Half-way up from the station, while he was walking briskly along, boasting inwardly that he was calm and ready to see Margaret, his legs, without warning him, turned him off on a side street. When he had rounded the block, and had convinced himself that now he was headed straight for the Ridge, they deceived him again. This was humiliating, and, more, was not the way to march to victory. Twice he walked around the square, but the third time, by a strong effort, he succeeded in passing the fatal corner. Soon he could see the house a little way ahead. It occurred to him that he was rushing along at an absurd speed, and he walked more slowly. A moment more and he was in front of the house, was turning in up the walk--but, no, he was mistaken; for the legs, suddenly out of all control, carried him by and nearly a block farther up the street before he could check them and get them headed straight. He found he could manage them better by stepping once on each square of the cement walk, squarely in the middle each time; and he could keep this up by giving all his mind to it. This made it necessary to take rather long steps, but the twilight was deepening, and, besides, there were few other pedestrians on the street. Again he drew near. He looked up at the windows--they were dark, excepting a light in the rear and one upstairs. Something forbidding about the square old house, with its rows of unlighted windows, chilled his heart, struck deep into the energy that had carried him thus far, and he faltered. But this would not do. He forced his eyes down to the sidewalk and resolutely put his right foot on the next square of cement--then his left on the second square--and on, step by step, up the front walk. He mounted the steps and crossed the wide veranda to the door--then hurriedly pushed the bell. There was a long wait. After a time he heard doors opening and closing within, and the sound of a person moving; finally there were footsteps in the hall and the door was opened. “Is--is Miss Davies here?” “Why--no. Miss Davies and her mother have gone East.” “Gone East!” “Yes; they are in the mountains--in Woodland Valley.” “Woodland Valley!” “Yes. I couldn't tell you when they'll be back. They didn't know themselves when they left.” A moment more and the door had closed and Halloran was down on the sidewalk. He turned aimlessly up the street. Gone East!--and no word for him! Perhaps his letters had not even reached her. Why had he not come straight back to Evanston that same week and claimed his answer? What an invertebrate creature he was, anyway! What a gloomy evening! How the shadows of the maples and elms closed down on his thoughts! The arc lamps at the corners, the long row of houses glowing with light, all smiled at him and drove him deeper into the gloom. Gone East!