quicken their
pace. Yet at length she had reached shelter and no sooner was she past
the door of the house than her knees buckled; she had to steady herself
with both hands as she dragged herself up the stairs to her room. There,
from the window, she looked down and saw Whistling Dan standing as she
had left him, staring blankly at the wolf-dog.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE CONQUEST

There was no star-storming confidence in Kate Cumberland after that
first victory. Rather she felt as the general who deploys his
skirmishers and drives in the outposts of an enemy. The advantage is
his, but it has really only served to give him some intimation of the
strength of the enemy. At the supper table this night she found
Whistling Dan watching her--not openly, for she could never catch his
eye--but subtly, secretly, she knew that he was measuring her, studying
her; whether in hostility, amity, or mere wonder, she could not tell.
Finally a vast uneasiness overtook her and she turned to the doctor for
relief. Doctor Randall Byrne held a singular position in the attention
of Kate. Since the night of the fire and her open talk with him, the
doctor knew "everything," and women are troubled in the presence of a
man who knows the details of the past.

The shield behind which they hide in social intercourse is a touch of
mystery--or at least a hope of mystery. The doctor, however, was not
like other men; he was more similar to a precocious child and she
comforted herself in his obvious talent for silence. If he had been
alert, strong, self-confident, she might have hated him because he knew
so much about her; but when she noted the pale, thoughtful face, the
vast forehead outbalancing the other features, and the wistful,
uncertain eyes, she felt nothing towards him stronger than pity.

It is good for a woman to have something which she may pity, a child, an
aged parent, or a house-dog. It provides, in a way, the background
against which she acts; so Kate, when in doubt, turned to the doctor, as
on this night. There was a certain cruelty in it, for when she smiled at
him the poor doctor became crimson, and when she talked to him his
answers stumbled on his tongue; and when she was silent and merely
looked at him that was worst of all, for he became unable to manage
knife and fork and would sit crumbling bread and looking frightened.
Then he was apt to draw out his glasses and make a move to place them on
his nose, but he always caugh