rned to
bed and slept heavily and dreamlessly.... Not over the bodies of a loved
friend and an honored foe would Errol Banneker climb to a place of
safety for Io and triumph for himself.

Mail takes four days to reach Manzanita from New York.

Through the hot months The House With Three Eyes had kept its hospitable
orbs darkened of Saturday nights. Therefore, Banneker was free to spend
his week-ends at The Retreat, and his Friday and Saturday mail were
forwarded to the nearest country post-office, whither he sent for it, or
picked it up on his way back to town. It was on Saturday evening that he
received the letter from Io, saying that she had written to Willis
Enderby to come on to Manzanita and let the eyes, for which he had
filled life's whole horizon since first they met his, look on him once
more before darkness shut down on them forever. Her letter had crossed
Banneker's.

"I know that he will come," she wrote. "He must come. It would be too
cruel ... and I know his heart."

Eight-thirty-six in the evening! And Io's letter to Enderby must have
reached him in New York that morning. He would be taking the fast train
for the West leaving at eleven. Banneker sent in a call on the
long-distance 'phone for Judge Enderby's house. The twelve-minute wait
was interminable to his grilling impatience. At length the placid tones
of Judge Enderby's man responded. Yes; the Judge was there. No; he
couldn't be disturbed on any account; very much occupied.

"This is Mr. Banneker. I must speak to him for just a moment. It's
vital."

"Very sorry, sir," responded the unmoved voice. "But Judge Enderby's
orders was absloot. Not to be disturbed on any account."

"Tell him that Mr. Banneker has something of the utmost importance to
say to him before he leaves."

"Sorry, sir. It'd be as much as my place is worth."

Raging, Banneker nevertheless managed to control himself. "He is leaving
on a trip to-night, is he not?"

After some hesitation the voice replied austerely: "I believe he is,
sir. Good-bye."

Banneker cursed Judge Enderby for a fool of rigid methods. It would be
his own fault. Let him go to his destruction, then. He, Banneker, had
done all that was possible. He sank into a sort of lethargy, brooding
over the fateful obstacles which had obstructed him in his
self-sacrificing pursuit of the right, as against his own dearest
interests. He might telegraph Io; but to what purpose? An idea flashed
upon him; why not tele