im. I tell you right here, aunt,
that man's worse than scurvy in our ranching world. Everybody and
everything in Foss River seems to be in his grip."

"Excepting a certain young woman who refuses to be ensnared."

The words were spoken quite casually. But Jacky started. Their meaning
was driven straight home. She looked down upon the bent, gray head as if
trying to penetrate to the thought that was passing within. There was a
moment's impressive silence. The clock ticked loudly in the silence of
the room. A light wind was whistling rather shrilly outside, round the
angles of the house.

"Go on, auntie," said the girl, slowly. "You haven't said enough--yet. I
guess you're thinking mighty--deeply."

Mrs. Abbot looked up from her work. She was smiling, but behind that
smile there was a strange gravity in the expression of her eyes.

"There is nothing more to say at present." Then she added, in a tone
from which all seriousness had vanished, "Hasn't Lablache ever asked you
to marry him?"

A light was beginning to dawn upon the girl.

"Yes--why?"

"I thought so." It was now Mrs. Abbot's turn to rise and confront her
companion. And she did so with the calm manner of one who is assured
that what she is about to say cannot be refuted. Her kindly face had
lost nothing of its sweet expression, only there was something in it
which seemed to be asking a mute question, whilst her words conveyed the
statement of a case as she knew it. "You dear, foolish people. Can you
not see what is going on before your very eyes, or must a stupid old
woman like myself explain what is patent to the veriest fool in the
settlement? Lablache is the source of your uncle's trouble, and,
incidentally, you are the incentive. I have watched--I have little else
to do in Foss River--you all for years past, and there is little that I
could not tell you about any of you, as far as the world sees you.
Lablache has been a source of a world of thought to me. The business
side of him is patent to everybody. He is hard, flinty, tyrannical--even
unscrupulous. I am telling you nothing new, I know. But there is another
side to his character which some of you seem to ignore. He is capable of
strong passions--ay, very strong passions. He has conceived a passion
for you. I will call it by no other name in such an unholy brute as
Lablache. He wishes to marry _you--he means to marry you_."

The silver-haired old lady had worked herself up to an unusual
vehemence