And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke. I had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid little attention. Miss Colton did not come to the library again. From the rooms above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in Mrs. Colton's voice. Once Doctor Quimby peeped in. He looked anxious and weary.

“Hello, Ros!” he hailed, “I heard you were here. This is a high old night, isn't it!”

“How is he?” I asked.

“About the same. No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a while ago. But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty hopeful, for the old boy has a husky constitution—considering the chances he's taken with it all his life. It's his wife that bothers me. She's worse than one of the plagues of Egypt. I've given her some sleeping powders now; they'll keep her quiet for a spell, I hope.”

“And Miss Colton—how is she?”

“She! She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse. By the Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl! Well, I must get back on my job. Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the week.”

At three o'clock came a message from Davis. He had not been able to secure a single share. Did his instructions to buy still hold? I answered that they did and he replied that he was going to get a nap for an hour or so. “I shall need the rest, if I am any prophet,” he concluded.

It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch. I had determined not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I suppose, and exhaustion got the better of me. The next thing I knew the gray light of dawn was streaming in at the library windows and Johnson was spreading a tempting-looking breakfast on the table.

I sprang up.

“What time is it?” I demanded.

“About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts,” was the answer, in a tone of mingled weariness and resentment. Plainly Mr. Johnson had been up all night and considered himself imposed upon.

I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer duration. It had been much too long as it was.

“How is Mr. Colton?” I asked.

“Better, sir, I believe. He is resting more quiet at present.”

“Where is Cahoon?”

“Here I be,” this from Phineas in the next room. “Have a good snooze, did you, Ros?”

“Too good.” I walked in and found him still sitting by the telegraph instrument. “Has anything happened?” I asked.

“Nary thing. All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the one you heard. Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did. Guess I should have, only Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a spell.”

“Miss Colton—has she been here? Why didn't you call me, Ros?”

“I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me. Said you was all wore out, poor feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas necessary. She's an awful nice young woman, ain't she. Nothin' stuck up about her, at all. Set here and talked with me just as sociable and folksy as if she wan't wuth a cent. Asked more questions than a few, she did.”

“Did she?” I was not paying much attention to his remarks. My mind was busy with more important things. I was wondering what Davis was doing just then. Phin went on.

“Yup. I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and I asked her if she knew the reason why. 'How did you know he wasn't there?' says she. 'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and Sam Wheeler told him. Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about it. They cal'lated Ros was sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't be or he wouldn't be round here settin' up all night.' What WAS the reason you wan't there, Ros?”

I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not know the reason before this. Was it possible that Captain Dean alone knew of my “treason” to Denboro, and that he was keeping the discovery to himself? Why should he keep it to himself? He had threatened to drive me out of town.

“I had other business to-day, Phin,” I answered, shortly.

“Yup. So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said. He was in the depot this noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you. 'Is Ros sick?' I says. 'Huh!' says he—you know how he grunts, Ros; for all the world like a hog—'Huh!' says he, 'sick! No, but I cal'late he'll be pretty sick afore long.' What did he mean by that, do you s'pose?”

I knew, but I did not explain. I made no reply.

“Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me,” continued Phin. “I asked him again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had other business, just same as you said now. He was ugly as a cow with a sore horn over somethin' and I judged 'twas best to keep still. That telegram he sent was a surprisin' thing, too. 'Twas to—but there! he made me promise I wouldn't tell and so I mustn't. I ain't told a soul—except one—and then it slipped out afore I thought. However, that one won't make no difference. She ain't interested in—in the one the telegram was sent to, 'tain't likely.”

“Where is Miss Colton now?” I asked.

“With her ma and pa, I presume likely. Her and me set and whispered together for a long spell. Land sakes! she wouldn't let me speak louder'n a whisper for fear of wakin' you up. A body'd think you was a young-one in arms, the care she took of you.”

Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master continued without waiting for a reply.

“I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,' I says. 'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this Louisville stock you're so worried about. George was consider'ble interested in that stock himself a spell ago. I sent much as a dozen telegrams from him about that very stock to some broker folks up to Boston, and they was mighty anxious telegrams, too. I tell you!' I says.”

He had caught my attention at last.

“Did you tell her that?” I demanded.

