For'ard Lookout, entered and began her work.

The wind howled and whined and the rain beat against the windows. The
blinds creaked, the sashes rattled, the gusts moaned in the chimney
above the fireplace, and all the hundred and one groanings and wailings,
the complaints of an old house in a storm, developed. All these sounds
Mary heard absently, her mind upon her work. Then, little by little
as they drew nearer, she became conscious of other sounds, footfalls;
someone was coming up the walk.

She did not rise from her chair nor look up from her work when the
outside door opened. Even when the footsteps sounded in the little hall
behind her she did not turn.

"Yes, Uncle Shad," she said. "I am here, and I'm safe and I'm perfectly
dry. Also I'm very, very busy. Now, why did you come out in the rain to
hunt me up? And I'm quite sure you haven't put on your rubbers."

And then the voice behind her said: "Mary."

She turned now--turned, looked, and rose to her feet. Her face went
white, then flushed red, and then paled again.

"Oh!" she gasped.

Crawford Smith was standing there. His light overcoat--it was not a
raincoat--dripped water; so did the hat in his hand. He stood there and
looked--and dripped.

"Mary," he said again.

She caught her breath, almost with a sob.

"You!" she exclaimed. "YOU! Oh, how could you? WHY did you come?"

He took a step toward her. "Because I felt that I must," he said. "I had
to come. I came to see you once more. You must forgive me."

She did not speak. He continued:

"You must forgive me for coming," he said again. "There was a question
I had to ask and only you could answer it. It isn't the question I
asked before, although perhaps that--But first I must tell you: Mary, my
father is dead."

She nodded. She could scarcely trust herself to speak, but she tried.

"Yes, yes," she faltered. "I--I know."

"You know?" he repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Keith told us this morning. He said he met you in Boston."

"Yes, I had forgotten; so he did."

"That is how I knew. Oh, Crawford, I am so sorry for you. I have been
writing you. But WHY did you come here again? It--it makes it so much
harder for--for both of us."

He did not answer the question. "You knew my father was dead," he said
again. "I wonder"--he was speaking slowly and his gaze was fixed upon
her face--"I wonder how much more you know."

She started back. "How much--" she repeated, "How much more--Oh, what do
you mean?"