Tira was not thinking of him. She had gone, with her quick, lithe step, to the window where the vine was tapping, and thrown it up. "Here!" he called again, his uneasiness shifting; whatever a woman was doing, with a face like that, she must be stopped. "What you openin' winders for, a day like this, coldin' off the room?" Tira reached out and seized the woodbine spray, cut it savagely and then shut the window. She came back with the spray in her hand, took off the stove cover and thrust it in, twining and writhing as if it had life and rebelled against the flame. "There!" she said. "I ain't goin' to have no vines knockin' at winders an' scarin' anybody to death." Then she went into the scullery and put the knife in its place, blade up in a little frame over the sink, and came back into the bedroom where the child was whimpering. She stayed there a long time, and Tenney stood where she left him, listening for her crooning song. When it began, as it did presently, he gave a nod of relief and started moving about the room. Once he went into the scullery, and Tira heard him pumping. But when she had got the child dressed, and had gone out there herself, to prepare the vegetables for dinner, she put her hand mechanically, without looking, on the rack above the sink. The hand knew what it should find, but it did not find it. The knife was gone. Tira stood a long time looking, not at the empty place, but down at her feet. It was not alarming to miss the knife. It was reassuring. It was not to be believed, yet she must believe it. Tenney was taking precautions. He was afraid. Nan, halfway home, met Raven. He had been walking up and down, to meet her. Defeat, he saw, with a glance at her face. "Yes," said Nan, coming up with him. "No go, Rookie. He was civil. But he was dreadful. I don't know whether I should have known it, but it's the way she looked at him. Rookie, she was scared blue." Raven said nothing. He felt a poor stick indeed, to have brought Nan into it and given her over to defeat. "Can't we walk a spell?" said she. "Couldn't we take the back road to the hut? I do so want to talk to you." They turned back and passed the Tenneys' at a smart pace. Raven gave the house a swift glance. He was always expecting to hear Tira cry out, she who never did and who, he knew, would endure torture like an Indian. They turned into the back road where the track was soft with the latest snow, and came into the woods again opposite the hut. When they reached it and Raven put down his hand for the key, Nan asked: "Does she come here often?" "Not lately," he said, fitting the key in the lock. "She had rather a quiet time of it while he was lame." They went in and Nan kept on her coat while he lighted the fire and piled on brush. "Rookie," she said, when he had it leaping, "it's an awful state of things. The man's insane."