"None of that, man! I'll be going when I have her word. Is it good-by,
Annette? Must I be taking the word to your father that you've left him
now and for always? Yes? Then a shake of the hand for old times'
sake."
Annette slipped a cold little hand into his free one, and feeling the
solid grasp of his broad palm, she clung to it as a drowning man
clings to a spar.
"I can't go!" she cried, in a burst of tears. "I can't leave dad this
way! Make him take me b-back, Sandy! I want to go home!"
Carter stood very still and white. His thin body was trembling from
head to foot, and the veins stood out on his forehead like whip-cord.
He clenched his hands in an effort to control himself. At Annette's
words he stepped aside with elaborate courtesy.
"You are at perfect liberty to go with Mr. Kilday. All I ask is that
he will meet me as soon as we get back to town."
"I can't go b-back on the train!" cried Annette, with a glance at her
bags and boxes. "Every one would suspect something if I did. Oh, why
d-did I come?"
"My buggy is at your disposal," said Carter; "perhaps your
disinterested friend, Mr. Kilday, could be persuaded to drive you
back."
"But, Carter," cried Annette, in quick dismay, "you must come, too.
I'll bring dad r-round; I always do.
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