Old Planter had, in fact, gone down hill since George's last glimpse of him in New York, or else he didn't attempt here to assume a strength he no longer possessed. He was quite close before he gave any sign of seeing the pair, and then he muttered to his secretary who answered with a whisper. He limped up and took Sylvia's hand. "Where has my little girl been?" She laughed harshly. "To a rendezvous in the forest. You shouldn't let me go out alone." Planter glanced from clouded eyes at George. His lips between the white hair smiled amiably. "I don't believe I remember----" "It's one of Lambert's business friends," Sylvia said, hastily. "Mr. Morton." The old man shifted his cane and held out his hand. "Lambert," he joked, "says he's going to make more money through you than I can hope to leave him. You seem to have got the jump on a lot of shrewd men. I'll see you at dinner? Lambert isn't coming to-night?" George briefly clasped the hand of the big man. "I must go back to town this afternoon." "Then another time." Planter shifted his cane and leant again on his secretary. "Let's get on, Straker. Doctor's orders." "Why," George asked when Sylvia and he were alone, "didn't you spring at the chance?" "I prefer to fight my own battles," she said, shortly. "Don't you mean," he asked, quizzically, "that you're a little ashamed of what you did that day?" She shook her head. "I was a frightened child. I have changed." "Isn't it," he laughed, "a little because I, too, have changed? It never occurred to your father to connect me with the Mortons living on his place." Again she shook her head, turning away. He held out his hand. "I must go back. Let's admit we've both changed. Let us be friends." She didn't answer. She made no motion to take his hand. "One of the promises I made that day," he reminded her, "was to teach you not to be afraid of my touch." "Does it amuse you to threaten me?" she asked. Suddenly he reached out, caught her right hand before she could avoid him, and gave it a quick pressure. "Of course you're right," he laughed. "Actions are more useful than threats." While she stared, flushed and incredulous, at the hand he had pressed, George walked swiftly away, tingling with life, back to the house of death. VI At the funeral he submitted to the amazed scrutiny of the country people. They couldn't hurt him, because they impinged not at all on his world; but he was relieved when the oblong box had been consigned to the place reserved for it, and he could, after arranging the last details of his mother's departure, take the train back to New York.