fever of escape overcame him. With the thought of Priscilla's flight
into the open, he strained against the trap that Ledyard had caught him
in. The guide who, he knew, never permitted him to escape his vigilance,
became a new and alarming obstacle, and Farwell set his teeth grimly.
Then he muttered:

"Curse him! curse him!" and an emotion which he had believed was long
since dead rose hotly in his consciousness. Before the dread spectre,
suddenly imbued with vitality, Farwell reeled and covered his face.
Murder was in his heart--the old madness of desire to wipe out, by any
means, that which barred his way to what he wanted.

"My God!" he moaned; "my God! I--I thought I--was master. I thought it
was dead in me."

Farwell ate no evening meal that night. Early he closed and locked his
outer door, drew the dark green shades, and lighted his lamp. His hands
were clammy and cold, and he could not blot out with book or violin the
horror of Charles Martin's face as it looked up at him that night so long
ago. Way on toward morning Farwell paced his room trying to forget, but
he could not.

But Priscilla, after leaving Farwell, dressed again in her plain
serviceable gown and hat, had made her way toward the farm. Her happy,
light-hearted mood was past; she felt unaccountably gloomy, and as she
walked on she sought to explain herself to herself, and presently
Jerry-Jo came into focus and would not stir from her contemplation. Yes,
it was Jerry-Jo's personality that disturbed her, and it was Farwell's
words that had torn the shield she herself had erected, and set the truth
free. Yes, she had played with Jerry-Jo; she had tested her coquetry and
charm upon him for lack of better material. In her outbreaks of youthful
spirits she had claimed him as prey because the others of his sex were
less desirable. Jerry-Jo had that subtle, physical attraction that
responded to her youthful allurements, but the young fellow himself,
taken seriously, repelled her, and Farwell had taken Jerry-Jo seriously!

That was it! She was no longer a child. She was a woman and must remember
it. Undoubtedly Jerry-Jo himself had never given the matter a moment's
deep thought. Well, she must take care that he never did. Jerry-Jo in
earnest would be unbearable.

And then, just as she reached the pasture bars separating her father's
farm from the red rock highway, Jerry-Jo McAlpin strode in sight from the
wood path into which the highway ran. She waited