There was the thunder again. "I must go back," she said. "Yes, it's going to rain. You must go. One minute. It won't come yet. Does he know you have told Electra?" "My father? Yes." "What did he say?" "He--accepted it." For some reason, she dared not tell him how that acceptance troubled her. Osmond himself seemed like an unknown force as ready to bring confusion as calm. But he knew. "You are afraid of him," he said. "Dear child, don't be afraid. Sit down hard and say 'no' and 'no,' whatever he demands. You are here with us. Grannie is an angel of light. She'll send for shining cohorts and they'll camp round about you. There's Peter--your Peter. And I'll die for you." "No! no!" The assurance of his tone was terrifying to her. She saw him dying in unnecessary sacrifice. "Nobody must die for me. We must all live and be good children and do what grannie would want us to." "Then the first thing is to run home and go to bed. The storm is coming. Good-night, dear playmate. I'll follow on behind and see you don't get lost." "One minute!" She paused, not knowing how to say it. "Can't you take it back?" she adventured. "What you said about my father?" He laughed, with an undertone of wild emotion. "Not even for you! I did want to kill him. If I got my hands on him, I should want it again. But it was for you." "Good-night." She was going, and he called after her,-- "Remember!" "What shall I remember?" She halted hopefully, and the old kind voice was near her:-- "Remember I would die for you." XXIII Peter was early at Osmond's door. He did not find him working, though the other men had been many hours afield, but standing still gazing off into the distance. Osmond was pale. He looked as if he had not slept, and the lines about his mouth hinted at decisions. "I want to speak to you," said Peter abruptly. "Yes. I want to speak to you, too." The answer was gravely and almost unwillingly given. "Come out under the tree." They took their way silently to the apple tree, but there neither could, after old custom in a talk, throw himself on the ground to luxuriate and, in moments of doubt, chew a blade of grass. Peter walked back and forth, a short tether. Osmond, fixed in some unexplained reserve, awaited him. Peter spoke first, nervously. "Electra has given me up." "Well, it was bound to come." "Why was it?" "It was a dream, Pete. You dreamed it when you were a boy. It was the best you had then." "Well, there's something else. That's not a dream. But I don't know that I can talk of it yet. What was it you wanted to say to me?" At intervals all night Osmond had been wondering how to broach it. "You know, boy," he began at last, "it isn't good for you any more to have me send you money." Peter stared. "But it's our money," he said.