"You've been hard and selfish, Mary-Clare. Another sort might have helped me--I got to caring, at first. You've taken everything and given mighty little. And now, when you see a chance of cutting loose, you wipe me off the map and betray me into the hands of a man who has lied to me, made sport of me, and thinks he's going to get away with it. Now listen. I want that letter. When I have used up the hush money I have now, I'm coming back for more--more--and you and he are going to pay." By this time Larry had worked himself again into a blind fury. He felt this but could not control it. He had lost nearly everything--he must clutch what was left. "Give that to me!" he commanded, and reached for the clenched hand on the table. "No, Larry. If you could understand, I would let you have it, but you couldn't! Nothing matters now between you and me. I am free, free!" The radiant face, the clenched hand, blinded Larry. Sitting again on the edge of the table, looking down at the woman who had eluded him, was defying him, he struck out! He had no thought at all for the moment--something was in his way; before he could escape he must fling it aside. Mary-Clare drooped; dropped from her chair and lay quiet upon the floor. Her hand, holding the paper, was spread wide, the note was unprotected. For a moment Larry gazed at his work with horrified eyes. Never before had he meted physical brutality to man or woman. He was a coward at heart, and he was thoroughly cowed as he stood above the girl at his feet. He saw that she was breathing; there was almost at once a fluttering of the lids. There were two things for a coward to do--seize the note and make his escape. Larry did both and Mary-Clare took no heed. A little red squirrel came into the sunny room and darted about; the sunlight grew dim, for there was a storm rising, and the clouds were heavy on its wings. And while the deathly silence reigned in the cabin, Northrup and Kathryn were riding rapidly from the inn. As the car passed the yellow house, Kathryn pathetically drew down the shades--her eyes were tear-filled. "Brace, dear," she whispered, "I'm so afraid. The storm; everything frightens me. Take me in your arms." And at that moment Kathryn believed that she loved Northrup, had saved him from a great peril, and she was prepared to act the part, in the future, of a faithful wife. CHAPTER XVIII Noreen and Jan-an late that afternoon returned to the yellow house. They were both rather depressed and forlorn, for they knew that Northrup was gone and had taken away with him much that had stimulated and cheered. Finding the yellow house empty, the two went up the opposite hill and leisurely made their way to the brook that marked the limit of free choice. Here they sat down, and Noreen suggested that they sing Northrup's old songs and play some of his diverting games. Jan-an solemnly agreed, shaking her head and sighing as one does who recalls the dead.