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 *trolled audibility of a man's voice. There was a rustle of paper, and the next minute Robert told the man:

"That's all right; I'll be there by eight."

The light all gone out of her face, Cherokee turned appealingly to Marrion:

"What does this mean—where is he going?"

Shaking his head, sadly:

"I can't tell what he ever means of late."

Closing the door with an impatient bang, the husband was saying:

"I can't wait for breakfast; I am going away."

"Isn't this rather sudden—what is so important as to make you go without your breakfast?" she questioned.

"A matter that concerns me alone. Don't worry if I am not back by nightfall," and before she could reply he was gone.

Cherokee bit her lips to conceal a quiver; turning almost appealingly to Marrion, she urged:

"Won't you please go, too?"

He did not answer.

"Please go, and look after him."

He was calm almost to coldness, and he replied, tentatively:

"Robert would have asked me if he had wanted me along."