“But I don’t dare go in.  It will mean—­”

“It will mean everything, but it’s too late to turn back now.  Besides, in your heart of hearts, you don’t want to turn back, you know!”

Quickly he passed into the room and hurried to the bed of Bill Gregg.  Under the biting grip of Doone’s hand Bill Gregg writhed to a sitting posture, with a groan.  Still he was in the throes of his dream and only half awakened.

“I’ve lost her,” he whispered.

“You’re wrong, idiot,” said Ronicky softly, “you’re wrong.  You’ve won her.  She’s at the door now, waiting to come in.”

“Ronicky,” said Bill Gregg, suddenly awake, “you’ve been the finest friend a man ever had, but, if you make a joke out of her, I’ll wring your neck!”

“Sure you would.  But, before you do that, jump into your clothes and open the door.”

Sleep was still thick enough in the brain of Bill Gregg to make him obey automatically.  He stumbled into his clothes and then shambled dizzily to the door and opened it.  As the light from the room struck down the hall Ronicky saw his friend stiffen to his full height and strike a hand across his face.

“Stars and Stripes!” exclaimed Bill Gregg.  “The days of the miracles ain’t over!”

Ronicky Doone turned his back and went to the window.  Across the street rose the forbidding face of the house of John Mark, and it threatened Ronicky Doone like a clenched hand, brandished against him.  The shadow under the upper gable was like the shadow under a frowning brow.  In that house worked the mind of John Mark.  Certainly Ronicky Doone had won the first stage of the battle between them, but there was more to come—­much more of that battle—­and who would win in the end was an open question.  He made up his mind grimly that, whatever happened, he would first ship Bill Gregg and the girl out of the city, then act as the rear guard to cover their retreat.

When he returned they had closed the door and were standing back from one another, with such shining eyes that the heart of Ronicky Doone leaped.  If, for a moment, doubt of his work came to him, it was banished, as they glanced toward him.

“I dunno how he did it,” Bill Gregg was stammering, “but here it is—­done!  Bless you, Ronicky.”

“A minute ago,” said Ronicky, “it looked to me like the lady didn’t know her own mind, but that seems to be over.”

“I found my own mind the moment I saw him,” said the girl.

Ronicky studied her in wonder.  There was no embarrassment, no shame to have confessed herself.  She had the clear brow of a child.  Suddenly, it seemed to Ronicky that he had become an old man, and these were two children under his protection.  He struck into the heart of the problem at once.

“The main point,” he said, “is to get you two out of town, as quick as we can.  Out West in Bill’s country he can take care of you, but back here this John Mark is a devil and has the strength to stop us.  How quick can you go, Caroline?”