felt just one desire: to get back home. She
took Harold's arm and led him toward the door.

"I want to go home, and I need you to drive the car."

CHAPTER XVII

During the homeward trip Elizabeth was as one in a stupor. When they
reached the brow of the hill above the village, Harold stopped the car.
Elizabeth half turned about in her seat, resting her elbow on the back
above and lifting her hand to her eyes to shade them from the light. She
gazed upon the glory of the western sky where the sun was dropping into
a bed of gold, lavishly splashing the low-hanging clouds with a radiance
that seemed to drip from their edges. A shock suddenly brought her back
to reality with a pain at her heart. Silhouetted against the gold of the
sky-line, his head bared, his shoulders thrown back, was a tall figure:
the son of Adoniah Phillips!

"That's a good view for sore hearts, Bets," commented her brother.

She caught her breath in quick gasps. "Yes. But, oh, Harold, it's so
hard!"

"I know," he agreed, taking her hand. "Have you thought out a line of
action? Where shall we begin?"

The girl did not answer. Harold followed with his eyes the direction of
her gaze. His hand tightened in hers. The minister had just recognized
them, and was waving his cap high over his head in welcome. Elizabeth
lifted her handkerchief and permitted the light breeze to flutter it.
Harold answered with a swing of his arm. Mr. McGowan started toward
them.

"Drive me home, Harold. I can't see him now."

"But, Sis, this may be our only time together. Tell me what to do. I'm
lost. I don't know which way to turn."

"I must see Uncle Josiah first. He has had time to think a lot, and he
may know how to help us. I'm going to his place to-night."

"By George! You're right. I hadn't thought of going to him. He does know
something about this. He was in my office the other day, and asked a
host of questions. He'll help us if he can. Why not stop there now?"

"Not now. I'm not decent to see any one, or be seen. Please, take me
home."

He threw in the clutch and the car shot down the hill, past a curious
crowd in front of the general store, and on up the knoll into the Fox
estate.

Mr. Fox had not yet returned from Riverhead. He had telephoned that he
might get home for dinner. But the dinner hour came and went, and still
he did not return. After the silent, and all but untasted, meal,
Elizabeth left the house by the rear entrance. She hurried