he reasoned with himself; "I must be on hand in case he
should be frightened."

Suddenly it occurred to Grant that, quite apart from his love for
Wilson, if anything should happen the child in his house a very
difficult situation would be created. Transley would demand
explanations--explanations which would be hard to make. Why was Wilson
there at all? Why was he not at home with Sarah? Sarah away from home!
Why had Zen kept that a secret?... How long had this thing been going
on, anyway? Grant feared neither Transley nor any other man, and yet
there was something akin to fear in his heart as he thought of these
possibilities. He would be held accountable--doubly accountable--if
anything happened the child. Even though it were something quite beyond
his control; lightning, for example--

The gale subsided as quickly as it had come, and the sudden silence
which followed was even more awesome. It lasted only for a moment; a
flash of lightning lit up every corner of the house, bursting like white
fire from every wall and ceiling. Grant rushed to the whim-room and was
standing over the child when the crash of thunder came upon them. The
boy stirred gently, smiled, and settled back to his sleep.

Grant drew the blinds in the whim-room, and went out to draw them in
the living-room, but the sight across the valley was of a majesty so
terrific that it held him fascinated. The play of the lightning was
incessant, and with every flash the little lakes shot back their white
reflection, and distant farm window-panes seemed heliographing to each
other through the night. As yet there was no rain, but a dense wall of
cloud pressed down from the west, and the farther hills were hidden even
in the brightest flashes.

Turning from the windows, Grant left the blinds open. "Only cowardice
would close them," he muttered to himself, "and surely, in addition to
the other qualities Linder has attributed to me, I am not a coward. If
it were not for Willie I could stand and enjoy it."

Presently rain began to fall; a few scattered drops at first, then
thicker, harder, until the roof and windows rattled and shook with
their force. The wind, which had gone down so suddenly, sprang up again,
buffeting the house as it rushed by with the storm. Grant stood in the
whim-room, in the dim light of the lamp turned low, and watched the
steady breathing of his little guest with as much anxiety as if some
dread disease threatened him. For the first tim