“I like the idea,” Martin said.  “I mean to have something over my fireplace.  It sort of strikes one in the face.”

Presently Doris spoke, going back past the interruption: 

“Davey, the wonderful thing to me is that while believing Nancy to be Merry’s child I find my heart clinging passionately to Joan.  I know how you disapprove of her—­but I glory in her.  Through this anxious time I have been able to follow her, understand her better, even, than I have Nan.  Joan has often seemed like—­well, like myself set free.  I might have been like Joan in many ways.  And, Davey, this could not have happened had I known the real truth concerning the girls.”

“No, I do not think it could.  And it goes to prove my theory that two thirds of the inherited traits are common to us all.  The whole business lies in the handling of them by the one third that does come down the line.  The thing we know as the ancient law of inheritance.  Doris, take my advice and keep your hands off.”

“Oh!  Davey.  To keep my hands off is so easy that it doesn’t seem safe or right.”

David smiled, then said: 

“There are times, Doris, when I fear that you should be taken by the roots and—­transplanted.  The old soil is used up.”

“I—­I do not understand, David.”

“Don’t try!  Come, now, I want you to take a rest.  Go on the porch in the sun, I’ll wrap you warm.  I’m going to take Nancy over to the cabin for lunch and plan her wedding with her.  This afternoon you and I are going for a drive—­the roads have settled somewhat and I want your advice about things to put in my garden.”

As he spoke Martin was leading Doris to the piazza, gathering rugs and pillows in one arm as he went.

“I am so happy, David, so unspeakably happy.”  Doris sank into her pillows and smiled up at the face bending over her.  “It’s beautiful, all this care and love, and I have a feeling that I will be able, soon, to really live.  I have had so much without paying the price.”

“And you’d mess it all, would you, Doris, when you don’t know what the price is?”

“No, David, I wouldn’t.”

Martin walked into the house and whistled to Nancy.  She responded, so did the hounds and a new litter of long-eared pups.

Doris, with closed eyes, smiled and then she thought.  She, too, was planning for Nancy’s wedding—­she saw the small altar in the Chapel flower-decked; they must have some music, perhaps Joan would sing one of her lovely, quaint songs—­and then Doris slept while the sun lay on her peaceful face and the sound of the busy river soothed her.

* * * * *

It was like Joan to do exactly what she did.

After two deplorable days in the little hotel—­days devoted to collecting her belongings and eating and sleeping—­she suddenly found herself so strong that she sent the telegram to The Gap.

Having sent it, she meant to prepare carefully against shock at her appearance by buying a rather giddy hat and coat to offset her short hair and thin body.  Cameron had insisted, at the last, that she reserve her cash for emergencies and repay him later.