The Squire found that duty was a cold comforter as the wretched hours

wore on.

Sanderson had slunk from the house without a word immediately after

Anna's departure. In the general upheaval no one missed him, and when

they did it was too late for them to enjoy the comfort of shifting the

blame to his guilty shoulders.

The professor followed Kate with the mute sympathy of a faithful dog;

he did not dare attempt to comfort her. The sight of a woman in tears

unnerved him; he would not have dared to intrude on her grief; he could

only wait patiently for some circumstance to arise in which he could be

of assistance. In the meantime he did the only practical thing within

his power--he went about from time to time, poked the fires and put on

coal.

Marthy would have liked to discuss the iniquity of Lennox Sanderson

with any one--it was a subject on which she could have spent hours--but

no one seemed inclined to divert Marthy conversationally. In fact, her

popularity was not greater that night in the household than that of the

Squire. She spent her time in running from room to room, exclaiming

hysterically: "Land sakes! Ain't it dreadful?"

The tension grew as time wore on without developments of any kind, the

waiting with the haunting fear of the worst grew harder to bear than

absolute calamity.

Toward five o'clock the Squire announced his intention of going out and

continuing the search, and this time no one objected. In fact, Mrs.

Bartlett, Kate and the professor insisted on accompanying him and

Marthy decided to go, too, not only that she might be able to say she

was on hand in case of interesting developments, but because she was

afraid to be left in the house alone.

* * * * * *

Toward morning, David, spent and haggard, wandered into a little

maple-sugar shed that belonged to one of the neighbors. Smoke was

coming out of the chimney, and David entered, hoping that Anna might

have found here a refuge.

He was quickly undeceived, however, for Lennox Sanderson stood by the

hearth warming his hands. The men glared at each other with the

instinctive fierceness of panthers. Not a word was spoken; each knew

that the language of fists could be the only medium of communication

between them; and each was anxious to have his say out.

The men faced each other in silence, the flickering glare of the

firelight painting grotesque expressions on their set faces. David's

greater bulk loomed unnaturally large in the uncertain light, while

every trained muscle of Sanderson's athletic body was on the alert.




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