back kitchen door. From here she made her way, in a
roundabout fashion, to the rear entrance of the store-keeper's house
across the road, for she was quite sure that her father had gone into
the store in search of her.

Cautiously stepping into the kitchen, she found Fairchilds restlessly
pacing the floor, and he greeted her return with a look of mingled
pleasure and apprehension.

"Your father is out front, in the store, Tillie," he whispered, coming
close to her. "He's looking for you. He doesn't know I'm in town, of
course. Come outside and I 'll tell you our plan."

He led the way out of doors, and they sought the seclusion of a
grape-arbor far down the garden.

"We'll leave it to the Doc to entertain your father," Fairchilds went
on; "you will have to leave here with me to-night, Tillie, and as soon
as possible, for your father will make trouble for us. We may as well
avoid a conflict with him--especially for your sake. For myself, I
shouldn't mind it!" He smiled grimly.

He was conscious, as his eyes rested on Tillie's fair face under the
evening light, of a reserve in her attitude toward him that was new to
her. It checked his warm impulse to take her hands in his and tell her
how glad he was to see her again.

"How can we possibly get away to-night?" she asked him. "There are no
stages until the morning."

"We shall have to let the Doc's fertile brain solve it for us, Tillie.
He has a plan, I believe. Of course, if we have to wait until morning
and fight it out with your father, then we'll have to, that's all. But
I hope that may be avoided and that we may get away quietly."

They sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly Fairchilds leaned toward her
and spoke to her earnestly.

"Tillie, I want to ask you something. Please tell me--why did you never
answer my letters?"

She lifted her startled eyes to his. "Your letters?"

"Yes. Why didn't you write to me?"

"You wrote to me?" she asked incredulously.

"I wrote you three times. You don't mean to tell me you never got my
letters?"

"I never heard from you. I would--I would have been so glad to!"

"But how could you have missed getting them?"

Her eyes fell upon her hands clasped in her lap, and her cheeks grew
pale.

"My father," she half whispered.

"He kept them from you?"

"It must have been so."

Fairchilds looked very grave. He did not speak at once.

"How can you forgive such things?" he presently asked. "One tenth of
the things you