ield.

Hepsie came gladly. She had always liked Elizabeth, and the well-furnished
Hunter house, with the equally well-furnished pantry, was desirable.

Elizabeth's life was in grave danger and when John at last grasped the
fact he looked after her needs rigorously. He tiptoed about the house,
looking to it personally that no discomfort assailed the wan patient. Jack
learned the note of authority in his father's voice, and incidentally the
weight of his hand also, and quiet prevailed. John reflected the mood of
the sick room in every step he took. Much of the time Elizabeth was too
ill to observe John's changed attitude, but the second week she began to
awake to things about her. She went over the situation again and again.
Something had to be done. Things had promised to straighten out since
Hugh's coming, but the very day of his first absence the old coercion was
renewed. John would not have brought the cream jar up without asking if
Hugh had been there, or if he had done so she could have mentioned the
inconvenience of its presence before Hugh and got it carried back to the
cellar. The importance of Hugh's presence loomed up before Elizabeth as
she lay considering her situation; Hugh was her only hope for better
conditions. She had accepted Hugh as a happy feature of the family life
and of the business, but she had not thought of him as a factor in her
personal affairs.

There was another feature of the weariness which came from being pushed
beyond the amount of work she was momentarily able to do: she became
irritable with Jack when tired, and then John interfered. Here again, her
only hope lay in Hugh. With Hugh present John was suave, polite, and apt
to treat her as a man is supposed to treat his wife. Considering all these
things, Elizabeth began to look forward to Hugh's return eagerly.

As if to favour Elizabeth's plans, Hugh Noland found Mitchell County a
lonely place to stay and as soon as the fencing was finished put a man in
charge and returned with all possible speed.

"Oh, John, you brother!" he exclaimed when he met John Hunter at the
kitchen door the day he arrived. He held out both his hands. "I haven't
had such a sense of coming _home_ since my mother's death."

They greeted, and looked at each other long and earnestly, and John Hunter
allowed himself to enter into closer relations of friendship and love than
he had ever done in the twenty-seven years of his life.

"I'm glad you're here," John sa