ul storm on the top of a hay-mow under a barn roof, where,
even on mild days, a strong breeze blew through.

Madam leaned forward, austere, intent. "My son, tell me everything."

Under the spell of those piercing eyes, he did tell. Indeed, he was glad
to tell. He felt she would find a word of comfort for his remorseful
conscience. Alas! the word she did find was simply this:

"Montgomery, put on your jacket and go to Aunt Eunice's at once."

"_Gr-gr-gram'ma!_ In this awful s-s-storm? An' that t-t-tramp?"

There was no relenting. The gentlewoman's glance was now not only stern
but scornful, as she returned:

"Are you a Sturtevant, and ask me for delay?"

CHAPTER XIII.

BUT--STURTEVANT TO THE RESCUE

All the conflicting emotions which whirled through Montgomery's mind
pictured themselves in his face as he confronted the stern old
gentlewoman opposite. The silence in the room was unbroken save by the
roar of the tempest, and it seemed an age before she asked, coldly:

"Are you afraid?"

But there was no hesitation as he hastily stammered:

"Y-y-yes, gr-gram'ma, I am afraid. So 'fraid I--I--can't hardly think
nor feel nothin'. B-b-but--_I'm--going_!"

His ruddy cheeks were now colorless save where the freckles spotted
them, and his great eyes seemed to have grown in size; but though there
was piteous terror in their blue depths there was no flinching from the
duty. It took him a long time to button his jacket and adjust his cap.
He even inspected his shoe-laces with a hitherto unknown care, and
thoughtfully placed a stick of wood upon the dying embers. He
wished--oh, how devoutly he wished--that he had been born just a common
boy, like Bob Turner, or any other village lad, and not a Sturtevant!
These hateful traditions about family and gentlemen--Cracky! How that
wind did blow! That tramp--Well, he dared not think about the tramp, and
there was nothing more he could find to delay the awful moment of
departure. With a last imploring glance toward Madam, to see if there
was no relenting, or if she would not suggest some easier way, "'cause
she knows all 'b-bout honor an' such p-pl-plag--uey things,"--yet
finding none, he dragged himself to the side door, fumbled a moment with
the latch, and went out.

Had he known it, Madam Sturtevant was suffering more than he. She would
far rather have faced the elements and the darkness on that mile-long
walk, unused to exposure though she was, than have sent this l