an' he's in ther direst peril a man kin stand in.
Thar's just one human soul thet hes a chanst ter save him--an' thet's
you."

Sometimes the long-distance wire hums with confusion. Sometimes it
enhances and clarifies the ghost of a whisper. Now Joe Gregory heard a
choking breath, and for an instant there was no other sound; the man,
catching the import of the gasping agitation, went on talking to its
speechlessness. It was if between them "he" could mean only one man.

"He hain't skeercely in his rightful senses, or I wouldn't hev no need
ter call on ye. He's goin' back ter--well, back home tonight. I kain't
handily tell ye what ther peril is, but ef I was ter say thet two days
hence he'll be past savin'--an' others along with him--I'd only be
talkin' text ter ye."

"But how"--there was desperation of panic in the question--"how could
I--save him?"

"He needs savin' from hisself, ma'am. Thar's a train of cars leavin'
Looeyville nigh on midnight. Ef ye teks hit I'll meet ye at ther station
when ye gets _thar_ in ther mornin'. Him an' me is leavin' on one thet
starts from hyar an hour from now. Thet's all I kin say afore I sees
ye--save thet matters are plumb desperate."

"But I can't--I don't see how--"

Anne had never quite realized such a quietly unbending sternness as that
of the voice which interrupted her:

"Ef ye don't aim ter stand by an' see his ruin, ye needs must _find_ a
way. Jest _come_, thet's all--an' come alone. No other way won't do.
I'll be at ther deppo."

And the receiver clicked with a finality that brooked no argument,
leaving the girl leaning unsteadily against the wall of the booth. She
opened the heavy door a little but did not go out. From the dining-room
came a sally of laughing voices, and from the dancing floor haunting
scraps of the "Merry Widow" waltz. A clock across the passage ticked
above these sounds, and on its dial the hands stood at eight forty-five.

Upon her ears these impressions fell with a sense of remoteness and
lightness as if they could be thrust away, but more oppressive and close
was the unnamed something brooding in the hills two hundred miles--yes,
and two centuries--away.

She knew that she stood at one of those unequivocal moments that cannot
be met with life's ordered deliberation. By tomorrow things might be
done which could never be undone. An hour hence, decision would be the
harder for newly recognized difficulties. The penalty of faltering
might be a