ight," he faltered. "But you'd
better hurry. I know myself, and I know that if I met him I'd put him
out of the way if all hell stood between me and him. He has dragged my
name down into the mire and made me a laughing-stock before all men. I'm
pointed at, sneered at--called a senile fool."

"I'll hurry," she promised. "It won't take long."

In the little bedroom she threw open her trunk and began hastily to
pack. New fears were now assailing her. What if John should suddenly
come home for something he had left, as he had done once or twice?
Indeed, there on the bureau lay the blue-and-white drawing which only
the night before he had been studying. He might come for that, using
Cavanaugh's horse and buggy, as he frequently did. The thought chilled
her to the marrow of her bones. In her haste she all but tore her simple
dresses from their hooks in the closet and stuffed them, unfolded, into
the trunk. Now and then a little stifled sob escaped her. Her father
sat still and soundless in the other room. She wanted to brush his
clothes, tie his shoes, and fix his hatband before starting away, but
time was too valuable.

There was a pad of writing-paper and a pencil on the bureau, and she
told herself that she must write John a note and leave it. She closed
and locked her trunk. Then she turned to the pad. She took up the pencil
and started to write, but was interrupted. Her father crossed the hall
and stood in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" he asked, a suspicious gleam in the eyes which
took in the pad and pencil.

"Nothing. I am ready," she replied, dropping the pencil and turning to a
window. "Come in and get the trunk," she ordered the cabman.

Nothing was said by Whaley or herself now, for the negro, hat in hand,
was entering. And when he had left with the trunk, Tilly said:

"Come on, father, let's go."

Sullenly and still with a haunting air of indecision on him, he trudged
ahead of her out into the yard. She closed the door but did not lock it.

"How can I get a message to John?" she asked herself. "There is no way
that I can see, and yet I must--oh, I must!"

Her father had gone to the cab, opened the door himself, and stood
waiting for her. In the open sunshine, his unshaven face had a grisly,
ashen look; his bloodshot eyes held flitting gleams of insanity. His
lips moved. He was talking to himself. She saw him clench his fist and
hammer the glass door of the cab.

The negro was immediately behind