on
the road and crept back again to the corner of the building.

Everett Brimbecomb was passing under the arc light, and Fledra could see
his handsome face plainly in its rays.

He stopped a moment and looked at Shellington's house, with a shrug of
his shoulders. Again he resumed his way; but halted as Fledra called his
name softly. From her hiding-place in the shadow of the porch she came
slowly forward.

"Can I talk with you a few moments, Mr. Brimbecomb?" she faltered. "I
know that you can help me, if you will."

Everett's heart began to beat furiously. Something in the appealing girl
attacked him as nothing else had. How slim she looked, how lithe and
graceful, and yet so childishly young! He compared her with Ann in rapid
thought, and remembered that he had never felt toward Horace's sister as
he did toward this obscure girl.

"Come in," he murmured; "we can't talk here. Come in."

"Let me tell you out here in the night," stammered Fledra.

Everett touched her arm, urging her forward.

"They may see us from the Shellingtons'," he said; and, in spite of her
unwillingness, he forced her up the steps. Like the wind of a hurricane,
a mixture of emotions stormed in his soul. He dared not do as he wished
and take the girl in his arms. He checked his desire to force his love
upon her, and motioned to a chair, into which Fledra sank. Like shining
ebony, her black hair framed a death-pale face. The darkness of a new
grief had deepened the shade in the mysterious eyes. For an instant she
paused on the edge of tears.

"I don't want to go back with Pappy Lon!" she whispered.

Everett caught his breath. She was even more lovely than he had
remembered. Inwardly he cursed the squatters. If he could eliminate them
from his plans--but they were necessary to him.

"I don't like none o' the bunch of ye!" Fledra burst out in his silence.
Brimbecomb's lips formed a slight smile. The girl pondered a moment, and
continued fiercely, "And I hate Ithaca and all the squatters!"

"You speak very much like your father," ventured the lawyer. "I can't
understand why you hate him. Your place is with him."

The girl bowed her head and wept softly. She realized that when she was
excited she could not remember her English.

"I've been a squatter," she said, forlornly shaking her head, "and I
s'pose Pappy Lon has a right to me; but I love--"

"You love whom?"

"Mr. Shellington. Oh, Mr. Brimbecomb, can't ye help me to keep away from