* * *

Mr. Calhoun met Major Fetridge as he came home, but he was in an
ill-humor and did not speak to him. Late that evening Sam lay on a bench
by the pump. He had been drinking heavily, but he was sober. The squire
and Grayson were discussing the event of the day, the will.

"Calhoun is savagely disappointed," said the squire. "If Cabarreux had
had the money, he would have allowed him to marry Isabel, he says. Now
he means to send her North at once."

"Are you sure that this Boyer is alive?" said Grayson.

"Sam says so. He says he is going to bring the man up soon. Well, it's
all up with poor Cabarreux. I'm sorry for them. Bel is a good girl: she
ought to have been a happy wife."

The men went home to bed, leaving the major on the bench. He lay there
for an hour or more. The village had gone to sleep for the night. Dense
fogs wrapped the mountains that shut in the little hamlet, but overhead
the stars were shining in the near heaven.

He rose at last. He was ghastly pale, as if the blood had ceased to flow
in his body, but he stood up, drawing himself to his little height with
a sudden triumph. "Damned if I don't do it! the time has come for the
great deed!" He went with a swagger, as though he walked on air, down
the street.

Two days later young Cabarreux, sauntering leisurely, as usual, across
the square, met the squire and Sam Fetridge coming out of Grayson's
office. Both men were greatly excited, but Sam was silent, while the
squire talked volubly. He grasped Dave by the hand: "Cabarreux, I
congratulate you! You are a lucky dog! I was just saying to Fetridge
hyar, 'What is there that fellow hasn't got?'"

"What's the matter? what have I got?" said Cabarreux.

"The major here hes heerd about that fellow Boyer. He's dead."

"Is this true?" turning to Fetridge.

The major did not answer.

"Of course it's true," said the squire. "Sam has the letter in his
pocket.--Show it to him, Fetridge."

Sam looked up at the handsome, eager face for a full moment. "Boyer is
dead," he said.

"The proputty's yours, Cabarreux," cried the squire.--"By George, he's
off already! Straight for the Calhoun farm! Thar will be as fine a
couple as there is in Carolina. Come, let's drink their health, major.
I'll stand treat."

"Drink their health? No. Good-night. I'm going out of town a bit," he
replied, nodding shortly; and without another word of farewell he turned
his back on Sevier for ever.

*