himself till
after Jeff was gone; and then, thinks I, what's the use? But I guess you
had better know."

He leaned forward across the table, and gave Jombateeste's story of the
encounter between Jeff and Alan Lynde in the clearing. "Now what do you
suppose was the reason Jeff let up on the feller? Of course, he meant
to choke the life out of him, and his just ketchin' sight of
Jombateeste--do you believe that was enough to stop him, when he'd
started in for a thing like that? Or what was it done it?"

Westover listened with less thought of the fact itself than of another
fact that it threw light upon. It was clear to him now that the
Class-Day scrapping which had left its marks upon Jeff's face was with
Lynde, and that when Jeff got him in his power he was in such a fury for
revenge that no mere motive of prudence could have arrested him. In both
events, it must have been Bessie Lynde that was the moving cause; but
what was it that stayed Jeff in his vengeance?

"Let him up, and let him walk away, you say?" he demanded of Whitwell.

Whitwell nodded. "That's what Jombateeste said. Said Jeff said if he let
the feller look back he'd shoot him. But he didn't haf to."

"I can't make it out," Westover sighed.

"It's been too much for me," Whitwell said. "I told Jombateeste he'd
better keep it to himself, and I guess he done so. S'pose Jeff still had
a sneakin' fondness for the girl?"

"I don't know; perhaps," Westover asserted.

Whitwell threw his head back in a sudden laugh that showed all the work
of his dentist. "Well, wouldn't it be a joke if he was there in Florence
after her? Be just like Jeff."

"It would be like Jeff; I don't know whether it would be a joke or not.
I hope he won't find it a joke, if it's so," said Westover, gloomily.
A fantastic apprehension seized him, which made him wish for the moment
that it might be so, and which then passed, leaving him simply sorry for
any chance that might bring Bessie Lynde into the fellow's way again.

For the evening Whitwell's preference would have been a lecture of
some sort, but there was none advertised, and he consented to go with
Westover to the theatre. He came back to the painter at dinner-time,
after a wary exploration of the city, which had resulted not only in
a personal acquaintance with its monuments, but an immunity from its
dangers and temptations which he prided himself hardly less upon. He had
seen Faneuil Hall, the old State House, Bunker Hill,