p-mother, too, had
passed away, and then she came back to live. All this the old miller
told in answer to Rome's questions as the two walked away in the
twilight. This was why he had not recognized her, and why her face yet
seemed familiar even when he crossed the river that morning.

"Uncle Gabe, how do you reckon the gal knowed who I was?"

"She axed me."

"She axed you! Whar?"

"Over thar in the mill." The miller was watching the young mountaineer
closely. The manner of the girl was significant when she asked who Rome
was, and the miller knew but one reason possible for his foolhardiness
that morning.

"Do you mean to say she have been over hyeh afore?"

"Why, yes, come to think about it, three or four times while Isom was
sick, and whut she come fer I can't make out. The mill over thar wasn't
broke long, 'n' why she didn't go thar or bring more co'n at a time, to
save her the trouble o' so many trips, I can't see to save me."

Young Stetson was listening eagerly. Again the miller cast his bait.

"Mebbe she's spyin'."

Rome faced him, alert with suspicion; but old Gabe was laughing
silently.

"Don't you be a fool, Rome. The gal comes and goes in that boat, 'n'
she couldn't see a soul without my knowin' it. She seed ye ridin' by one
day, 'n' she looked mighty cur'us when I tole her who ye was."

Old Gabe stopped his teasing, Rome's face was so troubled, and himself
grew serious.

"Rome," he said, earnestly, "I wish to the good Lord ye wasn't in sech
doin's. Ef that had been young Jas 'stid o' Marthy, I reckon ye would
'a' killed him right thar."

"I wasn't going to let him kill me," was the sullen answer.

The two had stopped at a rickety gate swinging open on the road. The
young mountaineer was pushing a stone about with the toe of his boot.
He had never before listened to remonstrance with such patience, and old
Gabe grew bold.

"You've been drinkin' ag'in, Rome," he said, sharply, "'n' I know it.
Hit's been moonshine that's whooped you Stetsons, not the Lewallens,
long as I kin rickollect, 'n' it ull be moonshine ag'in ef ye don't let
it alone."

Rome made no denial, no defence. "Uncle Gabe," he said slowly, still
busied with the stone, "hev that gal been over hyeh sence y'u tol' her
who I was?"

The old man was waiting for the pledge that seemed on his lips, but he
did not lose his temper.

"Not till to-day," he said, quietly.

Rome turned abruptly, and the two separated with no word of p