“All right, then. The crowd's spoiling the whole business. I've got an address of welcome in my pocket that I was to have delivered, and there's to be a supper at the Rink to-night. Don't let him get away from you.” Meanwhile, Dan had succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of his friends, and was struggling towards a closed carriage at the end of the platform that he recognized as the Emorys'. In his haste and the dusk of the dull October twilight, he supposed the figure he saw in the carriage to be the doctor, who had preceded him, and called to the man on the box to drive home. As he settled himself, he said, reproachfully: “I hope you hadn't anything to do with this?” A slim, gloved hand was placed in his own, and a laughing voice said: “How do you do, Mr. Oakley?” He glanced up quickly, and found himself face to face with Constance Emory. There was a moment's silence, and then Dan said, the courage that had brought him all the way to Antioch suddenly deserting him: “It's too bad, isn't it? I had hoped I could slip in and out of town without any one being the wiser.” “But you can't,” with a little air of triumph. “Antioch is going to entertain you. It's been in a perfect furor of excitement ever since it knew you were coming back.” “Well, I suppose there is no help for it,” resignedly. “Where is my father, Mr. Oakley?” “I guess we left him behind,” with sudden cheerfulness. He leaned forward so that he could look into her face. “Constance, I have returned because I couldn't stay away any longer. I tried to forget, but it was no use.” She had withdrawn her hand, but he had found it again, and now his fingers closed over it and held it fast He was feeling a sense of ownership. “Did you come to meet me?” he asked. “I came to meet papa.” “But you knew I was coming, too?” “Oh no.” It was too dark for him to see the color that was slowly mounting to her face. “Constance, I don't believe you,” he cried. “I was not sure you were coming,” Constance said, weakly. “You might have known that I'd come back--that I couldn't stay away.” “Don't you think you have been a long time in making that discovery?” “Well, yes, but when I saw your father--” “What did papa say to you?” with keen suspicion in her tones. “You mustn't blame him, Constance. It was not so much what he said as what he didn't say. I never knew any one to be quite so ostentatious about what was left unsaid.” Constance freed her hand, and, shrinking into a corner, covered her face. She had a painful realization of the direction those confidences must have taken, between her father, who only desired her happiness, and the candid Oakley, who only desired her love. “Was there any use in my coming? You must be fair with me now. It's too serious a matter for you not to be.” “You think I was not fair once?” “I didn't mean that, but you have changed.” “For the better, Mr. Oakley?” “Infinitely,” with blunt simplicity.