hed on the Sabbath, giving his ill-health as an
excuse. In truth he felt it would not be honest since, in his secret
heart, he was now an apostate. But with his works of healing he busied
himself more than ever, and in this he seemed to have gained new power.
Weak as he was physically, gray-haired, bloodless, fragile, with what
seemed to be all of his remaining life burning in his deep-set eyes, he
yet laid his hands upon the sick with a success so marked that his fame
spread and he was sent for to rebuke plagues and fevers from as far away
as Beaver.

For two weeks they heard nothing of the wandering Gentile, and Prudence
had begun to wonder if she would ever see him again; also to wonder why
an uncertainty in the matter should seem to be of importance.

But one evening early in June they saw him walking up in the dusk, the
light sombrero, the scarlet kerchief against the blue woollen shirt, the
holster with its heavy Colt's revolver at either hip, the easy moving
figure, and the strong, yet boyish face.

He greeted them pleasantly, though, the girl thought, with some
restraint. She could not hear it in his words, but she felt it in his
manner, something suppressed and deeply hidden. They asked where his
horse was and he replied with a curious air of embarrassment:--

"Well, you see, I may be obliged to stop around here a quite some while,
so I put up with this man Wardle--not wanting to impose upon you
all--and thanking you very kindly, and not wishing to intrude--so I just
came to say 'howdy' to you."

They expressed regret that he had not returned to them, Joel Rae urging
him to reconsider; but he declined politely, showing a desire to talk of
other things.

They sat outside in the warm early evening, the young man and Prudence
near each other at one side of the door, while Joel Rae resumed his
chair a dozen feet the other side and lapsed into silence. The two young
people fell easily into talk as on the other evenings they had spent
there. Yet presently she was again aware, as in the moment of his
greeting, that he laboured under some constraint. He was uneasy and
shifted his chair several times until at length it was so placed that he
could look beyond her to where her father had tilted his own chair
against the house and sat huddled with his chin on his breast. He talked
absently, too, at first, of many things and without sequence; and when
he looked at her, there was something back of his eyes, plain even