RoBards stepped forward to the window in a rush of happiness, and saw Immy put out her hands to her lover. He pushed them away and rose and moved blindly across the grass. But there was a heavy dew and he stepped back to the walk to keep his feet from getting wet. He stumbled along the path to the gate and leaned there a moment, sobbing. Then he swung it wide as he ran out to where his horse was tied. And the gate beat back and forth, creaking, like a rusty heart. RoBards stood gazing down at his daughter, eerily beautiful in the moonlight through the rose leaves. He saw her dim hands twitching each at the other. Then they fell still in her lap and she sat as a worn-out farm-wife sits whose back is broken with overlong grubbing in the soil and with too heavy a load home. For a long time he sorrowed over her, then he went stealthily across his library into the hall, and out to the porch where he looked at the night a moment. He discovered Immy as if by accident, and exclaimed, “Who’s that?” “It’s only me, Papa, only me!” “Only you? Why you’re all there is. You’re the most precious thing on earth.” He put his arm about her, but she sprang to her feet and snapped at him: “Don’t! If you please, Papa, don’t touch me. I—I’m not fit to be touched.” She stood away from him, bracing herself with a kind of pride. Then she broke into a maudlin giggle, such as RoBards had heard from the besotted girls in the Five Points. And she walked into the house. He followed her, and knocked on her door. But she would not answer, and when he tried it, it was locked. CHAPTER XXXIII The next morning RoBards heard her voice again. It was loud and rough, drowning the angry voice of her brother, Keith. She was saying: “I was a fool to tell him! And I was a fool to tell you I told him!” “I’ll beat him to death when I find him, that’s all I’ll do!” Keith roared, with his new bass voice. “If you ever touch him or mention my name to him—or his name to me,” Immy stormed, “I’ll—I’ll kill—I’ll kill myself. Do you understand?” “Aw, Immy, Immy!” Keith pleaded with wonderful pity in his voice. Then she wept, long, piteously, in stabbing sobs that tore the heart of her father. He knew that she was in her brother’s arms, for he could hear his voice deep with sympathy. But RoBards dared not make a third there. It was no place for a father. He went to his library and stood staring at the marble hearthstone. Somewhere down there was what was left of Jud Lasher. He had not been destroyed utterly, for he was still abroad like a fiend, wreaking cruel harm. Immy spoke and RoBards was startled, for he had not heard her come in: “Papa.” “Yes, my darling!” “Do you think Jud Lasher will ever come back?” “I know he won’t.” “How do you know?” “Oh, I just feel sure. He’d never dare come back.” “If he did would I belong to him?” “Would a lamb belong to a sheep-killing dog that mangled it?” “That’s so. Thank you, Papa.” And she was gone.