Ruth tried to control her perturbation and meet her guest with an unruffled countenance, but there was something about the bland smug countenance of Lieutenant Wainwright that irritated her. To have her first pleasant visit with Cameron suddenly broken up in this mysterious fashion, and Wainwright substituted for Cameron was somehow like taking a bite of some pleasant fruit and having it turn out plain potato in one’s mouth. It was so sudden, like that. She could not seem to get her equilibrium. Her mind was in a whirl of question and she could not focus it on her present caller nor think of anything suitable to say to him. She was not even sure but that he was noticing that she was distraught.

To have John Cameron leave in that precipitate manner at the sight of Harry Wainwright! It was all too evident that he had seen him through the window. But they were fellow townsmen, and had gone to school together! Surely he knew him! Of course, Harry was a superior officer, but Cameron would not be the kind of man to mind that. She could not understand it. There had been a look in his face—a set look! There must be something behind it all. Some reason why he did not want to be seen by Wainwright. Surely Cameron had nothing of which to be ashamed! The thought brought a sudden dismay. What did she know about Cameron after all? A look, a smile, a bit of boyish gallantry. He might be anything but fine in his private life, of course, and Harry might be cognizant of the fact. Yet he did not look like that. Even while the thought forced itself into her mind she resented it and resisted it. Then turning to her guest who was giving an elaborate account of how he had saved a woman’s life in an automobile accident, she interrupted him:

“Harry, what do you know about John Cameron?” she asked impulsively.

Wainwright’s face darkened with an ugly frown.

“More than I want to know,” he answered gruffly. “He’s rotten! That’s all! Why?” He eyed her suspiciously.

There was something in his tone that put her on the defensive at once:

“Oh, I saw him to-day, and I was wondering,” she answered evasively.

“It’s one of the annoyances of army life that we have to be herded up with all sorts of cattle!” said Wainwright with a disdainful curl of his baby mustache. “But I didn’t come here to talk about John Cameron. I came to tell you that I’m going to be married, Ruth. I’m going to be married before I go to France!”

“Delightful!” said Ruth pleasantly. “Do I know the lady?”

“Indeed you do,” he said watching her with satisfaction. “You’ve known, for several years that you were the only one for me, and I’ve come to tell you that I won’t stand any more dallying. I mean business now!”

He crossed his fat leather puttees creakily and swelled out, trying to look firm. He had decided that he must impress her with the seriousness of the occasion.

But Ruth only laughed merrily. He had been proposing to her ever since he got out of short trousers, and she had always laughed him out of it. The first time she told him that she was only a kid and he wasn’t much more himself, and she didn’t want to hear any more such talk. Of late he had grown less troublesome, and she had been inclined to settle down to the old neighborly playmate relation, so she was not greatly disturbed by the turn of the conversation. In fact, she was too much upset and annoyed by the sudden departure of Cameron to realize the determined note in Wainwright’s voice.

“I mean it!” he said in an offended tone, flattening his double chin and rolling out his fat lips importantly. “I’m not to be played with any longer.”

Ruth’s face sobered:

“I certainly never had an idea of playing with you, Harry. I think I’ve always been quite frank with you.”

Wainwright felt that he wasn’t getting on quite as well as he had planned. He frowned and sat up:

“Now see here, Ruth! Let’s talk this thing over!” he said, drawing the big leather chair in which he was sitting nearer to hers.

But Ruth’s glance had wandered out of the window. “Why, there comes Bobbie Wetherill!” she exclaimed eagerly and slipped out of her chair to the door just as one of Wainwright’s smooth fat hands reached out to take hold of the arm of her rocker. “I’ll open the door for him. Mary is in the kitchen and may not hear the bell right away.”

There was nothing for Wainwright to do but make the best of the situation, although he greeted Wetherill with no very good grace, and his large lips pouted out sulkily as he relaxed into his chair again to await the departure of the intruder.

