wound her."

As he went down the trail, darkening, now, as the moon slid behind the
towering mountain back of him, his heart was in a tumult. "After all,"
he reflected, "education isn't everything. All the culture in the world
wouldn't make her more sincere and true. She has taught _me_ a lesson I
shan't soon forget."

His thoughts turned, then, to the girl who would come up with the party
on the following day.

"I--wonder! Was there ever, really, a time when I loved Barbara?... If
so, that time has gone, now, never to return."

CHAPTER IX

His visitors took Layson by surprise, next morning. They had started
from the valley long before he had supposed they would.

Holton saw him first and nudged his daughter, who was with him. They
were well ahead of Miss Alathea and the Colonel, who had been unable to
keep up with them upon the final sharp ascent of the foot-journey from
the wagon-road. The old man grinned unpleasantly. He had rather vulgar
manners, often annoying to his daughter, who had had all the advantages
which, in his rough, mysterious youth, he had been denied.

"Thar he is, Barb; thar he is," he said, not loudly. Miss Alathea and
the Colonel, following close behind, were a restraint on him.

The girl's face was full of eagerness as she saw the man they sought. He
was busy polishing a gun, but that his thoughts were occupied with
something less mechanical and not wholly pleasant the slight frown upon
his face made evident. "Mr. Layson! Frank!" she cried.

The young man turned, on hearing her, and hurried toward her and her
father with his hands outstretched in welcome. He was not overjoyed to
have the old man visit him, just then; he was even doubtful of the
welcome which his heart had for the daughter; but he was a southerner
and in the gentle-born southerner real hospitality is quite instinctive.

"Mr. Holton--Barbara," said he. "I am delighted. Welcome to the
mountains." He grasped their hands in hearty greeting. "But where are
Aunt Alathea and the Colonel?"

Holton tried to be as cordial as his host. That he was very anxious to
appear agreeable was evident. "Oh, them slow-pokes?" he said, laughing.
"We didn't wait for them. We pushed on ahead. We reckoned as you would
be glad to see us."

"And so I am."

"One in particular, maybe," Holton answered, with a crude attempt at
badinage. He glanced archly from the young man to his daughter.

"Father!" she exclaimed, a bit annoyed, and ye