followed closely at his heels while he went into every room and closet in the house without success. Once outside, he further made a careful search of the grounds, but again without result. He felt chagrined that he had not been strong enough to hold the fellow. He had missed the opportunity to put an end to her pitiful worry. "I don't think he will come back here," he said, as they stood again before the front door. "He may make for the station in an attempt to get back to town. Are you strong enough to walk it?" "Yes," she said eagerly. "I can push on ahead and send a carriage back for you." "So. I need the walk. But you--" she began anxiously. "I shall enjoy it," he declared. They took the pleasant country road, side by side, and in five minutes he had forgotten the episode in a confusion of thoughts that were cheap at the cost of a brief struggle with a madman. The wine of her presence in this medley of blue sky, green grass, and springtime perfume was a heady drink for one in his condition. The full-throated birds sang to him, and the booming insects hummed to him and her eyes prophesied to him of a thousand days like this which lay like roses in bud. He watched with growing awe the supple movement of her body, the tender arch of her neck, and the clear surface of her features ever alive with the quick expression of her eager thoughts. She caught his gaze once and colored prettily but without lowering her eyes. "You belong out here," he exclaimed. "This is where you should live." "And you?" "I was born in just such surroundings." "Why did you leave them? Men are so free." "Free?" The word startled him. "Men are not limited by either time or place," she avowed. Time? Time was an ugly word. His face grew serious. "I think," he said slowly, "that I am just beginning to learn what freedom is." "And it is?"