Feng responded knowingly. "Casey call um woman
fliend. Lats! All same big Melican bluff, makee me sick. Bimeby some
time she makee mally him. Bimeby baby stop. Then me quit. Me go back to
China."

The prophet's last words blurred in Clyde's ringing ears. The friendly
darkness hid her flaming cheeks. Why, oh why, had she listened? She
was not even shocked by Casey's muttered curse. She felt his hand on
her arm, drawing her gently back into the deeper shadows. In silence
she followed.

"I'll fire that infernal yellow scoundrel to-morrow," he growled.

"No, no, it was my own fault," she declared. "Absolutely and entirely
my own. I--I----Oh, don't _look_ at me, please!"

"I won't," he promised, but his voice shook slightly.

"You're laughing!" she accused him tragically.

"Indeed I'm not," he denied; but with the words came an involuntary
sound strongly resembling a chuckle.

"Shame!" she cried.

"Yes, yes!" he gasped. "I know it. It's too bad. Ha-ha! I really beg
your pardon. I----Oh, good Lord!"

But Clyde gathered up her skirts and fled, whirling up the veranda
steps and into the house like a small cyclone, never pausing until a
locked door lay between her and a ribald, unfeeling world.

CHAPTER XXIV

It was after midnight when Clyde awoke. She passed from slumber to
wakefulness instantly, without the usual intervening stages of
drowsiness.

Outside a gale was blowing, and volleys of rain pattered like spent
shot on windows and roof. Thunder rumbled ceaselessly. A vivid flash
rent the outer darkness, illuminating the room, and the succeeding
crack shook the house. It was a storm, rare in the dry belt, of which
there were not more than one or two in the year. For Casey's sake she
hoped that there would be no hail with it. Better continued drought
than a ruinous bombardment of frozen pellets from the heavens which
would beat the crops to the ground, utterly destroying them.

As she lay listening she seemed to hear sounds not of the storm, as of
some one moving on the veranda. Then came a loud, insistent knocking.
She heard the door of Wade's room open, and a long crack of light
beneath her own showed that he had lit a lamp.

"Hello! Who's there?" he asked.

The reply was indistinguishable. A violent blow on the door followed
it. She sprang out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, thrust her feet
into slippers, opened her door, and peered out.

A single hand lamp on the table showed Wade, clad in p