“They've been made a lot of promises. They may be out of hand, you know.” While Howard was hastily dressing, Willy Cameron waited below. He caught a glimpse of himself in the big mirror and looked away. His face was drawn and haggard, his eyes hollow and his collar a wilted string. He was dusty and shabby, too, and to Lily, coming down the staircase, he looked almost ill. Lily was in a soft negligee garment, her bare feet thrust into slippers, but she was too anxious to be self-conscious. “Willy,” she said, “there is trouble after all?” “Not in the city. Things are not so quiet up the river.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Are you and father going up the river?” He explained, after a momentary hesitation. “It may crystallize into something, or it may not,” he finished. “You think it will, don't you?” “It will be nothing more, at the worst, than rioting.” “But you may be hurt!” “I may have one chance to fight for my country,” he said, rather grimly. “Don't begrudge me that.” But he added: “I'll not be hurt. The thing will blow up as soon as it starts.” “You don't really believe that, do you?” “I know they'll never get into the city.” But as he moved away she called him back, more breathlessly than ever, and quite white. “I don't want you to go without knowing--Willy, do you remember once that you said you cared for me?” “I remember.” He stared straight ahead. “Are you--all over that?” “You know better than that, don't you?” “But I've done so many things,” she said, wistfully. “You ought to hate me.” And when he said nothing, for the simple reason that he could not speak: “I've ruined us both, haven't I?” Suddenly he caught up her hand and, bending over it, held it to his lips. “Always,” he said, huskily, “I love you, Lily. I shall always love you.” CHAPTER XLIX Howard went back to the municipal building, driving furiously through the empty streets. The news was ominous. Small bodies of men, avoiding the highways, were focusing at different points in the open country. The state police had been fired at from ambush, and two of them had been killed. They had ridden into and dispersed various gatherings in the darkness, but only to have them re-form in other places. The enemy was still shadowy, elusive; it was apparently saving its ammunition. It did little shooting, but reports of the firing of farmhouses and of buildings in small, unprotected towns began to come in rapidly. In a short time the messages began to be more significant, indicating that the groups were coalescing and that a revolutionary army, with the city its objective, was coming down the river, evidently making for the bridge at Chester Street.