The Colonel was not in his accustomed place on the honeysuckled end of the porch, nor was Zack about, so she dismounted alone and tied the lathery beast. Perhaps they were at Bradford's cottage, comforting little Mesmie. Perhaps they were--but she tried not to think of that! Never had the world seemed so deserted. Nothing was astir. The edge of a lace curtain, drawn outward by the passing of someone through one of the library French windows, hung over the sill, deadly white and deadly still. The leaves were still, the air was still. Above her head, where recently she had watched two piping orioles flutter about their weaving, hung now the silent, pendant nest. No pipe, no bird, no motion. It seemed as though here were the stage of Perrault's fairytale; only 'twas a Prince within who had pricked his destiny with a leaden bullet, and a Princess rode to wake him. Alertly, but with a heavy dread at her heart, she crossed the porch and tiptoed to the open window. Dale was there, bent over the mahogany table, reading; as far from the world as he was from his mad act; as far from them both as he was from her. She went quietly in to him. "Dale!" He did not stir. "Dale!" she again cried in a low voice, shaking him by the shoulder. He looked slowly up. "Dale, what does this mean?" she hurriedly began. "Why have you killed that man?" He remembered the Colonel's unpleasant interview, and burned with a deep rage, growling: "Leave me alone. I've got to read." "Are you asleep?" she incredulously exclaimed. "Do you realize you've killed Tusk Potter, and any moment they may be after you?" As he again looked up there was a storm of irritation in his face. "They won't be after me if people keep their mouths shut! What do I care who I killed? Leave me alone! I've got to study!" Stunned, she stared stupidly down at him, for here was a new trait--or, at least, one he had not shown her. Many times she had been utterly shocked, thoroughly enraged by evidences of his abnormal selfishness, but she was unprepared for this atrocious abandonment. It aroused her to a quick anger and, snatching the book from the table, she dashed it to the floor. "Look at me!" she cried. He was looking at her, as he had never done. The deep-set eyes were deeper, and their pupils venomously bright. She saw the fury being mustered there, but without flinching looked straight back at him. "Tell me why you killed that man?" she demanded. His hands were clenched, and for the first time she began to fear her influence might be waning. "I killed him 'cause he was in the way," he growled again. "But are you mad to go about killing people because they're in your way? Don't you know--" "I know all I want to know," he almost screamed at her. "I know that time's flyin', 'n' I got to study! Go out 'n' leave me. He was in the way, I tell you! It was natural to get rid of him."