isaged, leering creature, living in an insane world of his own.
They waited until he was far out of sight before creeping, all of a
tremble, from their shelter, only to hear another footfall unexpectedly
near:--the pad, pad, pad of a runner, a tall figure as one saw it
through the lights and shadows under the trees, capless and coatless,
with sleeves rolled up, arms bent at the elbows, and head held forward.
Suddenly the pace slackened, stopped.

"Great _heavens_!" said the voice of Bailey Girard.

"Oh, it's you, it's you!" cried Dosia, running to him with an ineffable,
revealing gesture, a lovely motion of her upflinging arms, a passion of
joy in the face upraised to his, that called forth an instantly
flashing, all-embracing light in his.

In that moment there was an acknowledgment in each of an intimacy that
went back of all words, back of all action. The arm that upheld her
gripped her close to him as one who defends his own, as he said tensely:

"That beast ahead, did he touch you?"

"Oh, no; he didn't see us. We hid!" She tried to explain in hurrying,
disconnected sentences. "I've been longing and _praying_ for you to
come! I tried to let you know before we started, and you weren't there.
Lois was half crazy about Justin. Come to her now! She wanted to see Mr.
Larue, and he was gone. We've walked from Collingswood; we have the baby
with us."

"The _baby_!"

"Yes; she couldn't leave him behind. Oh, it's been so terrible! If you
had only known!"

"Oh, why didn't I?" he groaned. "I ought to have known--I _ought_ to
have known! I was in that motor that must have passed you; it was just a
chance that I got out to walk." They had reached the place where Lois
sat, and he bent over her tenderly. She smiled into his anxious eyes,
though her poor face was sunken and wan.

"I'm glad it's you," she whispered. "You'll help me to get home!"

"Dear Mrs. Alexander! I want to help you to more than that. I want you
to tell me everything." He pressed her hand, and stood looking
irresolutely down the road.

"I could go to Haledon, and send back a carriage for you; it's three
miles further on."

"No, no, no! Don't leave us!" the accents came in terror from both. "We
can walk with you. Only don't leave us!"

"Very well; we'll try it, then."

He took the warm bundle that was the sleeping child from Lois, saying,
as she half demurred, "It's all right; I've carried 'em in the
Spanish-American war in Cuba," holding it in