. I am free, free!"

The radiant face, the clenched hand, blinded Larry. Sitting again on
the edge of the table, looking down at the woman who had eluded him,
was defying him, he struck out! He had no thought at all for the
moment--something was in his way; before he could escape he must fling
it aside.

Mary-Clare drooped; dropped from her chair and lay quiet upon the
floor. Her hand, holding the paper, was spread wide, the note was
unprotected.

For a moment Larry gazed at his work with horrified eyes. Never before
had he meted physical brutality to man or woman. He was a coward at
heart, and he was thoroughly cowed as he stood above the girl at his
feet. He saw that she was breathing; there was almost at once a
fluttering of the lids. There were two things for a coward to
do--seize the note and make his escape.

Larry did both and Mary-Clare took no heed.

A little red squirrel came into the sunny room and darted about; the
sunlight grew dim, for there was a storm rising, and the clouds were
heavy on its wings.

And while the deathly silence reigned in the cabin, Northrup and
Kathryn were riding rapidly from the inn. As the car passed the yellow
house, Kathryn pathetically drew down the shades--her eyes were
tear-filled.

"Brace, dear," she whispered, "I'm so afraid. The storm; everything
frightens me. Take me in your arms."

And at that moment Kathryn believed that she loved Northrup, had saved
him from a great peril, and she was prepared to act the part, in the
future, of a faithful wife.

CHAPTER XVIII

Noreen and Jan-an late that afternoon returned to the yellow house.
They were both rather depressed and forlorn, for they knew that
Northrup was gone and had taken away with him much that had stimulated
and cheered.

Finding the yellow house empty, the two went up the opposite hill and
leisurely made their way to the brook that marked the limit of free
choice. Here they sat down, and Noreen suggested that they sing
Northrup's old songs and play some of his diverting games. Jan-an
solemnly agreed, shaking her head and sighing as one does who recalls
the dead.

So Noreen piped out the well-beloved words of "Green Jacket" and,
rather heavily, acted the jovial part. But Jan-an refused to be
comforted. She cried distractedly, and always when Jan-an wept she
made such abnormal "faces" that she disturbed any onlookers.

"All right!" Noreen said at last. "We'll both do something."

This clever