Lynn Severn went about the house quiet and white, her face looking like
an angel's prayer, one continual petition, but she was sweet and
patient, and ready to do anything for anybody. Work seemed to be her
only respite from the gnawing horror of her thoughts. To know that the
whole village believed that Mark, her life long playmate, had been
guilty of a crime so heinous was so appalling that sometimes she just
stood at the window and laughed out into the sunshine at the crazy idea
of it. It simply could not be. Mark, who had always been so gentle and
tender for every living thing, so chivalrous, so ready to help! To
think of Mark killing anyone! And yet, they might have needed killing.

At least, of course she didn't mean that, but there were circumstances
under which she could imagine almost anyone doing a deed--well what was
the use, there was no way to excuse or explain a thing she didn't
understand, and she could just do nothing but not believe any of it
until she knew. She would trust in God, and yes, she would trust in
Mark as she always had done, at least until she had his own word that
he was not trustable. That haughty withdrawing of himself on Sunday
night and his "I am not worthy" meant nothing to her now when it came
trailing across her consciousness. It only seemed one more proof of his
tender conscience, his care for her reputation. He had known then what
they were saying about him, he must have known the day before that
there was something that put him in a position so that he felt it was
not good for her reputation to be his friend. He had withdrawn to
protect her. That was the way she explained it to her heart, while yet
beneath it all was the deep down hurt that he had not trusted her, and
let her be his friend in trouble as well as when all was well.