“Belle, it is funny, isn’t it, that there is an imprisoned maiden after all?”

“Oh, Rosalind, I know how it feels now.  It is awful!”

“I think I know a little about it too,” said Rosalind, sure that it was almost as bad to have that lonely, echoing house behind her as to be locked in.  “Did you remember your oak leaf?” she asked.

“Yes, and I am not going to cry.  Rosalind, we might have let Maurice in at the door.  Wasn’t it stupid of us?”

“Why, Belle! of course we might.”

Katherine and Jack meanwhile had made their way out, the latter requiring a good deal of help, for getting in was easier than getting out.  Jack was very indignant with her for not staying with Rosalind, and treated her with a cold disdain most trying.

As soon as she was in the open air, Katherine bitterly repented of her cowardice.  She followed Jack meekly as he strode across the grass toward the Fairs’, utterly ignoring her.

A sound of voices came from the summer-house, and Jack looked in to discover Maurice talking to Miss Celia.  He briefly explained the trouble, adding, “If Morgan is at your house, Miss Celia, I’ll go for him.”

“I think you will find him.  But what a thing for you children to do!” Celia exclaimed, “Who stayed with Belle?”

“Rosalind.  Katherine was afraid.”

Katherine, who lingered outside, shrunk back as he said this.  Her tears began afresh.  They all thought her a coward.  She didn’t want Miss Celia or Maurice to see her.  She turned and ran away.

CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

Old acquaintance.

“And there begins my sadness.”

Allan Whittredge, strolling up the hill toward the Gilpin place late in the afternoon, became aware of a dejected figure approaching, which presently resolved itself into Katherine Roberts, who paused every few minutes to press her handkerchief to her eyes.

“Why, Katherine, what is the trouble?” he asked, when he reached her side.

She stood still, not answering, and with her eyes covered.  No one was in sight up or down the street.  Allan drew her toward a convenient carriage block and, sitting beside her, asked his question again.  His manner was winning, and Katherine, in great need of sympathy, sobbed, “They won’t like me any more.”

“Who won’t?”

“Jack or Rosalind, or any of them,” came in quivering tones.

“Why, what have you done that is so terrible?  I thought quarrels were unknown in the Forest.”

Katherine shook her head.  “It wasn’t a quarrel.  I was afraid because it was dark,—­and Jack said I was a coward.  He told Maurice and Miss Celia so.”  The confession ended in more tears.

Patiently Allan questioned and listened until he had a fairly clear idea of the situation.  Then he spoke with cheerfulness.

“You all ought to be dealt with for getting into such mischief,” he said.  “And now don’t cry any more.  Many a soldier has run away from his first battle-field.  If I were you, I’d own up I had been a coward and say I was sorry.  Do you want to come back with me, and see the end of this adventure?”