"You had not thought of that--and I made you. I could have found another
excuse for going if I had only had wit enough. I was a brute once before
to-night, and--" He stopped, and for a moment stood there looking at
her, stood in the firelight, his face white again even in the ruddy
glow--and then he was gone.

Time passed without meaning to Helena. The steady patter of the rain was
on the leaves, the sullen, constant drip of water to the ground, and
now, occasionally, a rush of wind, a heavier downpour. She sat before
the fire, staring into it, her elbows on her knees, her face held
tightly in her hands, the brown hair, wet and wayward now, about her
temples. Once she moved, once her eyes changed their direction--to fix
upon her sleeve in a strange, questioning surprise.

"I let him go without his coat," she said.




--XVIII--

THE BOOMERANG


It was early afternoon, as Madison, emerging from the wagon track, and
walking slowly, started across the lawn toward the Patriarch's cottage.
He was in a mood that he made no attempt to define--except that it
wasn't a very pleasant mood. Before Thornton had returned to Needley it
had been bad enough, after that, with his infernal car, it had
been--hell.