The machine glided into the well-worn road and was off. The two stood looking at it for a moment. Then Carlia moved toward the house. "Come in" she said. He mechanically followed. He might as well act the fool to the end of the chapter, he thought. It was eleven by the parlor clock, but the mother seemed greatly relieved when she saw Dorian with her daughter. Carlia threw off her wraps. She appeared ill at ease. Her gaiety was forced. She seemed to be acting a part, but she was doing it poorly. Dorian was not only ill at ease himself, but he was bewildered. He seated himself on the sofa. Carlia took a chair on the other side of the room and gazed out of the window into the night. "Carlia, why did you--why do you," he stammered. "Why shouldn't I?" she replied, somewhat defiantly as if she understood his unfinished question. "You know you should not. It's wrong. Who is he anyway?" "He at least thinks of me and wants to show me a good time, and that's more than anybody else does." "Carlia!" "Well, that's the truth." She arose, walked to the table in the middle of the room and stood challengingly before him. "Who are you to find fault? What have you done to--" "I'll admit I've done very little; but you, yourself." "Never mind me. What do you care for me? What does anybody care?" "Your mother, at least." "Yes, mother; poor, dear mother.... Oh, my God, I can't stand it, I can't stand it!" With a sob she broke and sank down by the table, hiding her face in her arms. Dorian arose to go to her. The door opened, and the mother appeared. "What is it, Carlia," she asked in alarm. The girl raised her head, swiftly dashed the tears from her eyes, then with a sad effort to smile, said: "Nothing, mother, nothing at all. I'm going to bed. Where's father?" "He was called out to Uncle Zed's who is sick. Dorian's mother is there with him too, I understand." "Then I'd better go for her," said the young man. "I'll say goodnight. Poor Uncle Zed; he hasn't been well lately. Goodnight Sister Duke, goodnight Carlia." Carlia stood in the doorway leading to the stairs. "Goodnight, Dorian," she said. "Forgive me for being so rude." He stepped toward her, but she motioned him back, and than ran up the carpetless stairs to her room. Dorian went out in the night. With a heavy heart he hurried down the road in the direction of Uncle Zed's home. CHAPTER ELEVEN. Uncle Zed's illness did not prove fatal, though it was serious enough. In a few days he was up and about again, slowly, quietly providing for his simple needs. However, it was plainly evident that he had nearly come to the end of his earthly pilgrimage.