Sometimes the mills were spoken of, and she was questioned about her work. Then, indeed, she turned to him--but he was not the only one to whom she turned: she turned quite as frequently to the man who was seldom far away from the sound of her voice when she was at Hilcrest--Frank Spencer. McGinnis had a new object for his brooding eyes then; and it was not long before he saw that it was to this same Frank Spencer that Margaret turned when subjects other than the mills were under discussion. There seemed to be times, indeed, when she apparently heard only his voice, and recognized only his presence, so intimate was the sympathy between them. McGinnis saw something else, too--he saw the look in Frank Spencer's eyes; and after that he did not question again the cause of his own misery. Sometimes McGinnis would forget all this, or would call it the silly fears of a jealous man who sees nothing but adoration in every eye turned upon his love. Such times were always when Margaret was back at the Mill House, and when it seemed as if she, too, were inside his prison walls with him, leaving that hated, unknown world shut forever out. Then would come Hilcrest--and the reaction. "She does not love me," he would moan night after night as he tossed in sleepless misery. "She does not love me, but she does not know it--yet. She is everything that is good and beautiful and kind; but I never, never can make her happy. I might have known--I might have known!" CHAPTER XXXVII The Spencers remained at Hilcrest nearly all summer with only a short trip or two on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned. The place was particularly cool and delightful in summer, and this season it was more so than usual. House-parties had always been popular at Hilcrest, and never more so than now. So popular, indeed, were they that Margaret suspected them to be sometimes merely an excuse to gain her own presence at Hilcrest. There were no guests, however, on the Monday night that the mills caught fire. Even Margaret was down at the Mill House. Mrs. Merideth, always a light sleeper, was roused by the first shrill blast of the whistle. From her bed she could see the lurid glow of the sky, and with a cry of terror she ran to the window. The next moment she threw a bath-robe over her shoulders and ran to Frank Spencer's room across the hall. "Frank, it's the mills--they're all afire!" she called frenziedly. "Oh, Frank, it's awful!" From behind the closed door came a sudden stir and the sound of bare feet striking the floor; then Frank's voice. "I'll be out at once. And, Della, see if Ned's awake, and if you can call up Peters, please. We shall want a motor car." Mrs. Merideth wrung her hands. "Frank--Frank--I can't have you go--I can't have you go!" she moaned hysterically; yet all the while she was hurrying to the telephone that would give the alarm and order the car that would take him.