came
clearer in his mind, it seemed to him that she could not have kept such
a secret. She had been kinder, had seemed to him more--yes, almost--why,
when he asked her to be his again, to give him another chance, she had
hesitated. She had not said no at once, she hesitated. If she was about
to divorce him, would she have acted in such a way? It hardly seemed
possible.

Then came the letter and the telephone message. It was after these that
she had said no with decision. Perhaps . . . was it possible that she
had known of her brother-in-law's coming only then? Now that he thought
of it, she had not gone away at once after the talk over the 'phone. She
had waited a moment as if for him to speak. He, staggered and paralyzed
by the sight of his enemy's name in that letter, had not spoken and
then she . . . He did not believe she was seeking a divorce! It was all
another of Bennie D.'s lies!

But suppose she was seeking it. Or suppose--for he knew the persuasive
power of that glib tongue only too well--suppose her brother-in-law
should persuade her to do it. Should he sit still--in seclusion, as his
late adviser had counseled--and let this irrevocable and final move
be made? After a divorce--Seth's idea of divorces were vague and
Puritanical--there would be no hope. He and Emeline could never come
together after that. And he must give her up and all his hopes of
happiness, all that he had dreamed of late, would be but dreams, never
realities. No! he could not give them up. He would not. Publicity,
scandal, everything, he could face, but he would not give his wife up
without a fight. What should he do?

For a long time he paced up and down beneath the pines trying to plan,
to come to some decision. All that he could think of was to return to
the Lights, to go openly to the bungalow, see Emeline and make one last
appeal. Bennie D. might be there, but if he was--well, by jiminy crimps,
let him look out, that's all!

He had reached this point in his meditations when the wind, which had
been steadily increasing and tossing the pinetops warningly, suddenly
became a squall which brought with it a flurry of rain. He started and
looked up. The sky was dark, it was late in the afternoon, and the storm
he had prophesied had arrived.

Half an hour later he ran, panting and wet, into the blacksmith's shop.
The automobile was standing in the middle of the floor, and Mr. Ellis
was standing beside it, perspiring and troubled.

"Whe