“Yes,” he said in a deep voice. “It will seem impossible when daylight comes. But will it all be as a horrible nightmare?” “No, no; not all.” Elinor's face was winsomely sweet. “Not all,” she repeated. “It is fine to feel one's self so safeguarded as I have been. I shall always remember you as one with whom I could never again be afraid.” Burleigh turned hastily toward the door, and, having delivered her to the care of her uncle, he bade them both good night. Dr. Fenneben looked keenly after the young man striding away from the light. His clothes were torn and bedraggled, his cap was gone, and his heavy hair was a mass of rough waves about his forehead. The direct gaze of his golden-brown eyes took away distrust, and yet the face had changed somehow in this day. A hint of a new purpose had crept into it, a purpose not possible for Dr. Fenneben to read. But he did note the set of the head, the erect form and broad shoulders, and the easy swinging step as the boy went whistling away into the shadows of the night. “A splendid animal, anyhow,” the Dean thought. “Will the soul measure up to that princely body? And what can be the purport of this maudlin mouthing of old Bond Saxon? Bond is really a lovable man when he's sober; but he's vindictive and ugly when he's drunk. I can wait for developments. Whatever the boy's history may have been, like the courts, it's my business to hold every man innocent till he's proven guilty; to build up character, not to undermine and destroy it. And destruction begins in suspicion.” CHAPTER VI. THE GAME _Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man_. --KIPLING BITTER weather followed the night of the storm. Biting winds beat all the autumn beauty from tree and shrub. Cold gray skies hung over a cold gray land, and a heavy snowfall and a penetrating chill seemed to destroy all hope for the Indian Summer that makes the Kansas Novembers glorious. Dennie Saxon was the only girl of the party who was not affected by the storm at the Kickapoo Corral. Professor Burgess, who narrowly escaped pneumonia himself, and who disliked irregular class attendance, took comfort in the sight of Dennie. She was so fresh-checked and wholesome, and she went about her work promptly, forgetful of storm and rain and muddy ways. “You seem immune from sickness, Miss Dennie,” Burgess said one day as she was putting the library in order. Under her little blue dusting cap, the sunny ripples of her hair framed a face glowing with health. She smiled up at him comfortably--a smile that played about the edges of his consciousness all that day. “I've never been sick,” she said. “It 's a good thing, too, for our house is a regular hospital this week. Little Bug Buler is the worst of all. He took cold on the night of the storm. That's why Victor Burleigh's out of school so much. He won't leave Bug.”