"Mary-Clare, I do not know; I don't feel able to put it into words, but I do believe you're going to make sad trouble for yourself, child. Such a thing as this you have done has never been done before in the Forest." "Maybe." A door upstairs slammed loudly and both women started nervously. "I must tell Peter to fix the latch of the attic door to-morrow," Aunt Polly said, relieved to be back on good, plain, solid ground. "The attic winders are raised and the wind's rising. It will be slam, slam all night, unless----" she rose quickly. "Just a minute, Aunt Polly, I'm so tired. Please let me lie here on the couch and rest for an hour and then I'll slip home." "Let me put you to bed properly, child. You look suddenly beat flat. That's the way with women. They get to thinking they've got wings when they ain't, child, they ain't. You're making a terrible break in your life, child. Terrible." Mary-Clare was arranging the couch. "Come, dear," she wheedled, "you tuck me up--so! I'll bank the fire when I go and leave everything safe. A little rest and then to-morrow!--well, you'll see that I have wings, Aunt Polly; they are only tired now--for they are new wings! I know that it must seem all madness, but it had to come." Aunt Polly pulled the soft covering over the huddled form--only the pale, wistful face was presently to be seen; the great, haunting eyes made Aunt Polly catch her breath. She bent and kissed the forehead. "Poor, reaching-out child!" she whispered. "For something that is _there_, Aunt Polly." "God knows!" "Of course He does. That's why He gave us the--reach. Good-night. Oh! how I love you, Aunt Polly. Good-night!" It was Northrup's door that had slammed shut. Aunt Polly went above, secured the innocent attic door, and then pattered down to her bedroom near Peter's, feeling that her house, at least, was safe. It was silent at last. Northrup, in his dark chamber, lay awake and--ashamed, though heaven was his witness that his sin was not one he had planned. Aunt Polly had been on his mind. He hated to have her down there alone. Her sitting up for him had touched and--disturbed him; he had left his door ajar. "I'll listen for a few minutes and if she doesn't go to bed, I'll go down and shake her," he concluded, and then promptly went to sleep and was awakened by voices. Low, earnest voices, but he heard no words and was sleepily confused. If he thought anything, he thought Peter had been doing what was needed to be done--driving Polly to bed! And then Northrup _did_ hear words. A word here; a word there. He _knew_ things he had no right to know--he was awake at last, conscientiously, as well as physically. He got up and slammed the door!