“Sure I did! I never meant to, nuther. Ain't told another soul. You see, George, he asked me not to. But she's got a way with her that would make Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn 'em. I was sort of ashamed after I told her and I explained to her that I hadn't ought to done it. 'But I guess it's all right now, anyway,' I says. 'If there was any trouble along of George and that stock I cal'late it's all over. He acted dreadful worried for a spell, but for the week afore he was married he seemed chipper as ever. Biggest change in him you ever see,' says I. 'So my tellin' you is all right, I guess,' I says. 'I'm sure it's all right,' says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might say. When she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot, if she'd wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said so. He! he! 'Of course it's all right,' she says. 'But you had better not tell anyone else. We'll have it for our secret, won't we, Mr. Cahoon?' she says, smilin'. 'Sartin we will,' says I. And—well, by thunder!” as if the thought occurred to him for the first time. “I said that, and now I've been and blatted out the whole business to you! I am the DARNDEST fool!”

I did not contradict him. I was too angry and disturbed even to speak to him for the moment. And, before I could speak, we were interrupted. The young lady herself appeared in the doorway. SHE had not slept, that was plain. Her face was pale and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. As I looked at her I was more ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than ever. Yet she was, as the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining. She even smiled as she greeted us.

“Good morning,” she said. “Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon. I know you feel that you must be getting back to your work at the station.”

Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it.

“Land sakes! most six, ain't it,” he exclaimed. “I guess you're right. I'll have to be trottin' along. But you needn't fuss for no breakfast for me. I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and again and I et enough last night to last me one spell.”

He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go.

“There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon,” she said. “Breakfast is ready, here in the library. And yours is ready, too, Mr. Paine. I hope your few minutes' sleep has rested you. I am sorry you woke so soon. I told Johnson to be careful and not disturb you.”

“I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all,” I declared, in self reproach. “I did not mean to. I lay down for a moment and—well, I suppose I was rather tired.”

“I know. Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone.”

“Nonsense! It was no worse for me than for you,” I said.

“Yes, it was. You had the care and the responsibility. I, you see, knew that I was well guarded. Besides, I slept for hours this morning. Come, both of you. Breakfast is ready.”

Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder at the butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to wait upon a countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny, if I had been in a mood for fun. I don't know which was the more uncomfortable, Cahoon or the butler.

“Won't you join us, Miss Colton?” I asked.

“Why—why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind. I am not hungry but I will take a cup of coffee, Johnson.”

Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which was not long. He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a proceeding which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and then rose and put on his coat.

“I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss,” he explained, apologetically; “but I know you understand how 'tis with me. My job's all I've got and I'll have to hang onto it. The up train's due in forty minutes and I've got to be on hand at the deepo. However, I've got that Davis feller's address and I'll raise him the first thing to send his messages to me and I'll get 'em right down here by the reg'lar telephone. He can use that—what-do-you-call-it?—that code thing, if he's scart of anybody's findin' out what he says. The boss school-marm of all creation couldn't read that gibberish without the book.”

I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative. After he had gone and she and I were left together at the table a sense of restraint seemed to fall upon us both. To see her sitting opposite me at the table, pouring my coffee and breakfasting with me in this intimate, family fashion, was so wonderful and strange that I could think of nothing else. It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon at Seabury's Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu picnic, with all a picnic's surroundings. This was different, quite different. It was so familiar, so homelike, so conventional, and yet, for her and me, so impossible. I looked at her and she, looking up at the moment, caught my eyes. The color mounted to her cheeks. I felt my own face flushing. Dorinda—practical, unromantic Dorinda—had guessed my feeling for this girl; Mother had divined it. It was plain enough for anyone to read. I glanced apprehensively at the butler, half expecting to see upon his clerical countenance the look of scornful contempt which would prove that he, too, was possessed of the knowledge. But he merely bent forward with a deferential, “Yes, sir. What is it?” and I meekly requested another roll. Then I began, desperately, to talk.

I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was, or appeared to be, a trifle better. Mrs. Colton was, at last, thanks to the doctor's powders, asleep. Johnson left the room for the moment and I switched to the subject which neither of us had mentioned since the night before, the Louisville and Transcontinental muddle. I explained what had been done and pretended a confidence which I did not feel that everything would end well. She listened, but, it seemed to me, she was not as interested as I expected. At length she interrupted me.

