They reached it—­the lane, by the log bridge, running at right angles to the road—­and in a moment, behind them, that lane was choked with whirling debris.

But in that moment they had cleared the track of the whirlwind.  For the first time Alice comprehended the conduct of the marquis.  For the first time he turned to see.  A quarter of a mile each side the road the hurricane had carried complete desolation.  But after passing the heavy timber it had veered several degrees, and was sparing the house of Mrs. Ruggles.

With a white face she met them at the gate.  A word of explanation from the marquis—­an ejaculation of mental anguish from the girl.  Two fugitive tie-choppers from the woods turned back to find the colonel’s body.  Mrs. Ruggles, carrying Alice in her arms to the door—­the yaller-headed doll-baby that never washed a dish—­did what she could to soothe her, but did it as silently as possible.

Mrs. Ruggles intercepted the returning tie-choppers in the lane.  A look of eager joy was in their faces.  The bruised colonel, assisted to the threshold, sank into the big arm-chair, and Alice was in his arms.  Mrs. Ruggles did not see their meeting, not at all.  No, her back was toward them, but the corner of her apron made another journey to the corner of her eye as the father folded his lost child once more to his heart.

His desire to express his gratitude to Mrs. Ruggles and her boy was equaled only by her fears that he would do so.  As a last resort he called the marquis to him, and, while a tear stood on his rough cheek, drew a handful of money from his pocket.  But a bony hand appeared majestically between them, and a voice said, “Not by no means.  We’re not them kind o’ persons.  Markis-dee, put away the camfire.”

Then a rickety gig rattled up to the gate:  “Contusion—­severe—­no danger—­there!—­be lame a while—­so!—­the other bandage—­bridge gone—­creek half dry—­bend your leg—­so!—­current turned up-stream—­now the shoulder—­not strange Crawfish Creek should run backward—­he! he!” And the rickety gig rattled merrily off in search of broken bones.

Alice, meeting the marquis outside the door, approached him in a way that made him tremble.  What was said will never be known, but she placed her white little hand upon his shoulder, the golden head bowed for a moment and her sweet lips touched his sunburnt face.

By remaining quiet that night the colonel would be able to get back to Thompson City in the morning.  Before nine o’clock he was at rest in the bed-room.  A couch for Alice had been prepared in the same room.  In the other—­kitchen, parlor and dining-hall—­a blanket was thrown down for the marquis, and two chairs fixed for the bed of Mrs. Ruggles.  Before retiring, however, she sat down at her lonely table, where, notwithstanding the tea she drank to keep them off, an unusual number of weak creepings came over her.