Allston had not been so coolly sure of himself since he stepped out of uniform. His face hardened and something of that merciless tint of blue steel took the place in his eyes of their natural color. His thoughts clicked into place like cartridges in a machine gun. All the qualities that military discipline had trained into him reasserted themselves with automatic precision. He moved quickly and without hesitancy. Crossing the room he extinguished the lamp and came out, closing the door behind him. There was no need of rousing the others. They had much better sleep on. He meant to have the girl back here before morning, and in that case there was no reason why they should ever be disturbed by knowledge of the episode. He came downstairs and went to his room for a coat and hat. Here he stopped to examine his revolver and to slip into his pocket the remainder of his cartridges. He found about a dozen. He closed his own door, returned to the sitting-room to make sure the fire was safe there, and hurried out. It was pitch dark--inky dark. The wind was still blowing and the rain increasing in volume. He bent against it as he took the road to Roxie’s house he had followed before. It was pitiful that he should be obliged to waste the time necessary to eliminate that faint possibility, but it was essential. Before he ventured to force himself into Childers’s shack he must be certain of his facts. That was too grim a business to undertake except upon firm ground. His progress was slow and labored. The road was rough, and he frequently found himself out of it and floundering among the bushes. Always there was the temptation to quicken his pace and always he resisted that. He must take no chances of spraining an ankle. And he must keep plenty of strength in reserve. He had seen too much of the reckless folly of advancing to a point farther than support warranted. He had watched whole regiments wiped out as they occupied their forward positions with spent strength, the helpless victims of fresh attacking troops. He must not be exhausted when he finally reached the home of Bud Childers. Not that he anticipated any such weakness. He had learned that, given the occasion, one’s resources are well-nigh inexhaustible. Again and again in France he had found himself just beginning to draw on his strength at the point where in civil life he would have been ready to quit. And never had he been dominated by so inflexible a will as now. Duty and patriotism will carry a man far, but such a call as this which now urged him on will carry a man even farther. Here was Duty linked, not with an abstract idea, but with the most concrete appeal a man can know--that of a woman in need of his strength. As Allston fought his way on, as he pitted his might against the obstacles in his path, Roxie became still more clearly outlined. He thought of her less as a child. This startled him at first. It left him uneasy. It was better, in some ways, to think of her as a child.