“Suppose we do not talk about it now,” she said. “As I understand it, you—we, that is—have made up our minds. We have decided to do certain things which seem to us right. Right or wrong, they must be done now. I am trying very hard to believe them right and not to worry any more about them. Oh, I CAN'T worry! I can't! With all the rest, I—I—Please let us change the subject. Mr. Paine, I am afraid you must think me selfish. I have said nothing about your own trouble. Father—” she choked on the name, but recovered her composure almost immediately—“Father told me, after his return from your house this morning, that his purchase of the land had become public and that you were in danger of losing your position at the bank.”

I smiled. “That danger is past,” I answered. “I have lost it. Captain Dean gave me my walking papers this morning.”

“Oh, I am so sorry!”

“I am not. I expected it. The wonder is only that it has not happened before. I realized that it was inevitable when I made up my mind to sell. It is of no consequence, Miss Colton.”

“Yes, it is. But Father offered you the position in his employ. He said you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final.”

“He was wrong. It is final.”

“But—”

“I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton.”

She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile. “Very well,” she said, after a moment, “we will not discuss it now. But you cannot suppose that either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our account.”

“There is no suffering. I sold the land to your father deliberately and with complete knowledge of the consequences. As to the bank—well, I am no worse off than I was before I entered its employ. I am satisfied.”

She toyed with her coffee spoon.

“Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of the sale,” she said. “Why has he kept it a secret?”

“I don't know. Has he?”

“You know he has, Mr. Paine. Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he would be one of the first to hear. It seems odd that the captain should tell no one.”

“Probably he is waiting for the full particulars. He will tell, you may be sure of that. His last remark to me was that he should drive me out of Denboro.”

I rather expected a burst of indignation. In fact I was somewhat hurt and disappointed that it did not come. She merely smiled once more.

“He has not done it yet,” she said. “If he knew why you sold that land—your real reason for selling it—he would not drive you away, or try to.”

I was startled and alarmed.

“What do you mean?” I asked quickly.

“If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?”

“He will never know.”

“Perhaps he may. Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may tell him.”

“Indeed he will not! I shall see to that.”

“Oh, then there is such a person! I was sure of it before. Now you have told me.”

Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin which my slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler re-entered the room.

“Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel,” he said. “The doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you please.”

With a word of apology to me, she hurried away. I rose from the table. I had had breakfast enough. The interruption had come at a fortunate time for me. Her next question might have forced me to decline to answer—which would have been equivalent to admitting the truth—or to lie. One thing I determined to do without delay. I would write Taylor at once warning him to be more close-mouthed than ever. Under no conditions would I permit him to speak. If it were necessary I would go to Washington, where he and Nellie were spending their honeymoon, and make him promise to keep silence. His telling the truth might ruin him, and it certainly would not help me. In the one essential thing—the one which was clenching my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could and seek forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere—no one could help me. I must help myself, or be miserable always. Just now the eternal misery seemed inevitable, no matter what I did.

Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library. The hours passed. Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty. It was almost time for the stock market to open. My thoughts, which had been diverted from my rash plunge into the intricacies of high finance, began to return to it. As ten o'clock drew near, I began to realize what I had bade Davis do, and to think what might happen because of it. I, Roscoe Paine, no longer even a country banker, was at the helm of “Big Jim” Colton's bark in the maelstrom of the stock market. It would have been funny if it had not been so desperate. And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and nothing else. I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly insane than I had been for the past month, to even think of such a thing. It was not too late yet, I could telegraph Davis—

The telephone on the desk—not the public, the local, 'phone, but the other, Colton's private wire to New York—rang. I picked up the receiver.

“Hello-o! Hello-o!” a faint voice was calling. “Is this Colton's house at Denboro? . . . Yes, this is Davis. . . . The wire is all right now. . . . Is this Mr. Colton speaking?”

“No,” I answered, “Mr. Colton is here in the house. You may give the message to me.”

“I want to know if his orders hold. Am I to buy? Ask him. I will wait. Hurry! The market opens in five minutes.”

I put down the receiver. Now was my opportunity. I could back out now. Five minutes more and it would be too late. But if I did back out—what?

One of the minutes passed. Then another. I seized the telephone.

“Go ahead!” I shouted. “Carry out your orders.”

A faint “All right” answered me.

The die was cast. I was in for it. There was nothing to do but wait.

