He turned with this and ran lightly down the stairs. A moment later the noon whistle sounded and the workmen began to come out on the landing. Forrest stood waiting while Bates hurried back to the cutter. A small vessel moved out from the shrouded city front, her set jib showing lighter in the dense grayness, and like a spectre drifted towards the mills. But Forrest saw her absently. He was thinking that he must go over to the little dining-room. Louise had not met him there at the usual breakfast hour, but she would hardly miss the midday meal. Young Silas would make it necessary for her to come. And he must sit there, passively, as though nothing had occurred, while she was in such desperate straits. How could he look into her face? How could he crush down any longer what he thought of Philip? What he hoped for Stratton? The recollection of him, his handsome, mocking face, his fascination, incredible power over Kingsley, most of all his responsibility for the wrecked life of this sweet woman, made his muscles tingle, and sent the blood with a rush through his veins. It was the passion of a strong and much-enduring man brought to his limit. His arms ached for physical contact. Some day, soon, he would like to set his hands on Stratton in one tremendous, unforgettable grip. But Louise was not coming to the dining-room. Little Silas, mounting the stairs with Mason, was saying so. His "muvver" was not hungry; she was going to have some tea at home. But he was ready, and he had told Sing to watch, and when he saw him coming with Uncle Paul, to bring in the soup. Forrest went over to the dining-room with the boy, and a little later the _Phantom_ swung in to her wharf. Kingsley came ashore and went directly up the walk to his house. His wife did not meet him at the door. He did not find her in the parlor. Of course she was at lunch, or was it dinner here at the mills? He sat down to the piano and ran his fingers over the keys. Presently the noise brought her into the room, and he looked up with a nod and smile, drumming on to the end of his tune. Then he wheeled around on the stool and rose to his feet. "Well, Louise," he said, "I have good news for you." She received his kiss on her cheek, at which he laughed, and putting his hand under her chin, compelled her sweet lips. "We are going home to Olympia." He waited for her to speak, but she did not. She only stood locking and unlocking her slim hands, and looking at him with tragic, circle-rimmed eyes. "You’ll be glad to get away from Freeport," he added. "Yes," she answered slowly, "I shall be very—glad—to leave Freeport; I am going—but not to Olympia; not with you." "You are not going to Olympia, Louise? Not with me?" "That is what I said." Her breast heaved and she went on with apparent effort. "We made a—terrible mistake; I have known it for a long time. Still, I believed we could live out our lives together—for the sake of little Silas."