“How—­how are they!”

“They are as well as can be expected.  You’ve never written them, have you, nor ever told where you were.  They do not know whether you are dead or alive.  That isn’t right.”

The girl turned her bowed head slightly, but did not speak, so he continued:  “The whole town has been terribly aroused about you.  You disappeared so suddenly and completely.  Your father has done everything he could think of to find you.  When he gave up, I took up the task, and here you are in the hills not so far from Greenstreet.”

Carlia’s eyes swam with tears.  The kitchen door opened, and the woman looked at Carlia and then at Dorian.

“Breakfast is ready,” she announced.  “Come, Miss Davis, and have your friend come too.”

Dorian explained that he had already eaten.

“Please excuse me just now,” pleaded Carlia, to the woman.  “Go eat your breakfast without me.  Mrs. Carlston, this is Mr. Trent, a neighbor of ours at my home.  I was foolish to be so scared of him.  He—­he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”  She tried bravely to smile.

Alone again, the two were ill at ease.  A flood of memories, a confusion of thoughts and feelings swept over Dorian.  The living Carlia in all her attractive beauty was before him, yet back of her stood the grim skeleton.  Could he close his eyes to that?  Could he let his love for her overcome the repulsion which would arise like a black cloud into his thoughts?  Well, time alone would tell.  Just now he must be kind to her, he must be strong and wise.  Of what use is strength and wisdom if it is unfruitful at such times as these?  Dorian arose to his feet and stood in the strength of his young manhood.  He seemed to take Carlia with him, for she also stood looking at him with her shining eyes.

“Well, Carlia,” he said, “go get your breakfast, and I’ll finish my errand.  You see, the storm stopped the mail carrier and me and we had to put up at your neighbour’s last night.  There I found three children greatly disappointed in not having their usual Christmas tree.  I promised I would get them one this morning, and that’s what I was out for when I saw you.  You know, Carlia, it’s Christmas Eve this morning, if you’ll allow that contradiction.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I’ll come back for you.  And mind, you do not try to escape.  I’ll be watching the house closely.  Anyway,” he laughed lightly, “the snow’s too deep for you to run very far.”

“O, Dorian—­”

“Yes.”

He came toward her, but she with averted face, slipped toward the kitchen door.

“I can’t go home, I can’t go with you—­really, I can’t,” she said.  “You go back home and tell the folks I’m all right now, won’t you, please.”

“We’ll talk about that after a while.  I must get that tree now, or those kiddies will think I am a rank impostor.”  Dorian looked at his watch.  “Why, it’s getting on toward noon.  So long, for the present.”