And I waited alone. I walked up and down the floor of the little room, looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that crowded floor of the big Broad Street building. The market was open. Davis was buying as I had directed. But at what figure was he buying?

No one came near me, not even the butler. It was ten-twenty before the bell rang again.

“Hello! This is Mr. Davis's office. Is this Mr. Colton? Tell him Mr. Davis says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping twenty points at a lick. There is the devil to pay. Scarcely any stock in sight and next door to a panic. Shall we go on buying?”

I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my elbow. Miss Colton was standing beside me. She did not speak, but she looked the question.

I told her what I had just heard.

“One hundred and fifty!” she exclaimed. “That is—Why, that is dreadful! What will you do?”

I shook my head. “That is for you to say,” I answered.

“No, it is for you. You are doing this. I trust you. Do what you think is right—you and Mr. Davis. That is what Father would wish if he knew.”

“Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility.”

“Then you must do it alone. Do it! do it!”

I turned to the 'phone once more. “Buy all you can get,” I ordered. “Keep on bidding. But be sure and spread the news that it is Colton buying to secure control of the road, not to cover his shorts. Be sure that leaks out. Everything depends on that.”

I hung up the receiver. She and I looked at each other.

“What will happen, do you think?” she asked.

“God knows! . . . Are you going? Don't go!”

“I must,” gently. “Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave him. Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he is—is—whether he is to be with us or not. I must go. Be brave. I trust you. Be brave, for—for I am trying so hard to be.”

I seized her hand. She drew it from my grasp and hastened away. Brave! Well, for her sake, I must be. Yet it was because of her that I was such a coward.

As I recall all this now I wonder at myself. The whole thing seems too improbable to be true, yet true it was. I lost my identity that day, I think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and the situation became more and more desperate, became some one else, some one a great deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than ever I had been or shall be again. I seemed to see my course plainer every moment and to feel surer of myself and that my method—my bluff, if you like—was the only salvation.

At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling—the little that was sold—at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par value of fifty. At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred. The whole Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the newspapers were issuing “panic” extras.

“Tell Davis to stop buying now,” I ordered. “Let it be known that Colton has secured control and is satisfied.”

At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked. There was no trading at all, for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had. Johnson came in to ask if he should bring my luncheon. I bade him clear out and let me alone. As he was tip-toeing away I called after him.

“How is Mr. Colton?” I asked.

“Very bad indeed, sir. Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could not leave him an instant. It is the crisis, the doctor thinks.”

There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house. At one Davis himself 'phoned.

“Still hanging around 700,” he announced. “Begins to look as if the top had been reached. What shall I do now?”

My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such things for years.

“Sell, in small lots, at intervals,” I told him. “Then, if the price breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as you can.”

The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of hope, in it.

“By the Lord, I believe you have got it!” he cried. “It may work. I'll report to you, Mr. Colton, right away.”

Plainly he had no doubt that “Big Jim” was directing the fight in person. Far was it from me to undeceive him!

Another interval. Then he reported a drop of a hundred points.

“The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe. They think you've done 'em again. I am spreading the report that you have the control cinched. As soon as the scramble is really on I'll have a half dozen brokers buying for us.”

It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant, triumphant.

“Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em, sure!”

And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow.

“Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried! You have two hundred shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock. The Louisville road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton. I congratulate you. Might have known they couldn't lick the old man. You are a wonder. I'll write full particulars and then I am going home and to bed. I'm dead. I didn't believe you could do it! How did you?”

I sat there, staring at the 'phone. Then, all at once, I began to laugh, weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless.

“I—I organized a Development Company,” I gasped. “Good night.”

I rose from the chair and walked out into the library. I was so completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I staggered as I walked. The library door opened and Johnson came in. He was beaming, actually beaming with joy.

“He's very much better, sir,” he cried. “He's conscious and the doctor says he considers 'im out of danger now. Miss Mabel sent word she would be down in a short while. She can't leave the mistress immediate, but she'll be down soon, sir.”

I looked at him in a dazed way. “Tell Miss Colton that I am very glad, Johnson,” I said. “And tell her, too, that everything here is satisfactory also. Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has his control.”

“'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?”

“She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have won and that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget.”

“And—and where will you be, sir?”

“I am going home, I think. I am going home and—to bed.”