companion, and of the world to come, Thryng rode on, quietly amused.
Sometimes he dismounted to investigate plants new to him, or to gather a bit of moss or fungi or parasite—anything that promised an elucidating hour with his splendid microscope. For these he always carried at the pommel of his saddle an air-tight box. The mountain people supposed he collected such things for the compounding of his drugs.
When they reached the Fall Place, David continued along the main road below and took a trail farther on, merely a foot trail little used, to his eyrie. He had not seen Cassandra since they had walked together down from Hoke Belew's place. He had gone to Farington partly to avoid seeing her, nor did he wish to see her again until he should have so mastered himself as to betray nothing by his manner that might embarrass her or remind her painfully of their last interview, knowing he must eliminate self to reëstablish their previous relations.
David rode directly to his log stable, put up his horse, then unslung his box and walked with it toward his cabin. Suddenly he stopped. From the thick shrubbery where he stood he could see in at the large window where his microscope was placed quite through his cabin into the light, white canvas room beyond. Before the fireplace, clearly relieved against the whiteness of the farther room, stood Cassandra, gazing intently at something she held in her hand. David recognized it as a small, framed picture of his mother—a delicately painted miniature. He kept it always on the shelf near which she was standing. He saw her reach up and replace it, then brush her