oolfolk instantly responded. He bent and,
lifting the body of Lichfield Stope, carried it into the hall, where,
relieved at the opportunity to dispose of his burden, he left it in an
obscure corner.

Iscah Nicholas was stirring again. John Woolfolk waited, gazing up the
stair, but the other progressed no more than a step. Then he returned
to Millie.

"Come," he said. "No time to lose." He took her arm and exerted a
gentle pressure toward the door.

"I explained that it was too late," she reiterated, evading him.
"Father really lived, but I died. 'Swamp of souls,'" she added in a
lower voice. "Someone said that, and it's true; it happened to me."

"The man waiting for you will be worried," he suggested. "He depends
absolutely on your coming."

"Nice man. Something had happened to him too. He caught a rockfish and
Nicholas boiled it in milk for our breakfast." At the mention of Iscah
Nicholas a slight shiver passed over her. This was what Woolfolk hoped
for--a return of her normal revulsion from her surroundings, from the
past.

"Nicholas," he said sharply, contradicted by a faint dragging from the
stair, "is dead."

"If you could only assure me of that," she replied wistfully. "If I
could be certain that he wasn't in the next shadow I'd go gladly. Any
other way it would be useless." She laid her hand over her heart. "I
must get him out of here----My father did. His lips trembled a little,
but he said quite clearly: 'Don't do that. Don't touch my daughter.'"

"Your father was a singularly brave man," he assured her, rebelling
against the leaden monotony of speech that had fallen upon them. "Your
mother too was brave," he temporized. He could, he decided, wait no
longer. She must, if necessary, be carried away forcibly. It was a
desperate chance--the least pressure might result in a permanent,
jangling discord. Her waist, torn, he saw, upon her pallid shoulder,
was an insufficient covering against the wind and night. Looking about
he discovered the muffler, laid out for her father, crumpled on the
floor; and, with an arm about her, folded it over her throat and
breast.

"Now we're away," he declared in a forced lightness. She resisted him
for a moment, and then collapsed into his support.

John Woolfolk half led, half carried her into the hall. His gaze
searched the obscurity of the stair; it was empty; but from above came
the sound of a heavy, dragging step.

XIV

Outside she cowered pitifully fro