"I wish papa had stayed just another day," she grumbled as she walked the floor and tried to formulate some effective plan of action. "To think that he left only this morning and that man came this afternoon!" She was provoked at such a coincidence. She did not like to think too deeply, or to scheme too long, for it hurt her. So she was compelled to take a chair for a time and rest her mind. She was not positive how long Baptiste would stay, and she would have difficulty in keeping her sister in bed for any length of time. But she decided to keep her in the house if she had to sit on guard at the front door.

And it was while she was yet undecided upon her plan of action, that Glavis came home. Once in a great while, when she wanted a change, a diversion, she would have his supper waiting. Other times it was left to her mother. He loved her in spite of all her evil, and was always pleased when she had his supper ready. So when she heard his footsteps outside, she was suddenly struck with an inspiration. She rushed toward the rear, and began hurriedly to set the table. Her mother had the meal ready, so she affected to be very cheerful when Glavis came into the room, and even kissed him fondly. He was so surprised, that the instance made him temporarily forget what was on his mind, which was just what she wished him to do.

"Where is Orlean?" he inquired after a time, whereupon his wife's face darkened.

"Oh, she's sick, and in bed," replied Ethel guardedly.

Glavis grunted. He was thinking. For a time he forgot all that was around him; his wife, the supper, his work, all but Jean Baptiste and the wife that was being harbored under the roof that he kept up. He suddenly got up. He walked quickly out of the room and hurried upstairs while his wife's back was turned, and knocked at the door of the room wherein Orlean was supposed to lay sick.

"Come in," called the other.

"Oh, it's you, Glavis," she cried, dropping back into bed when he entered the door.

"A—ah—Orlean," he said in his stammering sort of way. "A—ah—how are you?"

"Why, I feel well, Glavis," she replied wonderingly. She had never felt just right mentally since before she left the West. And when she allowed herself to think, she found that it hurt her. She had always been obedient—her father had told her that time and again, and gave her great credit for being so. "Think of it, my dear," he had so often said, "in all your life you have never 'sassed' your father, or contraried him," whereupon he would look greatly relieved. So her father had laid down the rule she was following—trying to follow. Her husband must certainly have been in grave error—not that she had observed it, or that she had been badly treated by him, for she had not. However, whenever she tried to see and understand what it all meant, it hurt her. She was again the victim of those nervous little spells that had harassed her before she married, but which had strangely left her during that time. But to do her father's will—for he never bid—always his was an influence that seemed to need no words—she was trying. So she looked up at Glavis, and observed something unusual in his face.