een kidnapped as a child and brought up
in the wilds," said Olivia. "I wonder who he is."

"I'll ask him," replied Pauline. And Olivia was slyly amused by her
cousin's unconscious pride in her power with this large, untamed person.

III.

AND SCARBOROUGH.

His name was Hampden Scarborough and he came from a farm about twenty
miles east of Saint X. He was descended from men who had learned to
hate kings in Holland in the sixteenth century, had learned to despise
them in England in the seventeenth century, had learned to laugh at
them in America in the eighteenth century, had learned to exalt
themselves into kings--the kings of the new democracy--in the free West
in the nineteenth century.

When any one asked his father, Bladen Scarborough, who the family
ancestors were, Bladen usually did not answer at all. It was his habit
thus to treat a question he did not fancy, and, if the question was
repeated, to supplement silence with a piercing look from under his
aggressive eyebrows. But sometimes he would answer it. Once, for
example, he looked coldly at the man who, with a covert sneer, had
asked it, said, "You're impudent, sir. You insinuate I'm not enough by
myself to command your consideration," and struck him a staggering blow
across the mouth. Again--he was in a playful mood that day and the
questioner was a woman--he replied, "I'm descended from murderers,
ma'am--murderers."

And in a sense it was the truth.

In 1568 the Scarboroughs were seated obscurely in an east county of
England. They were tenant farmers on the estates of the Earl of
Ashford and had been strongly infected with "leveling" ideas by the
refugees then fleeing to England to escape the fury of continental
prince and priest. John Scarborough was trudging along the highway
with his sister Kate. On horseback came Aubrey Walton, youngest son of
the Earl of Ashford. He admired the rosy, pretty face of Kate
Scarborough. He dismounted and, without so much as a glance at her
brother, put his arm round her. John snatched her free. Young Walton,
all amazement and wrath at the hind who did not appreciate the favor he
was condescending to bestow upon a humble maiden, ripped out an insult
and drew his sword. John wrenched it from him and ran it through his
body.

That night, with four gold pieces in his pocket, John Scarborough left
England in a smuggler and was presently fighting Philip of Spain in the
army of the Dutch people.

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