How it came he could not tell, but somehow, before the pines at the far horizon across the river had cast their long lance-shaped shadows upon the plain below, he had found his way to peace. As he lay upon his back, looking up through the waving tops of the great pine trees into the blue of the sky above, the surging tides of furious rage against Asa and his sense of ill-desert which had deepened within him throughout the early afternoon faded, in some mysterious way, from his soul, as the mists before the rising sun. There, beneath the pines, he became aware of a mighty Presence, comforting, cleansing, healing, that made all else seem insignificant. He was his own man again, and once more in tune with those vast infinities in the midst of which he moved and had his being. Chastened and at peace with himself and all his world, he returned to the big white house, ready to meet with a serene heart whatever life might bring to him. It was well that it was so, for the morrow had in store for him experiences that should test to the uttermost the quality of that serene peace. CHAPTER IX Three years of neglect had left their mark upon the Pine Croft bungalow. The stables, the corral, the paddock for the thoroughbred riding horses were in woeful disrepair. The garden was riotous with a tangled mass of weeds and flowers. The water main from the little lake in the hills above, an engineering triumph of Gaspard and the joy of his wife, was broken and the water running in a flood over the lawn. “What a shame! What a ghastly shame! And the whole place used to be so wonderful! So perfect! It is a cruel shame!” The Colonel’s wife was quite petulant over it. “And so unnecessary! Why didn’t he pull himself together and play the man?” “Why? Don’t you know? I wonder if you can understand?” The little Colonel’s voice was slightly wistful. “What do you mean?” his wife asked impatiently. “Oh, dash it all, Augusta! Don’t you see? Can’t you see? The man’s life was broken off short. Why should he—how could he care to carry on?” His wife glanced curiously at her husband. She felt at times that there was in this loyal, gallant little man something more than the commonplace and quietly controlled gentleman he appeared to be, something she had failed to explore. “He had the place, and——” “The place!” snorted the Colonel. “Pardon me, my dear. I mean, to one of Gaspard’s temperament, you know—well——” The Colonel’s voice trailed off into silence. “But there was the boy,” said his wife, covertly watching his face. “Yes! Yes! Of course, there was the boy,” the Colonel hurried to acquiesce. “Certainly, there was the boy. He ought to have got himself in hand. A shame it was, an inexcusable weakness.” His quick laugh puzzled his wife. “Well, I do wish he would return,” continued the Colonel, in a quick change of voice. “The boy needs him, and will need him more and more.” “At least, the boy is not suffering,” said his wife sharply.