He came in showing a scratch or two on his face, and he reported
the pantry window broken open.
"Some tramp along the beach saw our lights," suggested Carolyn.
"What was he like, Peter?" asked Mrs. Phillips.
"I couldn't make out in the dark," Peter replied. "But he fought hard for
what he took, and he got away with it." He felt the marks on his face.
"Must have been a pretty hungry man."
"It was some refugee hiding in my woods," said Medora Phillips. She made
her real thought no plainer. She never liked to see, in her walks, that
distant prison, and she never spoke of it to her guests; but the fancy of
some escaped convict lurking below among her thickets was often present in
her mind.
Her fancy was now busy with some burglar, or even some murderer, who had
made his bolt for liberty; and she clung informally to the clarion-voiced
Cope as to a savior. She saw, with displeasure, that Carolyn was disposed
to cling too. She asked Carolyn to control herself and told her the danger
was over; she even requested her to return to her room. But Carolyn
lingered.
Medora herself stood with Cope in the light of the dying fire.
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