"Of course we have, and it doesn't matter if we haven't." The old man's face burned with excitement and joy. "But the house is sold! Where shall we go? Oh, that doesn't matter, either. We can get rooms near there. You'd like to be back near the old place, wouldn't you? We could go to Mrs. Cassidy's; you know she rents her two back rooms on the second floor. Oh, Viola--to be back again!" He sank back in his chair, his eyes half shut in the ecstasy of this sudden restoration to happiness. "Just think of it!" he said. "To see the bay again, and Lotta's Fountain, and Montgomery Street! and to smell the sea outside the Golden Gate when the wind's that way! and to feel the fog! Viola, you don't know what I've suffered. I never meant to tell you." "I know--I know now. But I didn't guess at first--truly, father, I didn't know at first." "Why, of course not, honey--how should you? And it doesn't matter now. It's all over, and we're going to have the time of our lives. But it was awful, wasn't it? Everything was so lonesome and strange. And those dreadful people! But we won't have any more bother with them. When'll we start? Let's not waste any time." Viola had turned away to the tall glass behind him, under the pretense of taking off her hat. She could not control her tears. As she stood, seeing her blurred image dark against the lamplight, she could hear the colonel babbling on, apparently too preoccupied to notice that she was not answering: "It'll be warm when we get back--not this diabolical heat, but just soft and sunny. The hills will be all brown. Presently there'll be a smell of eucalyptus in the air, but that won't be till later, when the evenings are short. Oh, I'm so glad we're going back! It's like getting out of prison." He was suddenly silent, and Viola heard him making a slight rustling movement in his chair. Then the room was very quiet, for Corinne had stopped beating with her toes. For a space Viola struggled with herself, biting her lips, and surreptitiously taking out her handkerchief and pressing it against her face. She was more afraid of the piercing eyes of Corinne than of her father, and when she had controlled herself sufficiently to be presentable, she looked in the mirror to see if Corinne had been observing her. Instead, she saw the child standing up some few steps away from the colonel, regarding him with an expression of keen, suspended intentness that was at once curious and fearful. As Viola's eyes encountered the reflection, and read in it terror and alarm, Corinne spoke in a quick, frightened voice: "Look at the colonel, Viola. He looks so queer. I don't like him." Viola was at his side before the child had ceased speaking. The colonel's head had dropped forward on his breast. A yellowish, waxen hue had spread over his face, and his eyes, cold and brooding, were staring straight before him. "Father!" she said, touching his hand with a strange fearfulness she had never felt before.