have his hands full with that later--so will Bladen," he
added significantly. He studied her out of those deeply sunken eyes of
his in which no shadow of youth lingered, for men such as he reached
their prime early, and it was a swiftly passing splendor. "Ferris tells
me you are going to West Tennessee?" he said at length.

"Yes."

"I know your half-brother, Tom Ware--I know him very well." There was
another brief silence.

"So you know Tom?" she presently observed, and frowned slightly. Tom was
her guardian, and her memories of him were not satisfactory. A burly,
unshaven man with a queer streak of meanness through his character.
She had not seen him since she had been sent north to Philadelphia, and
their intercourse had been limited to infrequent letters. His always
smelled of strong, stale tobacco, and the well-remembered whine in the
man's voice ran through his written sentences.

"You've spent much of your time up North?" suggested Murrell.

"Four years. I've been at school, you know. That's where I met Judith."

"I hope you'll like West Tennessee. It's still a bit raw compared with
what you've been accustomed to in the North. You haven't been back in
all those four years?" Betty shook her head. "Nor seen Tom--nor any one
from out yonder?" For some reason a little tinge of color had crept into
Betty's cheeks. "Will you let me renew our acquaintance at Belle Plain?
I shall be in West Tennessee before the summer is over; probably I shall
leave here within a week," he said, bending toward her. His glance dwelt
on her face and the pliant lines of her figure, and his sense swam.
Since their first meeting the girl's beauty had haunted and allured
him; with his passionate sense of life he was disposed to these
violent fancies, and he had a masterful way with women just as he had
a masterful way with men. Now, however, he was aware that he was viewed
with entire indifference. His vanity, which was his whole inner self,
was hurt, and from the black depths of his nature his towering egotism
flashed out lawless and perverted impulses. "I must tell you that I am
not of your sort, Miss Malroy--" he continued hurriedly. "My people were
plain folk out of the mountains. For what I am I have no one to thank
but myself. You must be aware of the prejudices of the planter class,
for it is your class. Perhaps I haven't been quite frank at the
Barony--I felt it was asking too much when you were there. That was a
door I didn't wan