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Durgin confessed to having no part in it; but she had kept pace, with Cynthia Whitwell's help, in the housekeeping.
In the old porch under his window Westover heard whispering. Then, "You behave yourself, Jeff Durgin!" came in a voice which could be no other than Cynthia Whitwell's, and Jeff Durgin's laugh followed. He saw the girl in the morning.
He looked behind him, now, for the first time, in recognition of the place where they had stopped. "Why, this is Whitwell's Clearing." "Didn't you know it?" Jeff asked. "It changes a good deal every year, and you haven't been here for awhile, have you?" "Not since Mrs.
I tell you, there's more than one kind of telepathy in this world, Mr. Westover. That's all." Westover understood from Whitwell's afterthought that it was Cynthia he was anxious to keep ignorant of his misgivings, if they were so much as misgivings. But the importance of this fact could not stay him against the tide of sleep which was bearing him down.
In Whitwell's Clearing the effect was intensified by the approach on the fading wood road, which the wagons had made in former days when they hauled the fallen timber to the pulp-mill.
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