ll the unanswerable arguments
built by the long average experience of the world--arguments which
Orde could not refute, but whose falsity to the situation he felt most
keenly. He could not specify without betraying Gerald's confidence.
Raging inwardly, he consented to a further armistice.

At his hotel he found a telegram. He did not open it until he had
reached his own room. It was from home, urging his immediate return for
the acceptance of some contracted work.

"To hell with the contracted work!" he muttered savagely, and calling a
bell-boy, sent an answer very much to that effect. Then he plunged his
hands into his pockets, stretched out his legs, and fell into a deep and
gloomy meditation.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called, without turning his head.

He heard the door open and shut. After a moment he looked around.
Kendrick Bishop stood watching him.

Orde lit the gas.

"Hello, Kendrick!" said he. "Sit down." The boy made no reply. Orde
looked at him curiously, and saw that he was suffering from an intense
excitement. His frame trembled convulsively, his lips were white, his
face went red and pale by turns. Evidently he had something to say, but
could not yet trust his voice. Orde sat down and waited.

"You've got to let my mother alone," he managed to say finally.

"I have done nothing to your mother, Kendrick," said Orde kindly.

"You've brought her to the point of death," asserted Keudrick violently.
"You're hounding her to her grave. You're turning those she loves best
against her."

Orde thought to catch the echo of quotation in these words.

"Did your mother send you to me?" he asked.

"If we had any one else worth the name of man in the family, I wouldn't
have to come," said Kendrick, almost in the manner of one repeating a
lesson.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Orde after a moment of thought.

"Go away," cried Kendrick. "Stop this unmanly contest against a
defenceless woman."

"I cannot do that," replied Orde quietly.

Kendrick's face assumed a livid pallor, and his eyes seemed to turn
black with excitement. Trembling in every limb, but without hesitation,
he advanced on Orde, drew a short riding-whip from beneath his coat, and
slashed the young man across the face. Orde made an involuntary movement
to arise, but sank back, and looked steadily at the boy. Once again
Kendrick hit; raised his arm for the third time; hesitated. His lips
writhed, and t