CHAPTER XVII.
FOR THE SAKE OF NANCY It was toward six o'clock when she ascended the steps of the rectory.
Bernal, coming from the opposite direction, met her at the door.

Back of his glance, as they came together, was an intimation of hidden things, and at sight of him she was smitten by an electric flash of wonder.

The voice of Wyeth, that friendly, untroubled voice, she now remembered had called to no specific Linford.

In the paralysis of embarrassment that had seized her in that darkened hallway, she had failed to recall that there were at least two Linfords in existence.

In an instant her inner world, wrought into something like order in the past two hours, was again chaos.
"Why, Nance--you look like night, when there are no stars--what is it ?" He scanned her with an assumption of jesting earnestness, palpably meant to conceal some deeper emotion.