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INSTALLMENT XLI. I TAMARA went back to her j room and walked to one ; of the darkening win- j dows. Again there came to her the mem- j * ery of the jail, of George's face. She eighed, shook her head restlessly and turned back into the room to light lights and sit down to study her pale and tear-stained face at the mirror. No use: there was nothing to do. Even confession wouldn’t help—even revelation. Nobody cared. The Gover nor, and possibly the world, informed j that George Davis had knocked down j and accidentally killed Mayne Mal lory because the Hollywood actor had recalled a truth about Davis’ wife, would feel no more kindly to the killer. That wouldn’t excuse him or help free him. Nothing would! Quite suddenly, as if propelled by a force outside of herself, she was at the desk, scribbling a note on Ellen Martell’s handsome writing paper. “Ellen, darling," she wrote, “I’m a death's-head at your party and I’ll ’ onlv spoil it for you and every one else. I'm sorry, but the children and ! the fun and the presents seem more than I can bear tonight; I’m going up i to the city, where I’ll see a movie and | eat a large, unromantic steak and! I’ll, surely drive over and see you all j tomorrow, or at latest Wednesday. I’m ■ not sure where I'll be, but I’ll tele- j phone. Merry Christmas to you all! I Do forgive me.” She scratched a crooked, tear- j •plashed ' Tam" at the end and put j the note in a conspicuous position ! against the lamp. Within a few j seconds she had crammed back into j her bag everything she had taken from it, had pulled on her hat and slipped into her heavy coat. She j * crossed the upper hall noiselessly, ; opened a door upon a back stair- | case, noiselessly descended and let herself out at the side door without i encountering a soul or hearing any 1 sound except the joyous racket of Chrsitmas eve. The dusk outside was cool and si- ; lent; a gush of light from the library , windows crossed the gravel drive in two neat blocks. She went along the drive to the fork, reached the garage. The thought of George, of all prisoners. ai will jail iituov itu like this, this sense of panic and fear •nd elation. The road to San Francisco was lighted and punctuated by flying, smaller lights that came roaring to ward her. blinded her and went rush r- ing south. But she did not follow this highway far. Some 7 or 8 miles north of Menlo Park she turned west ward at a sign that said "Halfmoon Bay—15 Miles." There was a lane leading west to ward the sea, a lonely lane full of ' frozen ruts. It was unlighted, and after the bright, hot Christmas ex citement of the village, Tam found the 2 miles of highway lonely enough, and the lane itself rather formidable. Mrs. Moretti had long ago departed to join her family in the Dalles; Carlos lived up the shore 2 miles away and came t<*Dan's place only once a day to feed the chickens. There was nobody near but herself; the roar and surge of the sea in the i dark, the clatter of sudden gust of wind over the porch roof, were Strangely unreassuring sounds. • Tam unlocked her door, carried her groceries in to the kitchen table; locked up again. The house was dankly cold and smelled stuffily of old meals and old wood. She had forgotten the simple detail of the electrict lights being disconnected somewhere. She had to grope for can- j dies in the inky dark; it was nervous work finding them in the big, old fashioned pantry, and imagining that hands were groping and faces grimac ing at her in the fearfully silent place. Tam found an enveloping apron in * the icy adjoining bedroom, laid aside her hat and coat, set about dinner preparations courageously. He had owned this place now for nearly two years, she had been here often before, with carpenters and paperhangers and gardeners, but she realized now sud denly that she had neve:- been quite alone before; Mollie had been with her. or Carlos’ wife, or a kitchen girl | from one of the village families. Well, it did not matter. In an j hour she would be snugly asleep in ; the blue blankets that were already j , warming in the kitchen, and tomor- ) row there would be sunlight and sanity and time to reflect upon what she wanted to do. The main thing was that she was here, and alone, and that she did not have to put on her velvet dress for Christmas eve and sit at the long Martell table pre tending that her heart had not been changed to a lump of lead. But the little sense of uneasiness j persisted. Tam reminded herself that one's fears and the action of robbers, j murderers, maniacs rarely struck upon the same in^t'.nt: it would be . absurd for her to be afraid tonight and for some evil man coincidentally to have chosen tonight for a robbery. