Then Donelle was alone with Nick. She stood and looked blankly after Tom. Then she tiptoed across the room, took the bar in her hand, paused, lifted it, and—let it fall! Proudly she went back, her eyes were aflame, her heart beat until it hurt. She lay down upon the wide cot, drew over her the heavy blankets Mam’selle had donated for Tom’s comfort, and fear left her. "Nick," she whispered, "Nick, come here!" The dog came close, licked the hand reaching out to him in the darkness, then lay down close to the bed. For an hour Donelle listened, waited, then she began to suffer. But she made no moan and always no matter how she thrashed the matter over, she saw St. Michael’s-on-the-Rocks. It seemed like home after a hard journey; her home, the place where she belonged. The only place to which she had a right to go. *CHAPTER XVIII* *TOM GAVOT SETTLES THE MATTER* The rain had detained Norval. He had watched the sunrise on the river and he had caught as much of it as his soul could take in. He had eaten a hasty lunch at noon and then became absorbed by the beauty of the gray mists that were rising, where, but a little time before, the glory had controlled everything. He painted until mid-afternoon, then a raindrop caused him to glance up. "Hello!" he said, and scrambled for his belongings. In a few minutes he was on his way back, but to protect his sketches, he had to pause every now and then, when the downpour was heaviest. He had meant to go right to Jo’s and get dry clothing, but by skirting the road he could reach the cabin _en route_, leave his paints and canvases, and the rest did not matter. It was after five when he came in sight of his cabin. "By all that’s holy," he said, and laughed, "that little rascal is there, she’s made a fire. Of course this is all wrong, she mustn’t—— But to think she has no fear!" Somehow this elated Norval considerably. He hastened on, meaning to get Donelle and start out at once for Mam’selle’s, as it was growing very dark. He opened the door with an amused smile on his face, then he fell back. "My God! Katherine," he said, "what does this mean?" "I think, Jim, you better come in and close the door. I cannot go out in this rain and we can have our talk here." Katherine spoke as if her presence there was the most natural thing in the world; her voice was hard and even. She knew her duty; she had even acknowledged, during the hours she had sat alone after Donelle went, that part of the blame for all this confusion rested upon her. She had fallen short in her estimate of her original duty to Norval. She had deserted him, not without some cause to be sure, but no matter what his selfishness and indifference had been in the past they had not made it right for a wife to forsake the sacred tie that bound her.