jumped at a faulty conclusion; the evidence which had seemed so weighty against him was not above question; she had been wrong when she sent him from her. Or he might have been her enemy and have broken with his conspirators—or he might actually be helping her for some unknown reason—she could not picture him, now, as a deliberate plotter against her well-being—
When she was in the worst of this bewilderment, Humphrey Bryant had telephoned, talking of other matters rather absently; then he had told her that Taylor was under arrest, that his arraignment had been put over a day. "They're fighting among themselves," he said as though, perhaps, he doubted that explanation.
Yesterday she had watched Luke Taylor in her forest, had watched his restless old face find peace; had seen him stop and touch a pine trunk with all the affection that a man could put into a gesture; had heard him thank his God for her forest—His hardness had melted there and inspiration had come to her.
Black Joe had come in from the mill with a message for Aunty May; she had only half listened to that but before he turned to go he said:
"They're holdin' young Taylor in jail, I hear—I told him,"—with a twist of his head—"Jim Harris'd get him—I told him; he's got sand, he has, but not much sense. I'm going in tomorrow if it rains an' get him out."
He walked away and Helen tried to call out to him, tried to make herself beg for an explanation, but she could not, and she did not know whether fear of humiliation or fear that the light hope in her would be blasted kept her silent—
All night she tossed, hearing the clinking of Pauguk's
