"I don't want a doctor! I want to go--with my baby. And I don't want him to know--understand that--" with a struggle she raised to one elbow, eyes suddenly blazing with the flashes of her disordered brain, features strained and excited. "I don't want him to know! He ran away and left me for three days. The fire went out--my baby--" hysterical laughter broke from her dry lips--"My baby died, and still he didn't come. He--" "Agnes!" Houston grasped her hands. "Try to control yourself! Maybe he couldn't get back. The storm--" "Yes, the storm! It's always the storm! We would have been married--but there was the storm. He couldn't marry me months ago--when I found out--and when I came back out here! He couldn't marry me then. 'Wait'; that's what he always said--'wait--' and I waited. Now--" then the voice trailed off--"it's been three days. He promised to be back. But--" Houston sought to end the repetition. "Perhaps I could find him and bring him here." But it was useless. The woman drifted back to her rambling statements. Laughter and tears followed one another in quick succession; the breaking of restraint had come at last. At last she turned, and staring with glazed eyes into those of Houston, burst forth. "You hate me, don't you?" "I--" "Don't deny it!" Querulous imperiousness was in the voice. "You hate me--you'll go back to Boston and tell my mother about this. I know--you've got the upper hand now. You'll tell her why I came out here--you'll tell her about the baby, won't you? Yes, you'll--" "I'll tell nothing of the sort, Agnes. I don't fight that way. You ought to know that. You've been my enemy, I'll admit. I've felt bitter, terribly so, against you. I believed that you used my trust to betray me. But I believe I know the reason now. Besides, the harm's done. It's in the past. I fight men, not women." "Do you want help?" A thin hand stretched out. "Will you give me a promise--if I give you one?" "About what, Agnes?" "My baby. You--you're not going to let it stay there? You're--" "I hardly know what to do. I thought after you were better, I'd--" "I'm better now." She tried to rise. "I'm better--see? I've more strength. You could leave me alone. I--I want you to take my baby." "Where?" "Where she can sleep in peace--in hallowed ground. I--I want a priest for her. Tell him that I baptized her Helena." "Yes. And the other name?" A weird laugh came from the colorless lips. "She hasn't one." "But--"