THE SONG OF THE SAW

There was still a subdued note to Roscoe's manner the next morning.
He was pale. He talked freely however of the affairs of Viking and
Sunburst, and spoke of business which called him to Mr. Devlin's great
saw mill that day. A few moments after breakfast we were standing in the
doorway. "Well," he said, "shall we go?"

I was not quite sure where he meant to go, but I took my hat and joined
him. I wondered if it would be to the summer hotel or the great mill.
My duty lay in the direction of the hotel. When we stepped out, he
added: "Let us take the bridle-path along the edge of the ravine to the
hotel."

The morning was beautiful. The atmosphere of the woods was of soft,
diffusive green--the sunlight filtering through the transparent leaves.
Bowers of delicate ferns and vines flanked the path, and an occasional
clump of giant cedars invited us: the world was eloquent.

Several tourists upon the verandah of the hotel remarked us with
curiosity as we entered. A servant said that Mrs. Falchion would be glad
to see us; and we were ushered into her sitting-room. She carried no
trace of yesterday's misadventure. She appeared superbly well. And yet,
when I looked again, when I had time to think upon and observe detail,
I saw signs of change. There was excitement in the eyes, and a slight
nervous darkness beneath them, which added to their charm. She rose,
smiling, and said: "I fear I am hardly entitled to this visit, for I am
beyond convalescence, and Justine is not in need of shrift or diagnosis,
as you see."