These arguments were all thrown away. Neither could urge aught to
restrain her. With a swift strength of gait that seemed amazing to those
who had witnessed her feeble dragging about the house for weeks past,
Lillian flashed through the door, and suddenly there was the keen tinkle
of a bell in the darkening, chill spaces of the unused hall. The other
two, startled, appalled, as in the contemplation of the aberrations of
acute mania, scarcely knowing whether to follow or to call for help,
remained motionless, gazing at each other in pallid agitation, awaiting
developments, of which they could divine naught.

Lillian, however, was perfectly calm as she called up "Long Distance" and
gave the address of Julian Bayne in the city of Glaston--the number of
his office and his residence as well.

The two women in the firelight glanced at each other in mute
significance. Then Lillian urged the operator at Shaftesville to the
utmost diligence. "Find him wherever he is. Send special messenger. Get
him to the 'phone at once. Emergency call! Make them understand that at
the Glaston exchange."

Mrs. Marable, a little, precise, wrinkled old lady, with a brown taffeta
gown and a Marie Stuart lace cap, cherished the traditions of the old
school of propriety, and the controlling influence proved strong even
amidst this chaos of excitements. As Mrs. Royston returned in a state of
absolute exaltation to the fireside, "Lillian," said Mrs. Marable coldly,
"the officers of the law are the proper parties for you to appeal to, if
you are going to pursue this obsession. Why should you call up that--man?
Why don't you call the sheriff of the county?"

"Because I want Julian Bayne. I believe in him! I can trust him! It is
almost like the hand of omnipotence--there is help in the very thought of
him."

There were no more tears. She sat strong, elate, her head held high, her
hands folded calmly on the crape pleats of the black gown she wore for
the child's sake, ready to wait the evening through. But there was a
prompt response. When the telephone-bell jarred out suddenly in the dim
stillness of the hall, Gladys sprang up with a sharp cry, her hands to
her ears, as if to shut out the sound. But Lillian ran lightly out of the
room, and the two heard in wonder the sure vibrations of her clear
composed accents. "Yes, Long Distance, this is Mrs. Royston." Then
suddenly her tones were pervaded with embarrassment: "Oh, Mr. _John_
Bayne.... Oh, the