carefully locking the cabinet upon it.

"Take a hot bath," she directed. "Then I'm going to give you just a
little to eat. And then these." She held out the drug.

Io acquiesced dully.

Early in the morning, before the first forelight of dawn had started the
birds to prophetic chirpings, the recluse heard light movements in the
outer room. Throwing on a robe she went in to investigate. On the
bearskin before the flickering fire sat Io, an apparition of soft
curves.

"D--d--don't make a light," she whimpered. "I've been crying."

"That's good. The best thing you could do."

"I want to go home," wailed Io.

"That's good, too. Though perhaps you'd better wait a little. Why, in
particular do you want to go home?"

"I w-w-w-want to m-m-marry Delavan Eyre."

A quiver of humor trembled about the corners of Camilla Van Arsdale's
mouth. "Echoes of remorse," she commented.

"No. It isn't remorse. I want to feel safe, secure. I'm afraid of
things. I want to go to-morrow. Tell Mr. Banneker he must arrange it for
me."