But she did not go again to the Martin cottage or visit
the old house.
Once at the foot of the Interpreter's zigzag stairway she met Captain
Martin and greeted him in passing. Two or three times she caught a
glimpse of him among the men coming from the Mill as she waited for
John in front of the office. That was all. But always she was conscious
of him. When from the Interpreter's hut she watched the twisting
columns of smoke rising from the tall stacks, her thoughts were with
the workman who somewhere under that cloud was doing his full share in
the industrial army of his people. When John talked to her of the Mill
and its meaning, her heart was glad for her brother's loyal comradeship
with this man who had been his captain over there. The very sound of
the deep-toned whistle that carried to Adam Ward the proud realization
of his material possessions carried to his daughter thoughts of what,
but for those same material possessions, might have been.
For relief she turned to McIver. There was a rocklike quality in the
factory owner that had always appealed to her. His convictions were so
unwavering--his judgments so final. McIver never doubted McIver. He
never, in his own mind, questioned what he did by the standards of
right and justice.
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