r."

"And what money you need," added Natalie in a low tone, and blushing
painfully.

But Mabyn's feelings were not hurt. "I can go with you just as well," he
blustered.

Natalie looked at Garth once more.

"You may follow us as soon as you choose," said Garth coolly. "We do not
desire your company on the way."

For the first time Mabyn appeared to recognize Garth's presence on the
scene. He turned a baleful eye on him; and his lips curled back over his
gums. "Who are _you_?" he snarled, adding an oath.

"That is neither here nor there," said Garth. "I speak for Miss Bland."

"Mrs. Mabyn, you mean," sneered the other, thinking to crush him with
the information.

"She does not use that name," returned Garth imperturbably.

Mabyn turned furiously to Natalie. "Who is this man?" he cried, his
cracked voice sliding into falsetto; "this sleek young sprig that rides
alone with you through the country! I demand to know! I have a right to
know!"

"I admit no right!" Natalie said firmly.

Mabyn, beside himself with jealous rage, no longer knew what he said.
"You won't explain!" he cried. "You _can't_ explain! Here's a nasty
situation for a married woman!"

Garth's self-control, stretched on the rack through all this scene,
suddenly snapped in twain. Temper with Garth took the form of laughter;
mocking, dangerous laughter, that issued startlingly from his grave
lips.

He laughed now. "You scoundrel!" he said in cool, incisive tones--though
he was not a whit less blinded by passion than Mabyn himself--"after the
kind of life you've been leading up here, have you still the assurance
to lay a claim upon _her_! And to cast a reflection on _her_ good name!
Have you no mirror to see what you are? Go in the lake, then, and see
the vile record written on your face!"

Mabyn was staggered. Garth's terrible scorn penetrated the last
wrappings of the warmly nurtured ego within. He shot a startled glance
at Garth; and from Garth to the hut and behind, as if wondering how much
he knew.

Garth was not through with him. He slipped his stirrups, preparatory to
leaping off his horse. Natalie trembled at the quiet man's new aspect.

"Garth!" she entreated urgently.

The sound of her voice recalled him to himself. Settling back in his
saddle, he abruptly turned his horse, and went off a little way,
struggling to regain his self-command.

Mabyn, misunderstanding, was vastly lifted up by this word of Natalie's,
and the writhing