Zen up. He would tell Phyllis
everything.... That is, everything she needed to know.

It would be best to settle it at once--the sooner the better. He went
to his desk and took out a telegraph blank. He addressed it to Phyllis,
pondered a minute in a great hush in the storm, and wrote,

"I am sure now. May I come? Dennison."

This done he turned to the telephone, hurrying as one who fears for the
duration of his good resolutions. It was a chance if the line was not
out of business, but he lifted the receiver and listened to the thump of
his heart as he waited.

Presently came a voice as calm and still as though it spoke from another
world, "Number?"

He gave the number of Linder's rooms in town; it was likely Linder had
remained in town, but it was a question whether the telephone bell would
waken him. He had recollections of Linder as a sound sleeper. But even
as this possibility entered his mind he heard Linder's phlegmatic voice
in his ear.

"Oh, Linder! I'm so glad I got you. Rush this message to Phyllis
Bruce.... Linder?... Linder!"

There was no answer. Nothing but a hollow, empty sound on the wire, as
though it led merely into the universe in general. He tried to call the
operator, but without success. The wire was down.

He turned from it with a sense of acute impatience. Was this an omen of
obstacles to bar him now from Phyllis Bruce? He had a wild thought of
saddling a horse and riding to town, but at that moment the storm came
down afresh. Besides, there was the boy.

Suddenly came a quick knock at the door; the handle turned, and a
drenched, hatless figure, with disheveled, wet hair, and white, drawn
face burst in upon him. It was Zen Transley.

CHAPTER XXII

"Zen!"

"How is he--how is Wilson?" she demanded, breathlessly.

"Sound as a bell," he answered, alarmed by her manner. The self-assured
Zen was far from self-assurance now. "Come, see, he is asleep."

He led her into the whim-room and turned up the lamp. The lad was
sleeping soundly, his teddy-bear clasped in his arms, his little pink
and white face serene under the magic skies of slumberland. Grant
expected that Zen would throw herself upon the child in her agitation,
but she did not. She drew her fingers gently across his brow, then,
turning to Grant,

"Rather an unceremonious way to break into your house," she said, with a
little laugh. "I hope you will pardon me.... I was uneasy about Wilson."

"But tell me--how--where d