arry, who, during all the
years, had meant nothing more to King's Forest than that he was the
old doctor's son, Mary-Clare's husband, and Maclin's secret employee.

Larry, asleep in the shack next door, had taken on new proportions. He
meant, for the first time, to Peneluna, a person to whom she owed
something by virtue of knowledge. Knowledge! What really did she know?
How did she know it? She did not question--she accepted and became
responsible in a deep and grateful manner. She must remember about
Larry. Remember all she could--it would help her now.

The trouble, Peneluna knew, began with Larry's mother. Larry's mother
had wrecked the old doctor's life; had driven him to King's Forest. No
one had ever told Peneluna this--but she knew it. It did not matter
what that woman had done, she had hurt a man cruelly. Once the old
doctor had said to Peneluna--it came sharply back, now, like a call
from a wayfarer:

"Miss Pen, it is because of such women as you and Aunt Polly that men
_can_ keep their faith."

That was when Larry was desperately ill and Polly Heathcote and
Peneluna were nursing him--he was a little boy then, home on a
vacation. It was because of the woman that neither of them had ever
known that they tried to mother the boy--but Larry was difficult, he
had queer streaks. Again Peneluna looked back, back to some of the
difficult streaks.

Once Larry had stolen! He had gone, too, when quite a child, to the
tavern! He had tasted the liquor, made the men laugh! The old doctor
had been in a sad state at that time and Larry had been sent to
school.

After that, well, Peneluna could not recall Larry distinctly for many
years. She knew the old doctor clung to him passionately; went
occasionally to see him, came back troubled; came back looking older
each time and depending more upon Mary-Clare, whose love and devotion
could smooth the sadness from his face.

Then that night, the marriage night of Mary-Clare! Peneluna had been
near the old doctor when Larry bent to catch the distorted words that
were but whispered. She knew, she seemed always to have known, that
Larry had lied; he had _not_ understood anything.

Peneluna had tried to interfere, but she was always fumbling; she
could patiently wait, but action, with her, was slow.

And then Maclin! Since Maclin came and bought the mines _and_
Larry--oh! what did it all mean? Had things been slumbering, needing
only a touch?

And who was this man at the in