Lieutenant Wetherill was quite overwhelmed with the warmth of the greeting he received from Ruth and settled down to enjoy it while it lasted. With a wicked glance of triumph at his rival he laid himself out to make his account of camp life as entertaining as possible. He produced a gorgeous box of bonbons and arranged himself comfortably for the afternoon, while Wainwright’s brow grew darker and his lips pouted out farther and farther under his petted little moustache. It was all a great bore to Ruth just now with her mind full of the annoyance about Cameron. At least she would have preferred to have had her talk with him and found out what he was with her own judgment. But anything was better than, a tÊte-À-tÊte with Wainwright just now; so she ate bonbons and asked questions, and kept the conversation going, ignoring Wainwright’s increasing grouch.

It was a great relief, however, when about half-past four the maid appeared at the door:

“A long distance telephone call for you, Miss Ruth.”

As Ruth was going up the stairs to her own private ’phone she paused to fasten the tie of her low shoe that had come undone and was threatening to trip her, and she heard Harry Wainwright’s voice in an angry snarl:

“What business did you have coming here to-day, you darned chump! You knew what I came for, and you did it on purpose! If you don’t get out the minute she gets back I’ll put her wise to you and the kind of girls you go with in no time. And you needn’t think you can turn the tables on me, either, for I’ll fix you so you won’t dare open your fool mouth!”

The sentence finished with an oath and Ruth hurried into her room and shut the door with a sick kind of feeling that her whole little world was turning black about her.

It was good to hear the voice of her cousin, Captain La Rue, over the ’phone, even though it was but a message that he could not come as he had promised that evening. It reassured her that there were good men in the world. Of course, he was older, but she was sure he had never been what people called “wild,” although he had plenty of courage and spirit. She had often heard that good men were few, but it had never seemed to apply to her world but vaguely. Now here of a sudden a slur had been thrown at three of her young world. John Cameron, it is true, was a comparative stranger, and, of course, she had no means of judging except by the look in his eyes. She understood in a general way that “rotten” as applied to a young man’s character implied uncleanness. John Cameron’s eyes were steady and clear. They did not look that way. But then, how could she tell? And here, this very minute she had been hearing that Bobbie Wetherill’s life was not all that it should be and Wainwright had tacitly accepted the possibility of the same weakness in himself. These were boys with whom she had been brought up. Selfish and conceited she had often thought them on occasion, but it had not occurred to her that there might be anything worse. She pressed her hands to her eyes and tried to force a calm steadiness into her soul. Somehow she had an utter distaste for going back into that library and hearing their boastful chatter. Yet she must go. She had been hoping all the afternoon for her cousin’s arrival to send the other two away. Now that was out of the question and she must use her own tact to get pleasantly rid of them. With a sigh she opened her door and started down stairs again.

It was Wainwright’s blatant voice again that broke through the Sabbath afternoon stillness of the house as she approached the library door:

“Yes, I’ve got John Cameron all right now!” he laughed. “He won’t hold his head so high after he’s spent a few days in the guard-house. And that’s what they’re all going to get that are late coming back this time. I found out before I left camp that his pass only reads till eleven o’clock and the five o’clock train is the last one he can leave Chester on to get him to camp by eleven. So I hired a fellow that was coming up to buddy-up to Cam and fix it that he is to get a friend of his to take them over to Chester in time for the train. The fellow don’t have to get back himself to-night at all, but he isn’t going to let on, you know, so Cam will think they’re in the same boat. Then they’re going to have a little bit of tire trouble, down in that lonely bit of rough road, that short cut between here and Chester, where there aren’t any cars passing to help them out, and they’ll miss the train at Chester. See? And then the man will offer to take them on to camp in his car and they’ll get stuck again down beyond Wilmington, lose the road, and switch off toward Singleton—you know, where we took those girls to that little out-of-the-way tavern that time—and you see Cam getting back to camp in time, don’t you?”

Ruth had paused with her hand on the heavy portiere, wide-eyed.

“But Cameron’ll find a way out. He’s too sharp. He’ll start to walk, or he’ll get some passing car to take him,” said Wetherill with conviction.

“No, he won’t. The fellows are all primed. They’re going to catch him in spots where cars don’t go, where the road is bad, you know, and nobody but a fool would go with a car. He won’t be noticing before they break down because this fellow told him his man could drive a car over the moon and never break down. Besides, I know my men. They’ll get away with the job. There’s too much money in it for them to run any risk of losing out. It’s all going to happen so quick he won’t be ready for anything.”

“Well, you’ll have your trouble for your pains. Cam’ll explain everything to the officers and he’ll get by. He always does.”

