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She flew down to them for a rapturous greeting and though the courtyard was filled with hurrying people she hugged both of them heartily, dropping some tears of real delight on her own apple blossoms. "I'll be down later," she told them. "I'm waiting for Doris Leighton. Do look after Mr.
They strained their eyes in a maddening search of the heavens. But the darkness had so increased that they could be sure of nothing. Doris sank upon her knees.
When Miss Recompense returned she found them deep in French again. Doris laughed softly when Uncle Winthrop blundered a little, and perhaps he did it now and then purposely. The big old clock that said "Forever, never!" long before Longfellow's time, measured off nine hours. "It's funny," said Doris, "but I'm not a bit sleepy, and at Uncle Leverett's I almost nod, sometimes.
Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things rattled. "Keep her name out of it," he cried fiercely. "You are a man of the world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day the full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It was a sheer accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member of the Bates family?"
Doris, the mother, died when the boy was four years old, and the Wetherbys were making every effort to get the father to give the child entirely up to them, when suddenly Kent disappeared, taking the boy with him. He has never been heard from since, though a world-wide search has been made. "The loss practically killed old Mr. and Mrs. Wetherby. They both died soon after.
"I'm learning as I go along, my dear," Martin replied. "We're not all developed in the same way." "And, David," Doris trembled as she spoke, "as you feel for your boy, so I feel for my Joan. You must trust me." "That is different," Martin stiffened. "It is the same." "In all directions gulfs and yawning abysses." That was what David Martin felt was encompassing Joan.
And whether I live or die, my husband must not have my child. You must help me. The second letter was longer, for it contained explanations and reasons. These were stated baldly, briefly, but for that very quality they rang luridly dramatic. The third note was left on Thornton's desk and simply informed him that she was going to Doris and would never return.
I have thought her hard and selfish the people here have thought her mean." Doris paused, and Joan looked around and remarked: "She's a blessed trump. Nan always understood Mary better than I; Mary liked Nan the best of all, but I'm going to cultivate Mary. There is something about her like these hidden words it must be brought out."
"Where is the the mountain child?" she asked. "Upstairs, my dear. Why, Doris, you are shaking as if you had a chill. You are ill let me call Sister Constance." But Doris stayed her as she rose. "No, no, Sister. I am only trembling because my feet are set on a possible way! I am I am pushing things aside. Tell me, is this child a girl?" "Yes." "How old is it?"
Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to him as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?" Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin delivered the telegram in person. Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee.
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