poor you are,--eh? The Colonel's a man of honor,
ain't he?"

For her life she could not have answered,--nor did she even know why she
stayed to listen.

"Well," he said, "after all, there ain't much use in your lookin' over
them papers. A woman wouldn't know. I'll tell you what they say: they
say that if I choose, I am Carvel & Company."

The little eyes receded, and he waited a moment, seemingly to prolong a
physical delight in the excitement and suffering of a splendid creature.
The girl was breathing fast and deep.

"I cal'late you despise me, don't you?" he went on, as if that, too,
gave him pleasure. "But I tell you the Colonel's a beggar but for me.
Go and ask him if I'm lying. All you've got to do is to say you'll be my
wife, and I tear these notes in two. They go over the bluff." (He
made the motion with his hands.) "Carvel & Company's an old firm,--a
respected firm. You wouldn't care to see it go out of the family, I
cal'late."

He paused again, triumphant. But she did none of the things he expected.
She said, simply:--"Will you please follow me, Mr. Hopper."

And he followed her,--his shrewdness gone, for once.

Save for the rise and fall of her shoulders she seemed calm. The path
wound through a jungle of waving sunflowers and led into the shade in
front of the house. There was the Colonel sitting on the porch. His
pipe lay with its scattered ashes on the boards, and his head was bent
forward, as though listening. When he saw the two, he rose expectantly,
and went forward to meet them. Virginia stopped before him.

"Pa," she said, "is it true that you have borrowed money from this man?"

Eliphalet had seen Mr. Carvel angry once, and his soul had quivered.
Terror, abject terror, seized him now, so that his knees smote together.
As well stare into the sun as into the Colonel's face. In one stride
he had a hand in the collar of Eliphalet's new coat, the other pointing
down the path.

"It takes just a minute to walk to that fence, sir," he said sternly.
"If you are any longer about it, I reckon you'll never get past it.
You're a cowardly hound, sir!" Mr. Hopper's gait down the flagstones was
an invention of his own. It was neither a walk, nor a trot, nor a run,
but a sort of sliding amble, such as is executed in nightmares. Singing
in his head was the famous example of the eviction of Babcock from the
store,--the only time that the Colonel's bullet had gone wide. And down
in the small of his back Eli