"I have not the least idea."
"Have you seen Grace lately?"
"I have not," she replied. "Pray don't mind asking about anything you
want to know!"
He would not notice her flippancy even to frown. "Because," he said,
"she is not at her own house, nor the Allens', and she has not been to
the Carys' since yesterday morning; if she has not been here either,
there is only one thing possible--or at all likely----"
At last Rosamund became serious; if Grace had gone into the woods it
could, indeed, mean but one thing. "Oh, dear!" she cried. "Does that
mean--do you think?--that Joe is out again?"
The doctor nodded. "And has been for several days. The trouble is
coming to a head somewhere. I wish I knew where. The very air is full
of it, and these people are so mysterious that even I cannot get
anything definite. Pa Cary says they all believe there are spies
about."
At the word, Rosamund's hand went to her throat, and her lips paled.
"Oh, then----" she began, and stopped.
Ogilvie leaned forward and laid his hand on the arm of her chair.
"Then?" he repeated, looking closely at her.
His intentness forced the tale from her. He listened without
interrupting, and when she had finished, sat for a while in deep
meditation.
At last he drew a long breath, rose, took a turn or two about the
little room, and came and stood before her, frowning.
"You shall not stay here," he said.
Of all words he could have chosen none more unfortunate. A tone of
fear, a phrase of hidden tenderness, even an appeal to her own sense of
the futility of braving the hovering danger--almost anything but the
words and tone he used would have induced her to submit to his wishes;
but this imperative command of words and voice touched off some quick,
foolish spark within her.
"Ah, but that is precisely what I am going to do," she calmly declared.
"They will find out sooner or later that I am not a spy. I shall
remain here until they do."
Unconsciously, as once before, her name escaped him. "Rosamund," he
cried, "I cannot stand it! I cannot bear to think of your being in
danger!"
If she heard, she gave no sign of it. "I do not believe there is the
slightest danger," she said, "but what if there is? I have taken up my
life here; there are always difficulties to be overcome whenever one
wants really to do anything. Why should I run away from my share of
them?"
He had turned toward the fire, his arm resting upon the mantel-shelf,
and his forehead upon his clenched hand.
"I wish I could make you understand how it is with me," she went on.
"I have chosen, deliberately chosen, to take this way of living. I
have come here to stay, for a time anyway. You would tell me, I know,
that I could have the same little family somewhere else. I know I
could; but I am not staying only on their account, any more than I am
for a mere whim of my own. The place is more my home than any I have
ever known since I was a little girl. I love it, and I see so many
things to be done, things I can do; and I want to do them. I don't
always know how, but I am learning. These mountain people are
distrustful of everyone; but all wild creatures can be tamed, if one
has patience. When they have learned to trust me I can help them. I
am not going to be driven away. Besides, when all else is said, I
don't see the need of it!"
"You had warning last night. Whoever that ruffian was, his coming here
meant no good to you."
For a while she was silent, and when she spoke he looked at her, and
saw that there were tears in her eyes.
"Oh, I cannot argue it out," she cried. "Of course, you can array fact
upon fact to prove me wrong and foolish. Oh--Doctor Ogilvie, be fair!
Credit me with a purpose! I have never before had a chance to go on in
a simple, clearly defined line of action. It would not seem very much
to most people, I suppose--merely to stay here, to live in this little
cottage with Eleanor and the children. But it's the only real life
I've ever known, as far as I can remember. I was dropped into this
place by accident, and I found something to do. What is more, I found
myself among real people. It is not much--but to live my own
life--that is what I want!" In her emotion she stood before him,
straight and purposeful. "Won't you give me credit for the strength of
it, and not believe me merely willful?"
He was deeply moved; she laid her own in the hand he held out to her.
"I will credit you with everything that is brave and good," he said,
with utmost seriousness. "If you are really determined to remain here,
I will not interfere. If this is what you choose, I will try to
believe it is the best thing for you--the only thing."
Her earnestness had fanned in his heart an altar-flame of worship and
new faith; its glow shone in his eyes, and her face paled under his
look. In the tenseness of the moment there could be no speech, but it
seemed as if their souls sped toward each other on a bridge of
understanding. They were hushed before the vision of great elemental
truth; and although later they came to believe that they had been
deluded, that vision of truth remained as having passed between them, a
revelation and a message.
Afterward, in the hours when doubt and pain and loneliness were her
companions, she often wondered what the outcome might have been; but
she could only wonder, for at the highest moment of their silent
communion there sounded a well-remembered view-halloo, and a quick turn
of the head showed the flash of a big red car that was stopping before
the house.
With a low cry she drew away the hand that had been held in his, turned
from him, and for an instant hid her face in her two palms, needing the
moment to recall her soul from the heights. When she turned at the
sound of steps upon the veranda Ogilvie was gone; she stooped to pick
up his worn brown cap, left unheeded upon the hearth, put it quickly
into a drawer, and turned the key in the lock.