in that big patch of light. Just like a scene on a stage.
Then, Mr. Brice got to his feet, and swung the man to one
side, by the throat. And as he did, you jumped up, too, and
hit him on the head with that miserable wrench. As he fell, I
could see the other man stagger off toward the path. He was
so weak, at first, he could hardly move. I cried out to you,
but you were so busy glaring down at the man who had saved
your life that you didn't think to start after the other one
till he had gotten strength enough to escape from you. Then I
went for water to--"

"Good Lord!" groaned Standish, agape. "You're--you're
sure--dead sure you're right?"

"Sure?" she echoed, indignantly. "Of course I'm sure. I--"

"Hold that measly dog's collar," he broke in. "So! I don't
care to be bitten. I've had my share of knockabout stuff, for
one day."

Stooping, he picked up Brice as easily as though Gavin had
been a baby, and with rough tenderness carried him toward the
house.

"There are a lot of things, about all this, that I don't
understand," he continued, irritably, as Claire and the still
growling but tight-held Bobby followed him to the veranda.
"For instance, how that dog happens to be here and trying to
protect a total stranger. For, Bobby only got to Miami, from
New Jersey, by this morning's train. He can't possibly know