She thought he must hear the beating of her pulse. "Would--don't they resent being stared at?" she faltered. "Bless your heart!" he said, with one of his bear-like laughs. "It's good for them. They don't get a squint at roses and sunshine every day! A sight like you two girls will make them want to get out, and keep them on their best behaviour, so as to earn all the commutation good marks bring! I'll get the Warden to take us through the shops. That's the most interesting part." "I must be quite certain!" The words seemed singing themselves over in a banal refrain that sounded through the stir and rumble of the station, mingling with 'Lige's hearty voice of welcome, and her father's loving greeting as he lifted her carefully from the car step. "You're a lot better? _Sure?_" he queried anxiously, as he held both her hands tight in his. "Sure!" she smiled. "We've had a _wonderful_ time. I couldn't begin to tell you about it in my letters. But I'm glad to be home just the same! How are mother and Chilly? Mr. Malcolm was on the train--there he is now, waving his hand from the window. Did the wireless tell you we lost a propeller-blade two days out?" The dusk flowed over them in violet waves as they drove homeward and she laughed and talked gaily, with her hand clasped in his under the carriage-robe, the horses prancing and curvetting in the keen October air. Once, at a crossing, she put out her hand and touched the coachman's arm. "Take Main Street, 'Lige," she directed. "I'd like to see how it looks." As he swung into the broader thoroughfare, her father said, "You're looking at the new bank building. You see it's nearly done." But she was really looking beyond, at a four-storied office-front, on whose second floor the windows of a suite showed in chaste, golden letters the legend, "Henry Sevier, Attorney-at-Law." The windows were blank and dusty, and their blinds were drawn. "Why, you're shivering!" said her father suddenly, and drew the robe more closely about her. She smiled at him. "No," she said, "but I think I'm just a little tired. Drive faster, 'Lige. I--I want to get home." CHAPTER XXXI AMBUSH Lying in his bunk Harry awoke to the consciousness of another bleak dawn. The morning waking was always a pain to him, for in sleep the barriers fell away and the mind fared forth along the free, sweet highways of memory. He did not open his eyes at once, but he felt the rasp of the coarse blanket at his throat, smelled the cold clamminess of the granite floor, and realised by a thousand reminders of the sharpened senses that another round of the treadmill awaited him. He remembered drearily that to-morrow would be Thanksgiving Day. In the world outside it was the time of yellow maples and the red of the frost-kissed sumac, of wild grapes purpling in the thickets and clumps of alder blooms in the fence-corners--of blazing hearths and good fellowship!