ver!"

"I repeat, you're a cursed coward."

"I'd be a coward if I did meet you," quickly.

Something in Ichabod's voice caught the little man's ear and held him
silent, as, for a long half-minute, the last time in their lives, the
two men looked into each other's eyes.

"You'll perhaps explain." Arnold's voice was cold as death. "You have
a reason?"

Ichabod walked slowly over to the window and leaned against the frame.
Standing there, the spring sunshine fell full upon his face, drawing
clear the furrows at the angles of his eyes and the gray threads of
his hair. He paused a moment, looking out over the broad prairie
shimmering indistinctly in the heat, and the calm of it all took hold
of him, shone in his face.

"I've a reason," very measuredly, "but it's not that I fear death, or
you." He took up his hat and smoothed it absently. "In future I shall
neither seek, nor avoid you. Do what you wish--and God judge us both."
Without a glance at the other man, he turned toward the door.

Arnold moved a step, as if to prevent him going.

"I repeat, it's my right to know why you refuse." His feet shifted
uneasily upon the floor. "Is it because of another--Eleanor?"

Ichabod paused.

"Yes," very slowly. "It's because of Eleanor--_and_ another."

The tall man's hand was upon the knob, but this time there was no
interruption. An instant he hesitated; then absently, slowly, the door
opened and closed. A moment later indistinct, descending steps sounded
on the stairway.

Alone, Asa Arnold stood immovable, looking blindly at the closed door,
listening until the tapping feet had passed into silence. Then, in a
motion indescribable, of pain and of abandon, he sank back into the
single chair.

His dearest enemy would have pitied the little man at that moment!

CHAPTER VII--THE PRICE OF THE LEAP

In the chronology of the little town, day followed day, as monotonously
as ticks the tall clock on the wall. Only in multiple they merged
into the seasons which glided so smoothly, one into the other, that
the change was unnoticed, until it had taken place.

Thus three months passed by, and man's work for the year was nearly
done. The face of the prairie had become one of many colors; eternal
badge of civilization as opposed to Nature, who paints each season
with its own hue. Beside the roadways great, rank sunflowers turned
their glaring yellow faces to the light. In every direction stretched
broad fields of flax; uneq