return, and at once. The fact was, Truedale was drugged and he
had just sense enough left to know it! He vaguely realized that the
half-hour with Nella-Rose had been a dangerous epoch in his life. He was
safe, thank heaven! but he dared not trust himself just now without a
stronger will to guide him!

While he busied himself at feeding the animals, preparing and clearing
away his own evening meal, he grew calmer. The storm was gaining in
fury--and he was thankful for it! He was shut away from possible
temptation; he even found it easy to think of Kendall and of Lynda, but
he utterly eliminated his uncle from his mind. Between him and old
William Truedale the gulf seemed to have become impassable!

And while Truedale sank into an unsafe mental calm, Nella-Rose pushed
her way into the teeth of the storm and laughed and chattered like a mad
and lost little nymph. Wind and rain always exhilarated her and the fury
of the elements, gaining force every minute, did not alarm her while the
memory of her great experience held sway over her. She shook her hair
back from her wide, vague eyes. She was undecided where to go for the
night--it did not matter greatly; to-morrow she would go again to
Truedale, or he would come to her. At last she settled upon seeking the
shelter of old Lois Ann, in Devil-may-come Hollow, and turned in that
direction.

It was eight o'clock then and Truedale, with his books and papers on
the table before him, declared: "I am quite all right now," and fell to
work upon the manuscript that earlier had engrossed him.

As the time sped by he was able to visualize the play; _he_ was sitting
in the audience--he beheld the changing scenes and the tense climax. He
even began to speculate upon the particular star that would be fitted
for the leading part. His one extravagance, in the past, had been
cut-rate seats in the best theatres.

Suddenly the mood passed and all at once Truedale realized that he was
tired--deadly tired. The perspiration stood on his forehead--he ached
from the strain of cramped muscles. Then he looked at his watch; it was
eleven o'clock! The stillness out of doors bespoke a sullen break in the
storm. A determined drip-drip from roof and trees was like the ticking
of a huge clock running down, but good for some time. The fire had died
out, not a bit of red showed in the ashes, but the room was hot, still.
Truedale decided to go to bed without it, and, having come to that
conclusion, he b