That was his impression. He was undergoing a smashing of his
conceptions of this girl as he had visioned her from the picture, and a
readjustment of her as she existed for him now. And he was not
disappointed. He had never seen anything quite like this Marge O'Doone
and her bear. _O'Doone!_ His mind had harked back quickly, at her
mention of that name, to the woman in the coach of the Transcontinental,
the woman who was seeking a man by the name of Michael O'Doone. Of
course the woman was her mother. Her name, too, must have been O'Doone.
Very slowly the girl detached herself from her bear, and came until she
stood within three steps of David.
"Tara won't hurt you," she assured him again, "unless I scream. He would
tear you to pieces, then."
If she had betrayed a sudden fear at his first appearance, it was gone
now. Her eyes were like dark rock-violets and again he thought them the
bluest and most fearless eyes he had ever seen. She was less a child
now, standing so close to him; her slimness made her appear taller than
she was. David knew that she was going to question him, and before she
could speak he asked:
"Why are you afraid of some one coming after you from the Nest, as you
call it?"
"Because," she replied with quiet fearlessness, "I am running away from
it.
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