But the night before he went, he came to Atherton's lodging to tell him that he should not go; Atherton was not at home, and Halleck was spared this last dishonor. He returned to his father's house through the rain that was beginning to fall lightly, and as he let himself in with his key Olive's voice said, “It's Ben!” and at the same time she laid her hand upon his arm with a nervous, warning clutch. “Hush! Come in here!” She drew him from the dimly lighted hall into the little reception-room near the door. The gas was burning brighter there, and in the light he saw Marcia white and still, where she sat holding her baby in her arms. They exchanged no greeting: it was apparent that her being there transcended all usage, and that they need observe none. “Ben will go home with you,” said Olive, soothingly. “Is it raining?” she asked, looking at her brother's coat. “I will get my water-proof.” She left them a moment. “I have been--been walking--walking about,” Marcia panted. “It has got so dark--I'm--afraid to go home. I hate to--take you from them--the last--night.” Halleck answered nothing; he sat staring at her till Olive came back with the water-proof and an umbrella. Then, while his sister was putting the waterproof over Marcia's shoulders, he said, “Let me take the little one,” and gathered it, with or without her consent, from her arms into his. The baby was sleeping; it nestled warmly against him with a luxurious quiver under the shawl that Olive threw round it. “You can carry the umbrella,” he said to Marcia. They walked fast, when they got out into the rainy dark, and it was hard to shelter Halleck as he limped rapidly on. Marcia ran forward once, to see if her baby were safely kept from the wet, and found that Halleck had its little face pressed close between his neck and cheek. “Don't be afraid,” he said. “I'm looking out for it.” His voice sounded broken and strange, and neither of them spoke again till they came in sight of Marcia's door. Then she tried to stop him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I'm afraid--afraid to go in,” she pleaded. He halted, and they stood confronted in the light of a street lamp; her face was twisted with weeping. “Why are you afraid?” he demanded, harshly. “We had a quarrel, and I--I ran away--I said that I would never come back. I left him--” “You must go back to him,” said Halleck. “He's your husband!” He pushed on again, saying over and over, as if the words were some spell in which he found safety, “You must go back, you must go back, you must go back!” He dragged her with him now, for she hung helpless on his arm, which she had seized, and moaned to herself. At the threshold, “I can't go in!” she broke out. “I'm afraid to go in! What will he say? What will he do? Oh, come in with me! You are good,--and then I shall not be afraid!”