Riever with an odd, tense spring, caught his arm. There was a whispered colloquy, and as a result Delehanty stayed, and Riever went after Pen. The little man, tense with passion, had for the first time a sort of dignity. He was rather a terrible figure. Pen, hearing his cat-like steps behind her, was sorely afraid. He overtook her alongside the automobile that was waiting in the road. "Will you get in?" he asked in a queer, thick voice. Pen reflected that she would be safer in the car with the chauffeur than walking up the hill alone. She got in without speaking. During the short ride up to the house they exchanged no word. Pen was pressed into her corner, Riever into his. He sat as still as an animal, his back slightly hunched, his hands on his thighs. Ugly-looking hands he had that the moonlight could not dignify: too small for a man, furtive-looking, hands acquainted with evil. Pen shuddered at them. When they passed between the broken gates and rounded the shrubbery, Pen saw with dismay that all the windows of the big house were dark. Her father had gone to bed. When the car stopped she jumped out, avoiding Riever's offered assistance. Riever said to the chauffeur: "You needn't wait. I'll walk back." Pen was horribly afraid. Her instinct was to dart through the door, slam it in his face, and turn the key. But flight was too abject. If she yielded him ascendancy like that, she could never get it back again. She said to herself while her teeth chattered: "I'm not afraid of him! I'm not afraid of him! If I stand my ground I have nothing to fear!" The car went back. Riever stepped up on the porch by the two boxes, his head sunk. Pen stood there. "You tricked me!" he said with a violent gesture, but taking care not to raise his voice. "You said he'd gone from here! He's been here ever since! You're hiding him now! What did you go to town for to-day? What was in those packages you made me bring home in my car, a disguise for him?" Pen was not dismayed by this. On the contrary as soon as he began to speak the man lost his curious, animal, impressiveness. Seeing him beside himself, Pen began to feel strong again. "I left the packages in the boat," she said scornfully. "No doubt by this time Delehanty has examined them." "What is this man to you?" demanded Riever. "I've already told you. No more than any poor hunted creature." "If you lied once you can lie again!" Pen shrugged. "Swear that he's not your lover!" he cried. "To you?" cried Pen indignantly. "Then he is your lover! You're keeping him close, I daresay. You don't shiver when he touches you!" A great anger came to Pen's assistance. "You fool!" she cried. "Your disgusting money has turned your head! Who do you think you are to speak this way to me? I owe you nothing. Neither oaths nor explanations. Nothing!"