young body with a fury of despair. As always, Blatchley had
found the few and simple words to bid her worser angel forth. She even
felt a kind of hateful relish for the quarrel. They had tricked her. They
had made a fool of her. She had suffered so much. She longed to be
avenged.

"Judy," murmured Blatch softly, bending toward her but not laying a hand
upon her, "you white as a piece o' paper, an' shakin' from head to foot.
That's from stayin' shet up in the house yonder nussin' that feller
Bonbright night an' day like a hirelin'. W'y, he never did care nothin'
for ye only becaze ye was useful to him. Ye stood betwixt him an' danger;
ye he'ped him out when he needed it wust. An' he had it in mind to fool
ye from the first. Now him and Huldy Spiller has done it. Don't you let
'em. You show 'em what you air. I've got a hoss out thar, and Selim's
down in the stable. I'll put yo' saddle on him. Git yo' skirt, honey.
Let's you and me ride over to Squire Gaylord's and be wedded. Then we'll
have the laugh on these here smart folks that tries to fool people."

He leaned toward her, all the power of the man concentrated in his gaze.
Perhaps he had never wanted anything in his twenty-seven years as he now
wanted Judith Barrier and her farm and the rehabilitation that a union
with her would give him. Once this girl's husband, he could curtly refuse
to rent to Jephthah Turrentine, who had, he knew, no lease. He could call
into question the old man's stewardship, and even up the short, bitter
score between them. He could reverse that scene when he was sent packing
and told to keep his foot off the place.

"Judy," he breathed, deeply moved by all this, "don't ye remember when we
was--befo' ever this feller come--Why, in them days I used to think shore
we'd be wedded."

Judith rested a hand on the bars and, lips apart, stared back into the
eager eyes of the man who addressed her. Blatchley had always had some
charm for the girl. Power he did not lack; and his lawlessness, his
license, which might have daunted a feebler woman, liberated something
correspondingly brave and audacious in her. He had been the first to pay
court to her, and a girl does not easily forget that.

For a moment the balance swung even. Then it bore down to Blatch's side.
She would go. Yes, she would. Creed might have Huldah. The girl might be
his wife, or his widow. She, Judith Barrier, would show them--she would
show them. Her parted lips began to shape to a