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sound of a voice. But it was only a black cat. as welcome as a friend in this silent dark hour. Tamara welcomed the cat effusively, fed him when she ate her own supper, and when she went to sleep an hour later on a cot dragged into the kitchen for warmth, the cat was settled on her feet. The sound of the sea was friendlier now, and the stove’s red eye , had protective, comforting aspect in the warm kitchen. Tam. tired by the long, full day. was almost immediately asleep. Voices. She started up from a very abysm unconsciousness to the fearful realization of voices. Some one outside saying "S-s-h-h!” Where was she? What was this? Tam sat up in the dark, her heart thundering. With a sudden lesson ing of warm weight on her feet i,he cat leaped to the floor. There was utter silence everywhere, except the tick of dying ashes in the stove and the faraway sound of the sea. Nothing. Nothing, It had been her imagina tion. But her heart would not stop its suffocating quick beat, nor her muscles obey her fluttered reason when her mind told her she must sim ply lie down quietly again, and draw the blankets over her shoulders, and go back to sleep. Intsead she sat in motionless terror; fright creeping like cold water up her spine, her mouth filled with salt water. The sound of a motor engine was coming nearer. It would pass. It would go away again. A slow fan of light went over the ceiling; outside the kitchen door the motor stopped. There. was a fearful interval of silence. Then a voice shouting: "Tam!” tnun wai iv uuu iici > cuia. All the dark she sprang from her blankets, sobbing, calling back madly in an swer: "Oh, Georg,e George. George!” Somehow, m the black cold and dark she was across the kitchen floor, and fumbling at the lock, and then the sky and the wheeling stars showed in the opened doorway, above the dim silhouette of the farm buildings, and the lights of a motor car cut a tunnel of light through them, and a figure was there, coming at her; arms were warm and strong about her. and George's cold hard face was against her warm one, and she was crying, crying bitterly, with her arm about his neck. "Tam, you poor darling, you poor little idiot! My sweetheart—my darling sweetheart!” He was half leading, half carrying her back into the kitchen; there was only black darkness there, and laugh ing and crying she groped for a light, and the dim spurt of a match sent the shadows reeling, and showed the tumbled blankets and the cat again settled peaceably in warmth and com fort. Tam found a candle and set it on the sink; turned and was in Georges's arms again. "You've escaped! You got away: You found me!” she breathed. And then, with shaky laughter. "Oh, George, what a place to come to. and so cold, and you're freezing!” "I don’t care!" he mumbled, lips at her hair. And Tamara clung to him hungrily, her wet cheek against his, and echoed his words dreamily, in ut most content: “No. and I don't care. Tomorrow we’ll run away—we’ll go somewhere— where they can’t ever find you! But I don’t care about anything else now except that you're back!" Just to look at him was enough: she fould look at him forever. George. George with her again, nothing else mattered. He and she blessedly, ex quisitely alone in this cold-bound, Winter-bound little farm house, with the snapping frost of Christmas eve lying on the bare fields outside, and tVln irhinimr hirrh nr* Vint irann roof and the stars, and the sea roar ing on the rocks—rushing smoothly in, breaking into foam and spray, dragging its way out again. But somehow she felt weak and tired, and whenever she started to talk she started to cry and to laugh, too. It was enough to watch George bringing in wood, dragging things about, carrying a candle down cellar to do something mysterious to the electricity, driving shadows before him, tramping about with a hearten ing noise that seemed to make the house the saiest, sanest, coziest place in all the world. Every few minutes he stopped what he was doing and came to kneel down beside her and kiss her. Tam would put up a hand to stroke his hair, smile at him shakily, but she could not speak without tears. ‘‘Frightened you. did I?” “It was silly. But I’d been nervous, anyway.” "You ought to have some one with you, Tam.” "I know. And I usually do. But since Mollie married and I gave up the Taylor street place-” Tam's voice died out weakly. "George," she whispered, dragging his head down to hers again. "Love me?" "Oh, too much!” "But. darling, you shouldn’t have run away down here! You fright ened them all." “The Martells?" she asked lazily. "Surely. They were terribly upset.” "I don’t care,” she murmured. "I don't care about anything now.” She lay on the couch before the hearth; the big sitting room was warm in the Winter night. George had built up a Are of enormoua logs; the electricity was on again and one of the lamps was softly lighted. George, or Hills, the Martells’ chauf feur who had driven him down, had carried her in to the couch and put pillows and blankets all about her. Now Hills was gone, and the memory of the fright was no more than a bad dream; Tamara lay lapped in utter peace and content. But even now whenever she thought of George or looked at George the tears came up, flooding her face and choking her. and she could not speak. So she lay warm and quiet and com pletely comfortable, like a baby, and watched him going about the room with a baby’s serenely unquestioning eye6, and was in no hurry to begin to talk. 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