the persistent sound.

"There's your Smart Set medicine show," he said glumly. "He
doesn't seem to care much whether we give him a permit or not."
Then, a minute later, "We'll have to let him stay. Won't do to
have the Indians down on us. But I tell you this, Priscilla, I
don't want you to go."

"But Will--"

"Prissie, please! I'm sorry I said what I did last night. I was
tired. But don't you see, well, I can't just exactly explain--
but this fog horn sort of scares me--I don't like it--"

He suddenly rose and put both hands on her shoulders. He looked
into her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. He
picked up his hat and was gone. It was five minutes before
Priscilla noticed that his breakfast had been left untouched.

A fog horn, sounding unceasingly.

She listlessly put away the breakfast dishes. She tried to drown
out the sound by singing hymns. She fell on her knees and tried
to pray. She found her prayers keeping time to the rise and fall
of the notes of that horn. She determined to go out in the
air--to find her husband--to go to church, anywhere--as far as
possible from the Smart Set medicine show.

So she went out the back door and ran as fast as she could toward
the place from which came the sound of the fog horn.