Wade passed a hand over his eyes, blinked and asked himself startledly what it meant.  Had he dreamed?  He gazed dazedly from the fallen pipe to the empty window.  The sunlight dazzled and hurt, and he closed his eyes for an instant.  And in that instant another vision came....  It was twilight on Saddle Pass....  Two starlit eyes looked wonderingly down into his.  The mouth beneath was like a crimson bud with parted petals....  A slim, warm hand was in his and his heart danced on his lips....  The slender form lessened and softened in the tender darkness and became only a pale blur far down the track, and he was standing alone under the cold white stars, with a spray of lilac against his mouth.

He opened his eyes with a shiver.  It was uncanny.  All that had been five years ago, five years filled to the brim with work and struggle and final attainment, all making for forgetfulness.  The thing was utterly absurd and impossible!  His senses had tricked him!  The light had blinded his eyes and imagination had done the rest!  And yet—­

He strode to the window and looked out.  The garden was empty and still.  Only, under the window, at the edge of the path, lay a spray of purple lilac.

IV.

“Eh?  Yes?  What is it?”

Wade sat up in bed and stared stupidly about him.  In Heaven’s name where was he?  And what was the noise that had awakened him?  There it was again!

Rat, tat, tat, tat!

Was he still asleep?  What was this room?  The stove looked dimly familiar, and there were his clothes over the back of a green rep rocker.  But where—­Then memory routed sleep and he sank back onto the pillow with a sigh of relief.  It was all right.  He remembered now.  He was in his own cottage in Eden Village, he had had a fine long sleep and felt ready for—­

Rat, tat, tat, tat—­TAT!

“Hello!  What is it?  Who is it?  Why in thunder don’t you—­”

“Please, sir, it’s me.”

The reply came faintly through the dining room.  Some one was knocking at the kitchen door.  The apologetic tones sounded feminine, however, and Wade was in no costume to receive lady visitors.  He looked desperately around for his dressing-gown and remembered that it was in his trunk and that his trunk still reposed in the porter’s room of a Boston hotel.

“Who—­who is ’me’?” he called.

“Zephania.”

Zephania!  Who in thunder was Zephania?

“I’m very sorry, Miss Zephania, but I’m not dressed yet.  If you wouldn’t mind calling again in, say, half an hour—­”

“Please, sir, I’ll wait.”

“Oh, well—­er—­was there something you wanted?”

“Please, sir, I’ve come to do for you.”

To do for him!  Wade clasped his knees with his arms and frowned perplexedly at the big stove.  It was distinctly threatening.  He wondered how she intended to accomplish her awful purpose.  Perhaps she had stopped in the woodshed and secured the axe.  To do for him!  Then he laughed and sprang out of bed.  It was Zenas Prout’s girl, and she had come to get his breakfast.