didn't mean that all these came at
once."

She felt a bit relieved.

"I'll be in to-morrow at six," she assured him, still smiling bravely.
"I think I can manage it alone."

"One of us can always do the lifting for you, and odd chores," he told
her.

After that she met the other men, and went back to the cabin. Francis
was still following her in silence.

"How nice they are, even the grumpy ones!"

she told him radiantly. "Don't forget to knock on my door in time
to-morrow, Francis."

She gave him no time to reply. She simply went to bed. And in spite
of all that had come and gone she was so tired that she fell asleep as
soon as she was there.

She was awakened by Francis's knock at what seemed to her the middle of
the night. Then she remembered that the pines shut off the light so
that it was high daylight outside before it was in here. A vague
feeling of terror came over her before she remembered why; and for a
moment she lay still in the unfamiliar bed, trying to remember. When
she did remember she was so much more afraid that she sprang out
hurriedly, because things, for some reason, are always worse when you
aren't quite awake. Or better. But there was nothing to be better
just now.

She bathed and dressed with a dogged quickness, trying meanwhile to
reassure herself. After all, it was only cooking on a little larger
scale than she was used to. After all, it was only for a few months.
After all, she mightn't be broken down by it. And--this was the only
thing that was any real comfort--it would free her so completely of
Francis, this association with him, and the daily, hourly realization
that he had treated her in a cruel, unjust way, that when she went back
she would be glad to forget that he had ever lived; even the days when
he had been so pleasant and comforting.

If Francis knew that the little aproned figure, with flushed cheeks and
high-held head, was terrified and homesick under the pride, he said
nothing. Nothing, that is, beyond the ordinary courtesies. He offered
to help her on with her cloak. After one indignant look at him she let
him. The indignation would have puzzled him; but Marjorie's feeling
was that a man who would doom you to this sort of a life, put you to
such a test as Francis had, was adding insult to injury in helping you
on and off with wraps. He, of course, couldn't grasp all this, and
felt a little puzzled.

She walked out and over to the door of the le