"I can't let you go like this, Alix! I can't take this as final. You--you MUST care for me. How can I think otherwise? In God's name, what has happened to turn you against me? You owe me more of an explanation than--" "You are right," she interrupted. "I do owe you an explanation. This is not the time or the place to give it. If you will come to see me tomorrow, I will tell you everything. It is only fair that you should know. But not now." "Has some one been lying about me?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing. She waited an instant before replying. "No, Mr. Thane," she said; "no one has been lying about you." He took up his hat from the table. "I will come tomorrow," he said. At the door he paused to say: "But I am not going to give you up, Alix. You mean too much to me. I think I understand. You are frightened. I--I should not have come here." "Yes, I WAS frightened," she cried out shrilly. "I was frightened,--but I am not afraid now." She had moved to Thane's side of the table, and there she stood until she heard his footsteps on the little porch outside. She was in an exalted frame of mind as she hurried from the house. The short October day had turned to night. For a moment she paused, peering ahead. A queer little thrill of alarm ran through her. She had never been afraid of the dark before. But now she shivered. A great uneasiness assailed her. She listened intently. Far up the hard gravel road she heard the sound of footsteps, gradually diminishing. He was far ahead of her and walking rapidly. At the gate she stopped again. Then she struck out resolutely for home,--the Phantom Singer was beside her. She was not afraid. A farm-hand, leaning on the fence at the lower corner of the yard, scratched his head in perplexity. "Well, here's a new angle to the case," he mused sourly. "I'm up a tree for sure. Why the devil should Miss Crown be meeting him out there in this old deserted house. My word, it begins to look a trifle spicy. It also begins to look like a case that ought to be dropped before it gets too hot. I guess it's up to me to see my dear old Uncle Charlie What's-His-Name." Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan set off in the wake of the girl who had employed him to catch the masked invader. CHAPTER XIX BRINGING UP THE PAST Charlie Webster wore a troubled expression when he appeared for dinner that same evening. He was late. If such a thing were believable, his kindly blue eyes glittered malevolently as they rested upon the face of Courtney Thane, who had taken his place at table a few minutes earlier. The fat little man was strangely preoccupied. He was even gruff in his response to Mr. Pollock's bland inquiry as to the state of his health.