s not minding much what any one
says."

However, on Saturday afternoon Thora left her bed and dressed herself
in the gown she had prepared for her bridegroom's arrival. The nervous
shock had been severe and she looked woefully like, and yet unlike,
herself. Her eyes were full of tears, she trembled, she could hardly
support herself. If one should take a fresh green leaf and pass over
it a hot iron, the change it made might represent the change in Thora.
Jean Hay's letter had been the hot iron passed over her. She had been
told of her father's decision, but she clung passionately to her faith
in Ian and her claim on her father's love and mercy.

"Father will do right," she said, "and if he does, Ian will come home
with him."

The position was a cruel one to Conall Ragnor and he went to meet the
packet with a heavy heart. Then Ian's joyful face and his impatience
to land made it more so, and Ragnor found it impossible to connect
wrong-doing with the open, handsome countenance of the youth. On the
contrary, he found himself without intention declaring:

"Well, then, I never found anything the least zig-zaggery about what
he said or did. His words and ways were all straight. That is the
truth."

Yet Ian's happy mood was instantly dashed by Ragnor's manner. He did
not take his offered hand and he said in a formal tone: "Ian, we will
go to my office before we go to the house. I must ask thee some
questions."

"Very well, sir. Thora, I hope, is all right?"

"No. She has been very ill."

"Then let me go to her, sir, at once."

"Later, I will see about that."

"Later is too late, let us go at once. If Thora is sick----"

"Be patient. It is not well to talk of women on the street. No wise
man, who loves his womenkin, does that."

Then Ian was silent; and the walk through the busy streets was like a
walk in a bad dream. The place and circumstances felt unreal and he
was conscious of the sure presence of a force closing about him, even
to his finger tips. Vainly he tried to think. He felt the trouble
coming nearer and nearer, but what was it? What had he done? What had
he failed to do? What was he to be questioned about?

Young as he was his experiences had taught him to expect only injury
and wrong. The Ragnor home and its love and truth had been the miracle
that had for nine months turned his brackish water of life into wine.
Was it going to fail him, as everything else had done? He laughed
inwardly at the cruel