Graham's
heat. There was no open quarrel.

One Saturday evening, Graham came to me. "You have seen what is going on
here?" he said.

"Something, at least," I answered, "and I am very sorry for it. But I
don't quite understand it."

"Well, I do; and I'm going to put an end to it. I'm going to have it out
with Ned Keene. He is breaking her heart."

"But are you the right one to take the matter up?"

"Who else is there to do it?"

"Her father."

"He sees nothing, comprehends nothing. 'Practical type--poetic
type--misunderstandings sure to arise--come together after a while each
supply the other's deficiencies.' Cursed folly! And the girl so unhappy
that she can't tell anyone. It shall not go on, I say. Keene is out on
the road now, taking one of his infernal walks. I'm going to meet him."

"I'm afraid it will make trouble. Let me go with you."

"The trouble is made. Come if you like. I'm going now."

The night lay heavy upon the forest. Where the road dipped through the
valley we could hardly see a rod ahead of us. But higher up where the
way curved around the breast of the mountain, the woods were thin on the
left, and on the right a sheer precipice fell away to the gorge of the
brook. In the dim starlight we saw Keene striding toward us. Graham
stepped out to meet him.

"Where have you been, Ned Keene?" he cried. The cry was a challenge.
Keene lifted his head and stood still. Then he laughed and took a step
forward.

"Taking a long walk, Jack Graham," he answered. "It was glorious. You
should have been with me. But why this sudden question?"

"Because your long walk is a pretence. You are playing false. There
is some woman that you go to see at West Point, at Highland Falls, who
knows where?"

Keene laughed again.

"Certainly you don't know, my dear fellow; and neither do I. Since when
has walking become a vice in your estimation? You seem to be in a fierce
mood. What's the matter?"

"I will tell you what's the matter. You have been acting like a brute to
the girl you profess to love."

"Plain words! But between friends frankness is best. Did she ask you to
tell me?"

"No! You know too well she would die before she would speak. You are
killing her, that is what you are doing with your devilish moods and
mysteries. You must stop. Do you hear? You must give her up."

"I hear well enough, and it sounds like a word for her and two for
yourself. Is that it?"

"Damn you," cried the younger man, "let