She rose at last with her mind made up. She ran to her room, put on her hat, came down and, after telling Nabby Gifford that she was going for a walk, left the house. She took the path across the fields and another “short cut” which brought her to the beach a little way beyond the Tobias Eldridge property. It was after four o’clock, the day was cloudy and a light fog was drifting in from sea. She was thankful for the semidarkness and the fog, for they might shield her from observation, from recognition at least. But had the afternoon been brilliant with sunshine she would not have hesitated. She was on her way to see Bob Griffin. She did not know, of course, that he was there, in his studio; it was just as likely that he was not. But if he were not there, even if he were at his grandfather’s home in Denboro, she would seek him out. She must see him. She must know. She rapped on the weather-beaten door of the shanty. A moment later and Bob himself opened that door. CHAPTER XVIII Bob Griffin answered that knock reluctantly. He had half a mind not to answer it at all. He had stopped in at the Eldridge home on his way down from the station--he had come from Denboro by train that afternoon--with the intention of telling his landlord that he intended vacating the shanty immediately, by the following noon at the latest. The announcement would not have come as a great surprise to Tobias; his tenant had warned him that, in all probability, he should not occupy the building longer than another week. Neither of the Eldridges was at home, however, so Griffin had left a note announcing his prompt departure, and was now packing together his easels, brushes, canvas and other paraphernalia. He intended driving over for them the next day. Hearing the knock he took it for granted that the caller was Tobias. If it was he who knocked he would get rid of him quickly. If it were any one else--well, he would not let him in. He would not answer questions and he would not talk. He had talked far too much already. In his shirt-sleeves, a hammer in his hand, he threw open the door. Then he stood there in silence, gazing at the girl before him. She spoke first. “Bob,” she asked, quickly, “may I come in? Please let me. I don’t want any one to see me here; if I can help it.” He did not answer; but, still without taking his eyes from her face, he stepped aside. She brushed past him and entered the room. It was the first time she had crossed its threshold since the day when she brought her uncle there to see her portrait. “Please shut the door,” she said. He did so. Then he would have spoken, but she did not give him the opportunity. “Don’t ask me why I am here,” she begged. “I just came because--because I felt that I had to. Don’t ask me anything. I will ask and--and you must answer. Bob, will you please tell me all about this thing? Tell me the truth--all of it.”