It was dark when he came to town and walked up Congress Street with the little one snuggled in his arms. Just before he arrived at the house, the restless child had asked to walk, and they went hand in hand up the steps of the house where Margaret Mueller lived. She was sitting alone on the veranda--clearly waiting for some one, and when she saw who was coming up the steps she rose and hurried to them, greeting them on the very threshold of the veranda. She was white and her bosom was fluttering as she asked in a tense whisper: "What do you want--quick, what do you want?" She stood before Grant, as if stopping his progress. The child's plaintive cry, "Mother--Grant, I want mother!" not in grief, but in a great question, was the answer. He looked into her staring, terror-stricken eyes until they drooped and for a moment he dominated her. But she came back from some outpost of her nature with reenforcements. "Get out of here--get out of here. Don't come here with your brat--get out," she snarled in a whisper. The child went to her, plucked her skirts and cried, "Mother, mother." Grant pointed to the baby and broke out: "Oh, Maggie--what's to become of Kenyon?--what can I do! He's only got you now. Oh, Maggie, won't you come?" He saw fear flit across her face in a tense second before she answered. Then fear left and she crouched at him trembling, red-eyed, gaping, mouthed, the embodiment of determined hate; swiping the child's little hands away from her, she snapped: "Get out of here!--leave! quick!" He stood stubbornly before her and only the child's voice crying, "Grant, Grant, I want to go home to mother," filled the silence. Finally she spoke again, cutting through the baby's complaint. "I shall never, never, never take that child; I loathe him, and I hate you and I want both of you always to keep away from me." Without looking at her again, he caught up the toddling child, lifted it to his shoulder and walked down the steps. As they turned into the street they ran into Henry Fenn, who in his free choice of a mate was hurrying to one who he thought would give him a home--a home and children, many children to stand between him and his own insatiate devil. Henry greeted Grant: "Why, boy--oh, yes, been to see Maggie? I wish she could help you, Grant." And from the veranda came a sweet, rich voice, crying: "Yes, Henry--do you know where they can get a good nurse girl?" CHAPTER XI HERE OUR FOOL GROPES FOR A SPIRIT AND CAN FIND ONLY DUST Henry Fenn and Margaret Mueller sat naming their wedding day, while Grant Adams walked home with his burden. Henry Fenn had been fighting through a long winter, against the lust for liquor that was consuming his flesh. At times it seemed to him that her presence as he fought his battle, helped him; but there were phases of his fight, when she too fashioned herself in his imagination as a temptress, and she seemed to blow upon the coals that were searing his weak flesh.