oun, never broken by a plow.

As we approached the gate I heard behind us the sound of galloping
horses. There came up the road a mounted officer, with his personal
escort, an orderly, several troopers, and a grinning body servant.

"Look--there he comes--it is my father!" exclaimed Ellen; and in a
moment she was out of the cart and running down the road to meet him,
taking his hand, resting her cheek against his dusty thigh, as he sat in
saddle.

The officer saluted me sharply. "You are outside the lines," said he.
"Have you leave?"

I saluted also, and caught the twinkle in his eye as I looked into his
face.

"On detached service this morning, General," I said. "If you please, I
shall report to you within the hour."

He wheeled his horse and spurred on up along his own grounds, fit master
for their stateliness. But he entered, leaving the gate wide open for us
to pass.

"Shut the gate, Benjie," said Ellen as I tossed down a coin to the
grinning black. And then to me, "You don't know Benjie? Yes, he's
married again to Kitty's old cook, Annie. They're both here."

An orderly took our horse when finally we drove up; but at the time I
did not go into the house. I did not ask for Mrs. Kitty Stevenson. A
wide seat lay beneath one of the oaks. We wandered thither, Ellen and I.
The little dog, mute, watchful, kept close at her side.

"Ellen," said I to her, "the time has come now. I am not going to wait
any longer. Read this." I put into her hand Gordon Orme's confession.

She read, with horror starting on her face. "What a scoundrel--what a
criminal!" she said. "The man was a demon. He killed your father!"

"Yes, and in turn I killed him," I said, slowly. Her eyes flashed. She
was savage again, as I had seen her. My soul leaped out to see her
fierce, relentless, exulting that I had fought and won, careless that I
had slain.

"Orme did all he could to ruin me in every way," I added. "Read on."
Then I saw her face change to pity as she came to the next clause. So
now she knew the truth about Grace Sheraton, and, I hoped, the truth
about John Cowles.

"Can you forgive me?" she said, brokenly, her dark eyes swimming in
tears, as she turned toward me.

"That is not the question," I answered, slowly. "It is, can _you_
forgive _me_?" Her hand fell on my arm imploringly.

"I have no doubt that I was much to blame for that poor girl's act," I
continued. "The question only is, has my punishment been enough, or can