Louise Dent sank back upon her pillows as Lucy hurried from the room, too amazed and horrified for speech by the girl's declaration of her love for Curtis Conrad and her determination to reveal to him her father's identity. Ill in body, distracted in mind almost to the point of irresponsibility, her thoughts tossed about and took wild shapes in her fevered brain. The one idea looming constantly before her was that Bancroft was in deadly, imminent peril. Her bitter resentment against Conrad and the hate and anger she had nursed so long in secret distorted all her conception of his character. Now, as her thoughts pounded back and forth through her dizzy, aching head, he seemed to her to be capable of any monstrous deed. He would learn from Lucy the secret of her father's identity, and then nothing would prevent him from rushing forthwith to get his fill of bloody vengeance. She rose and staggered to the window. Dark clouds were overspreading the sky. It would rain soon, they would turn back from their ride, and he would bring her home. Then he would hasten to the bank, and into Aleck's room--and she covered her eyes as if to conceal what her mental vision insisted on seeing. If Aleck only knew that Curtis had learned the truth, if he could be warned in time, he might conceal himself until it would be possible for him to go away. Leave the town he must, and go far, far away, where there would be no fear of discovery. She alone knew his danger. But could she tell him that she was aware of his secret? She shrank from making him suffer that humiliation. Furthermore, could she do it without betraying her own secret, without laying bare the love that burned in her heart? Yet--what mattered the rest if she could save his life and, perhaps, his future? She followed with her eye the line of the canyon. Where were they now? The clouds were black and lowering and a gray veil of rain hid the purple of the distant mountains and spread an advancing blur over their slopes. If she was to save Aleck she must go--at once. Her loud and hurried knocking at the door of Bancroft's private office sent to his heart the quick apprehension to which he had become an easy prey. He sprang to his feet with his hand upon the revolver that of late lay always ready upon his desk. Not only was it a relief to find that it was nobody but Louise, but the very sight of her was so welcome and so easeful to his overwrought and desperate mind that unconsciously he addressed her by her Christian name. Her wild eyes and distraught face alarmed him. "Louise! What is the matter? You have come in all this rain? How wet you are! Has anything happened?" "No; not now; not yet! Wait, let me get my breath--I will tell you. Aleck, how pale you are! Has anything happened to you?" In their excitement neither of them noticed that she also used his Christian name. "No; nothing has happened to me--no more than usual. I am in deep trouble, Louise."