ted.

"This for all--Unknown Gods!" she cried in breathless passion, and dashed
the skull to the ground. "And this! and this!" She trampled it. "They
shall not keep you upon shrines! They shall not keep you hidden from all
in the Garden!" With that she took a handful of the shattered god and
flung it far and wide, with her blazing eyes fixed on the Secret Portage.

Standing so, she looked like a priestess of old defying all falseness and
traditional wrong.

Among the trees Richard Travers gazed upon the scene with a kind of
horror gripping him.

He was not a superstitious man, but he was a worn and weary one, and he
had come to the Far Hill Place, two days before, because, after much
searching, he had failed to find Priscilla Glynn, and his love was hurt
and desperate. He had wanted to hide and suffer where no eyes could
penetrate. But he had discovered that for a man to return to his boyhood
was but to undergo the torture of those who are haunted by lost spirits.
It had been damnable--that dreary, dismantled house back on the hill!
The nights had maddened him and left him unable to cope intelligently
with the days. Nothing comforting had been there. The pale boy he once
had been taunted him with memories of lowered ideals, unfilled promise
and purpose. He had travelled a long distance from the Far Hill Place,
and he was going back to fight it out--somehow, somewhere. He would
stop at Master Farwell's and then take the night steamer for the old
battle-ground. And just at that moment, in the open space, he saw the
strange sight that stopped his breath and heart for an instant.

Of course his wornout senses were being tricked. He had known of such
cases, and was now thoroughly alarmed. Like a man in delirium, he walked
into the open and confronted the fascinated gaze of the girl for whom he
had been searching for weeks.

"How came--you here?" he asked in a voice from which normal emotions were
eliminated.

"And--you?" she echoed.

They came a step nearer, their hands outstretched in a poor, blind
groping for solution and reality.

"Why--I am--I meant to tell you--some day. I am Priscilla Glenn--not
Glynn--Priscilla Glenn of--Lonely Farm."

"My God!" Travers came a step nearer, his face set and grim. "Of course!
I see it now--the dance! Don't you remember? The dance at the Swiss
village?"

"And the--the tune that made me cry. Who--are----How did _you_ know that
tune? How did you know--the In-Place?"

Their