t. I don't know how we'll bear it without you. Father
will miss you almost as much as I will. Good-night. Don't bother
about that old white scarecrow. That's all it was. Good-night, dear,
good-night."

"Good-night, dear," answered a plaintive little voice. Helen's hot cheek
pressed the pillow and tossed from side to side. By and by she turned
the pillow over; it had grown wet. The wind blew about the eaves and
blew itself out; she hardly heard it. Sleep would not come. She got
up and laved her burning eyes. Then she sat by the window. The storm's
strength was spent at last; the rain grew lighter and lighter, until
there was but the sound of running water and the drip, drip on the tin
roof of the porch. Only the thunder rumbling in the distance marked the
storm's course; the chariots of the gods rolling further and further
away, till they finally ceased to be heard altogether. The clouds parted
majestically, and then, between great curtains of mist, the day-star was
seen shining in the east.

The night was hushed, and the peace that falls before dawn was upon
the wet, flat lands. Somewhere in the sodden grass a swamped cricket
chirped. From an outlying flange of the village a dog's howl rose
mournfully; was answered by another, far away, and by another and
another. The sonorous chorus rose above the village, died away, and
quiet fell again.

Helen sat by the window, no comfort touching her heart. Tears coursed
her cheeks no longer, but her eyes were wide and staring, and her lips
parted, for the hush was broken by the far clamor of the court-house
bell ringing in the night. It rang, and rang, and rang, and rang. She
could not breathe. She threw open the window. The bell stopped. All was
quiet once more. The east was growing gray.

Suddenly out of the stillness there came the sound of a horse galloping
over a wet road. He was coming like mad. Some one for a doctor? No;
the horse-hoofs grew louder, coming out from the town, coming this
way, coming faster and faster, coming _here_. There was a splashing and
trampling in front of the house and a sharp "Whoa!" In the dim gray of
first dawn she made out a man on a foam-flecked horse. He drew up at the
gate.

A window to the right of hers went screeching up. She heard the judge
clear his throat before he spoke.

"What is it? That's you, isn't it, Wiley? What is it?" He took a good
deal of time and coughed between the sentences. His voice was more than
ordinarily quiet,