an outlet to Demorest's adventurous energy. She had received
it with ill-disguised satisfaction, and the remark that if this exodus
of Mammon cleared the community of the godless and unregenerate it would
only be another proof of God's mysterious providence.

With the tumultuous wind at their backs it was not long before the
buggy rattled once more over the cobble-stones of the town. Under the
direction of his friend, Demorest, who still retained possession of the
reins, drove briskly down a side street of more pretentious dwellings,
where Blandford lived. One or two wayfarers looked up.

"Not so fast, Dick."

"Why? I want to bring you up to your door in style."

"Yes--but--it's Sunday. That's my house, the corner one."

They had stopped before a square, two-storied brick house, with an
equally square wooden porch supported by two plain, rigid wooden
columns, and a hollow sweep of dull concavity above the door, evidently
of the same architectural order as the church. There was no corner or
projection to break the force of the wind that swept its smooth glacial
surface; there was no indication of light or warmth behind its six
closed windows.

"There seems to be nobody at home," said Demorest, briefly. "Come along
with me to the hotel."

"Joan sits in the back parlor, Sundays," explained the husband.

"Shall I drive round to the barn and leave the horse and buggy there
while you go in?" continued Demorest, good-humoredly, pointing to the
stable gate at the side.

"No, thank you," returned Blandford, "it's locked, and I'll have to open
it from the other side after I go in. The horse will stand until then.
I think I'll have to say good-night, now," he added, with a sudden
half-ashamed consciousness of the forbidding aspect of the house, and
his own inhospitality. "I'm sorry I can't ask you in--but you understand
why."

"All right," returned Demorest, stoutly, turning up his coat-collar, and
unfurling his umbrella. "The hotel is only four blocks away--you'll find
me there to-morrow morning if you call. But mind you tell your wife just
what I told you--and no meandering of your own--you hear! She'll strike
out some idea with her woman's wits, you bet. Good-night, old man!" He
reached out his hand, pressed Blandford's strongly and potentially, and
strode down the street.

Blandford hitched his steaming horse to a sleet-covered horse block
with a quick sigh of impatient sympathy over the animal and himself, and