or Carrington. His arm,
dropped about her shoulders.

"You shall love me--" She was powerless in his embrace. She felt his
breath on her cheek, then he kissed her. Breathless and crimson, she
struggled and pushed him from her. Suddenly his arms fell at his side;
his face was white. "I was a brute to do that!--Betty, forgive me! I am
sorry--no, I can't be sorry!"'

"How do you dare! I hope I may never see you again--I hate you--" said
Betty furiously, tears in her eyes and her pulses still throbbing from
his fierce caress.

"Do you mean that?" he asked slowly, rising.

"Yes--yes--a million times, yes!"

"I don't believe you--I can't--I won't!" They were alongside the New
Madrid wharf now, and a certain young man who had been impatiently
watching The Naiad's lights ever since they became visible crossed the
gang-plank with a bound.

"Betty--why in the name of goodness did you ever, choose this
tub?--everything on the river has passed it!" said the newcomer. Betty
started up with a little cry of surprise and pleasure.

"Charley!"

Carrington stepped back. This must be the brother who had come up the
river from Memphis to meet her--but her brother's name was Tom! He
looked this stranger--this Charley--over with a hostile eye, offended by
his good looks, his confident manner, in which he thought he detected an
air of ownership, as if--certainly he was holding her hands longer
than was necessary! Of course, other men were in love with her, such
a radiant personality held its potent attraction for men, but for all
that, she was going to belong to him--Carrington! She did like him; she
had shown it in a hundred little ways during the last week, and he would
give her up to no man--give her up?--there wasn't the least tie between
them--except that kiss--and she was furious because of it. There was
nothing for him to do but efface himself. He would go now, before the
boat started--and an instant later, when Betty, remembering, turned to
speak to him, his place by the rail was deserted.

CHAPTER IX. JUDGE SLOCUM PRICE

On that day Hannibal was haunted by the memory of what he had heard and
seen at Slosson's tavern. More than this, there was his terrible sense
of loss, and the grief he could not master, when his thin, little body
was shaken by sobs. Marking the course of the road westward, he clung
to the woods, where his movements were as stealthy as the very
shadows themselves. He shunned the scattered farms a