"I wish you had not taken it up. This war may be needed to conquer a way for the day of peace and good-will among men; but you, who profess to be a seer and actor in that day, have only one work: to make it real to us now on earth, as your Master did, in the old time."
Gaunt did not speak,—fumbled among the chips at the fire. He raised himself at last.
"I'm trying to do what's right," he said, in a subdued voice. "I haven't had a pleasant life,—but it will come right at last, maybe."
"It will come right, David!" said the girl.
His face lighted: her cheery voice sounded like a welcome ringing through his future years. It was a good omen, coming from her whom he had wronged.
"Are you going now, Gaunt?" asked Palmer, seeing him button his thin coat. "Take my blanket,—nay, you shall. As soon as I am strong enough, I'll find you at Springfield."