w-growing trees, and watched.
Fanny, framed in the dark doorway, glowed like a rose. Jim saw her
bend forward, smiling; saw the minister take both her hands in his
and kiss them; saw Fanny glance quickly up and down the empty road,
as if apprehensive of a chance passerby. Then the minister, his
handsome head bared to the cold wind, waved her farewell and started
at a brisk pace down the road.

Jim waited till the door had closed lingeringly on the girl; then he
stepped forth from his concealment and waited.

Abreast of him Elliot stopped; aware, it would seem, of the menace in
the other man's eyes.

"You wished to speak with me?" he began.

"Speak with you--no! I want to kick you."

The minister eyed him indignantly. "What do you mean?"

"You sneaking hypocrite! do you think I don't know what has happened?
You threw Fanny down, when Lydia Orr came to town; you thought my
sister wasn't good enough--nor rich enough for a handsome, eloquent
clergyman like you. But when you learned her father was a convict--"

"Stop!" cried Elliot. "You don't understand!"

"I don't? Well, I guess I come pretty near it. And not content with
telling Lydia's pitiful secret to all the busybodies in town, you
come to Fanny with your smug explanations. My God! I could kill you!"

The minister's face had hardened during this speech.

"See here," he said. "You are going too far."

"Do you deny that you've made love to both my sister and Miss Orr?"
demanded Jim.

Physically the minister was no coward. He measured the slight, wiry
figure of his wrathful opponent with a coolly appraising eye.

"My relations with Miss Orr are none of your business," he reminded
Jim. "As for your sister--"

"Damn you!" cried Jim.

The minister shrugged his shoulders.

"If you'll listen to reason," he suggested pacifically.

"I saw you kiss my sister's hand! I tell you I'll not have you
hanging around the place, after what's gone. You may as well
understand it."

Wesley Elliot reflected briefly.

"There's one thing you ought to know," he said, controlling his
desire to knock Fanny's brother into the bushes.

A scornful gesture bade him to proceed.

"Andrew Bolton came to see me in the parsonage this morning. He is a
ruined man, in every sense of the word. He will never be otherwise."

Jim Dodge thrust both hands deep in his trousers' pockets, his eyes
fixed and frowning.

"Well," he murmured; "what of that?"

"That being the case, all we c