in a corner, fighting these powerful forces which sought to overwhelm her.
Until midnight Helen had been out with Goddard and Black Joe watching a ground fire run itself into a wet marsh. She undressed very slowly and sat on the edge of her bed. Watch Pine whispered restlessly above her house this night and struck a responsive chord in her heart. Until now she had thought of John Taylor only with anger. He had come to her, she had helped him, she had loved him, only to have him strike at the vital thing for which she lived and worked. But tonight her weariness could rally no resentment and her thoughts persisted in straying back to sweet moments. When he had fished with her at evening, when he had been beside her desk at night learning the things she had to teach; when he had talked of his father; when he had pledged his allegiance—and when his lips had first touched hers. Now, there was no wrath to think that he had come so close to her heart, but only a sense of emptiness, loneliness. Was her forest all that mattered? she asked herself.
