hide the
secret of his long absence, had brought to them this sounding alarm.
There was the sun beyond the zenith in the heavens, the shadows of
afternoon were falling, and the yellow light over the forest softened
into gray, but no sign of an enemy appeared.

If Henry Ware saw the discontent he did not show his knowledge; the
light of the expected conflict was still in his eyes and his thoughts
were chiefly of the great event to come; yet in an interval of waiting
he went back to the house and told his mother of much that had befallen
him during his long absence; he sought to persuade himself now that he
could not have escaped earlier, and perhaps without intending it he
created in her mind the impression that he sought to engrave upon his
own; so she was fully satisfied, thankful for the great mercy of his
return that had been given to her.

"Now mother!" he said at last, "I am going outside."

"Outside!" she cried aghast, "but you are safe here! Why not stay?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"I shall be safe out there, too," he said, "and it is best for us all
that I go. Oh, I know the wilderness, mother, as you know the rooms of
this house!"

He kissed her quickly and turned away. John Ware, who stood by, said
nothing. He felt a certain fear of his son and did not yet know how to
command him.

As Henry passed from the house into the little square Lucy Upton
overtook him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I think I can be of more help out there than in here," he replied
pointing toward the forest.

"It would be better for you to stay," she said.

"I shall be in no danger."

"It is not that; do you know what some of them here are saying of
you--that you are estranged from us, that there is some purpose in this,
that no attack is coming! Your going now will confirm them in the
belief."

His dark eyes flashed with a fierceness that startled her, and his whole
frame seemed to draw up as if he were about to spring. But the emotion
passed in a moment, and his face was a brown mask, saying nothing. He
seemed indifferent to the public opinion of his little world.

"I am needed out there," he said, pointing again toward the dark line of
the forest, "and I shall go. Whether I tell the truth or not will soon
be known; they will have to wait only a little. But you believe me now,
don't you?"

She looked deep into his calm eyes, and she read there only truth. But
she knew even before she looked that Henry