out
hit."

"Do they think they will have bodies that can be hurt by any such thing
in the next world?"

"I reckon so. But preacher Merlin, he said that thar war paths o' light
an' paths o' darkness, an' that eve'y man he 'bided right whar he war at
when he died. Ef he hed tuk the path o' darkness, thar he war in hit;
but ef he hed tuk the path o' light whar war heaven, then he war thar.
An' he said the Lord nevah made no hell, hit war jes' our own selves
made sech es that, an' he took an' cut that thar place cl'ar plumb out'n
the Scripturs an' the worl' to come. But he sure hed a heap o larnin',
only some said a sight on hit war heathen, an' that war why he lef' all
the hell an' damnation outen his religion."

Thus enlightened concerning many things, both of this particular bit of
mountain world, which was all the world to his companion, and of the
world to come, Thryng rode on, quietly amused.

Sometimes he dismounted to investigate plants new to him, or to gather a
bit of moss or fungi or parasite--anything that promised an elucidating
hour with his splendid microscope. For these he always carried at the
pommel of his saddle an air-tight box. The mountain people supposed he
collected such things for the compounding of his drugs.

When they reached the Fall Place, David continued along the main road
below and took a trail farther on, merely a foot trail little used, to
his eyrie. He had not seen Cassandra since they had walked together down
from Hoke Belew's place. He had gone to Farington partly to avoid seeing
her, nor did he wish to see her again until he should have so mastered
himself as to betray nothing by his manner that might embarrass her or
remind her painfully of their last interview, knowing he must eliminate
self to reestablish their previous relations.

David rode directly to his log stable, put up his horse, then unslung
his box and walked with it toward his cabin. Suddenly he stopped. From
the thick shrubbery where he stood he could see in at the large window
where his microscope was placed quite through his cabin into the light,
white canvas room beyond. Before the fireplace, clearly relieved against
the whiteness of the farther room, stood Cassandra, gazing intently at
something she held in her hand. David recognized it as a small, framed
picture of his mother--a delicately painted miniature. He kept it always
on the shelf near which she was standing. He saw her reach up and
replace it, then b