Early the next morning she called him up from the city. She explained everything. The little daughter of her best friend had fallen downstairs, injuring herself badly,--perhaps fatally. She felt it her duty to remain with the distracted mother,--she hoped he would understand. And she was in such a hurry to reach the city after the child's father had called her on the telephone that she really did not have the time to stop and explain. He would understand that, too, wouldn't he? And she thought perhaps she would stay over another night. She couldn't leave Marjorie,--at least, not until something definite was known. He was vastly relieved. All his worry for nothing! He wished now that he had remained in his room instead of going out a second time last night to tramp about the dark, lonely village, driven forth by an ugly fit of temper. "But Mrs. Strong didn't say anything about the accident," he said over the wire. "She simply said you were in town for the night." "I can't understand that," replied Alix. "She knew why I came up to town, and I telephoned her during the afternoon that I would stay overnight. "She might have told me," he complained. "It would have relieved my mind enormously. I--I was horribly unhappy. Never closed my eyes. I thought you,--that is, I wondered if I had done anything to offend you. My Lord, you'll never know how happy I am this minute. My heart is singing--And to think it was like a lump of lead all last night. Do try to come out this evening." She did not answer at once, but he could plainly hear her breathing. Then she said softly: "If--if the child is better. I can't leave Marjorie until--until--" "I understand," he cried heartily. "What a selfish beast I am. Don't give me another thought. Your place is there. Because you are an angel!" Later on he sauntered over to the postoffice. A number of men and women were congregated in front of the drug store, among them Charlie Webster and A. Lincoln Pollock. The latter had his "pad" in hand and was writing industriously. "What's the excitement?" Courtney inquired, coming up to Charlie. "Somebody poisoned Henry Brickler's collie last night," replied Charlie. There was a dark scowl on his chubby face. "You don't mean that corking dog up at the white house on the--" "Yep. That's the one," replied Charlie harshly. "Anybody that would poison a dog ought to be tarred and feathered." "Who did it?" "You don't suppose a man mean enough to give an unsuspectin' dog a dose of poison would be kind enough to pin his card on the gatepost, do you? I should say not!" "But why on earth should any one want to poison that big beautiful dog?" cried Courtney indignantly. "Had he bitten anybody?" "Not as anybody knows of. Henry says he never harmed a living soul. That dog--"