“Not this time. They’ve just made a rule that no excuses go. There’ve been a lot of fellows coming back late drunk. And you see that’s how we mean to wind up. They are going to get him drunk, and then we’ll see if little Johnnie will go around with his nose in the air any longer! I’m going to run down to the tavern late this evening to see the fun my self!”

“You can’t do it! Cam won’t drink! It’s been tried again and again. He’d rather die!”

But the girl at the door had fled to her room on velvet shod feet and closed her door, her face white with horror, her lips set with purpose, her heart beating wildly. She must put a stop somehow to this diabolical plot against him. Whether he was worthy or not they should not do this thing to him! She rang for the maid and began putting on her hat and coat and flinging a few things into a small bag. She glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to five. Could she make it? If she only knew which way he had gone! Would his mother have a telephone? Her eyes scanned the C column hurriedly. Yes, there it was. She might have known he would not allow her to be alone without a telephone.

The maid appeared at the door.

“Mary,” she said, trying to speak calmly, “tell Thomas to have the gray car ready at once. He needn’t bring it to the house, I will come out the back way. Please take this bag and two long coats out, and when I am gone go to the library and ask the two gentlemen there to excuse me. Say that I am suddenly called away to a friend in trouble. If Aunt Rhoda returns soon tell her I will call her up later and let her know my plans. That is all. I will be down in two or three minutes and I wish to start without delay!”

Mary departed on her errand and Ruth went to the telephone and called up the Cameron number.

The sadness of the answering voice struck her even in her haste. Her own tone was eager, intimate, as she hastened to convey her message.

“Mrs. Cameron, this is Ruth Macdonald. Has your son left yet? I was wondering if he would care to be taken to the train in our car?”

“Oh! he has just gone!” came a pitiful little gasp that had a sob at the end of it. “He went in somebody’s car and they were late coming. I’m afraid he is going to miss his train and he has got to get it or he will be in trouble! That is the last train that connects with Wilmington.”

Ruth’s heart leaped to her opportunity.

“Suppose we try to catch him then,” proposed Ruth gleefully. “My car can go pretty fast, and if he has missed the train perhaps we can carry him on to Wilmington. Would you like to try?”

“Oh, could we?” the voice throbbed with eagerness.

“Hurry up then. My car is all ready. I’ll be down there in three minutes. We’ve no time to waste. Put on something warm!”

She hung up the receiver without waiting for further reply, and hurried softly out of the room and down the back stairs.

Thomas was well trained. The cars were always in order. He was used to Ruth’s hurry calls, and when she reached the garage she found the car standing in the back street waiting for her. In a moment more she was rushing on her way toward the village without having aroused the suspicion of the two men who so impatiently awaited her return. Mrs. Cameron was ready, eager as a child, standing on the sidewalk with a great blanket shawl over her arm and looking up the street for her.

It was not until they had swept through the village, over the bridge, and were out on the broad highway toward Chester that Ruth began to realize what a wild goose chase she had undertaken. Just where did she expect to find them, anyway? It was now three minutes to five by the little clock in the car and it was a full fifteen minutes’ drive to Chester. The plan had been to delay him on the way to the train, and there had been mention of a short cut. Could that be the rough stony road that turned down sharply just beyond the stone quarry? It seemed hardly possible that anybody would attempt to run a car over that road. Surely John Cameron knew the roads about here well enough to advise against it. Still, Ruth knew the locality like a book and that was the only short cut thereabout. If they had gone down there they might emerge at the other end just in time to miss the train, and then start on toward Wilmington. Or they might turn back and take the longer way if they found the short road utterly impassable. Which should she take? Should she dare that rocky way? If only there might be some tracks to guide her. But the road was hard and dusty and told no tales of recent travelers. They skimmed down the grade past the stone quarry, and the short cut flashed into view, rough and hilly, turning sharply away behind a group of spruce trees. It was thick woods beyond. If she went that way and got into any trouble with her machine the chances were few that anyone would some along to help. She had but a moment to decide, and something told her that the long way was the safe one and shorter in the end. She swept on, her engine throbbing with that pleasant purr of expensive well-groomed machinery, the car leaping forward as if it delighted in the high speed. The little woman by her side sat breathless and eager, with shining eyes, looking ahead for her boy.

