too, rose.

"If you think it best to go," she said firmly, "then I must go, too. I
could not remain here passive another day. And, besides, if he is
there, it is better that I should be with you. I know how to handle
him. He is always gentle with me."

Donaldson caught his breath. This was an emergency that he had not
foreseen. Manifestly, she could not go. She must not go. It would be
to take her back to the blue sky beneath which she was born. It would
be to give her a setting that would intensify every wild thought he was
trying so hard to throttle.

"No," he exclaimed. "You had better permit me to go alone."

"I should not think of it," she answered decisively.

"But he may not be there. He might come back here while you were gone."

"He will be quite safe if he returns here."

"But--"

"I will see Marie and come down at once."

She hurried upstairs.

"Marie," she asked, "is it quite safe to leave you here alone until
afternoon?"

"Safe? Why not?"

"I was going out to the bungalow."

The old servant looked up shrewdly.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Nothing that you can help," the girl answered.

She had not yet told her of Ben's last disappearance. There was no use
in worrying those who could give no help.

"Bien. Go on. It will do you both good."

"The telephone is at your bed--you can summon Dr. Abbot if you need
anything."

"Bien."

"And perhaps while I am gone Jacques may come for a visit."

"Perhaps. Run along. The air will do you good."

The girl kissed the wrinkled forehead and hurried to her own room.
There, before the mirror, she was forced to ask herself the question
which she had tried to escape: "Why are you going?"

"Because if Ben were there and sick, he might need me!"

"Why are you going?"

The woman in the mirror was relentless.

"Because the house here is so full of shadows."

"Why are you going?"

"Because the sun will give me strength."

"Why are you going?"

"Because," she flushed guiltily,--"because it will be very much
pleasanter than remaining here alone."

Whereupon the woman in the mirror ceased her questioning.

And, in the meanwhile, the relentless old clock was goading Donaldson.
Its methodical, interminable ticking sounded like the approaching
footsteps of a jailer towards the death cell.

"Don't you know better than to risk yourself out there one whole
spring-time day with her?" it demanded.

"But with a full realization of