and both Enoch Standring
and George Preston watched Paul's face eagerly. They were wondering
what he was thinking. Standring felt sure that he was planning some
scheme of revenge.

"I'll be even with him for this!" said Paul presently.

Neither of them answered. They felt it was no use talking.

"But," continued Paul, "I can hardly see through it. Ned Wilson is a
man capable of the riots trick. That's just the kind of thing he would
do, but is he the man to lose money in order to satisfy his hatred?"

"Yes," said Standring, "the kind of hatred he has towards you. You
see, he's a deeper chap than you think, is Ned Wilson. I've known him
from a boy. He would carry a grudge for years. But he's been a chap
who's always been noted for paying off old scores, and he's paid you
off."

"You've not told me all yet, Standring," said Paul. "Ned Wilson had
other motives than that of paying off an old score. I see--I see!"
And he clenched his fists angrily. "Why didn't I see it before? Yes,
that's it."

"What's it?" asked Preston.

"Never mind what it is; but I see it plainly. Yes, I understand, and
he shall rue it."

For an hour they discussed the matter, and then, when presently the
others had left him, Paul sat alone thinking. It seemed to him as
though the day marked an epoch in his history. It was an end and it
was a beginning. For hours he lay in his bed, sleepless. He was
thinking of his plans for the future, thinking of the work he had to do.

The next morning he was up betimes. His mind was made up, for he saw
his way clearly now. Knowing the enemy he had to fight, he selected
the weapons that he must use, and he was no longer afraid. He went
quietly to his mill, and for hours studied his position. After that he
went to the bank and had a long talk with the manager. Then he paid a
visit to an old manufacturer who had retired, and who had shown great
friendliness towards him. After that his face cleared somewhat. The
crisis was over, at least for a time. He would have six weeks in which
to move, and in six weeks he believed that the complexion of everything
would be changed.

"No," he said to himself, "it will not be ruin. I know my man. If I
make no sign Ned Wilson is not the man who will continue to lose money
for me. He thinks I'm ruined, and so he will take this opportunity of
making his pile. He thinks he has a corner in this particular stuff.
Well, he hasn't, and this will be