They passed car after car, and Ruth scanned the occupants keenly. Some were filled with soldiers, but John Cameron was not among them. She began to be afraid that perhaps she ought after all to have gone down that hilly way and made sure they were not there. She was not quite sure where that short road came out. If she knew she might run up a little way from this further end.

The two women sat almost silent, straining their eyes ahead. They had said hardly a word since the first greeting. Each seemed to understand the thought of the other without words. For the present they had but one common object, to find John Cameron.

Suddenly, as far ahead as they could see, a car darted out of the wooded roadside, swung into their road and plunged ahead at a tremendous rate. They had a glimpse of khaki uniforms, but it was much too far away to distinguish faces or forms. Nevertheless, both women fastened their eyes upon it with but one thought. Ruth put on more speed and forged ahead, thankful that she was not within city lines yet, and that there was no one about to remind her of the speed limit. Something told her that the man she was seeking was in that car ahead.

It was a thrilling race. Ruth said no word, but she knew that her companion was aware that she was chasing that car. Mrs. Cameron sat straight and tense as if it had been a race of life and death, her cheeks glowing and her eyes shining. Ruth was grateful that she did not talk. Some women would have talked incessantly.

The other car did not go in to Chester proper at all, but veered away into a branch road and Ruth followed, leaping over the road as if it had been a gray velvet ribbon. She did not seem to be gaining on the car; but it was encouraging that they could keep it still in sight. Then there came a sharp turn of the road and it was gone. They were pulsing along now at a tremendous rate. The girl had cast caution to the winds. She was hearing the complacent sneer of Harry Wainwright as he boasted how they would get John Cameron into trouble, and all the force of her strong young will was enlisted to frustrate his plans.

It was growing dusk, and lights leaped out on the munition factories all about them. Along the river other lights flashed and flickered in the white mist that rose like a wreath. But Ruth saw nothing of it all. She was straining her eyes for the little black speck of a car which she had been following and which now seemed to be swallowed up by the evening. She had not relaxed her speed, and the miles were whirling by, and she had a growing consciousness that she might be passing the object of her chase at any minute without knowing it. Presently they came to a junction of three roads, and she paused. On ahead the road was broad and empty save for a car coming towards them. Off to the right was a desolate way leading to a little cemetery. Down to the left a smooth wooded road wound into the darkness. There were sign boards up. Ruth leaned out and flashed a pocket torch on the board. “To Pine Tree Inn, 7 Miles” it read. Did she fancy it or was it really true that she could hear the distant sound of a car among the pines?

“I’m going down this way!” she said decidedly to her companion, as if her action needed an explanation, and she turned her car into the new road.

“But it’s too late now,” said Mrs. Cameron wistfully. “The train will be gone, of course, even from Wilmington. And you ought to be going home. I’m very wrong to have let you come so far; and it’s getting dark. Your folks will be worrying about you. That man will likely do his best to get him to camp in time.”

“No,” said Ruth decidedly, “there’s no one at home to worry just now, and I often go about alone rather late. Besides, aren’t we having a good time? We’re going a little further anyway before we give up.”

She began to wonder in her heart if she ought not to have told somebody else and taken Thomas along to help. It was rather a questionable thing for her to do, in the dusk of the evening—to women all alone. But then, she had Mrs. Cameron along and that made it perfectly respectable. But if she failed now, what else could she do? Her blood boiled hotly at the thought of letting Harry Wainwright succeed in his miserable plot. Oh, for cousin La Rue! He would have thought a way out of this. If everything else failed she would tell the whole story to Captain La Rue and beg him to exonerate John Cameron. But that, of course, she knew would be hard to do, there was so much red tape in the army, and there were so many unwritten laws that could not be set aside just for private individuals. Still, there must be a way if she had to go herself to someone and tell what she had overheard. She set her pretty lips firmly and rode on at a brisk pace down the dark road, switching on her head lights to seem the way here in the woods. And then suddenly, just in time she jerked on the brake and came to a jarring stop, for ahead of her a big car was sprawled across the road, and there, rising hurriedly from a kneeling posture before the engine, in the full blaze of her headlights, blinking and frowning with anxiety, stood John Cameron!