s of regret; but Jack Wade felt not the least
regret because he had knocked down Al Thompson. He did not regret that
act, but a tinge of sorrow and shame ran through his soul as he looked
upon the crimson face of his gentle companion. The advantage he had
taken in her moment of weakness would, no doubt, stand him well in
fulfilling the purpose for which he had quit a life of plenty,--a life
of sociality, and had come to the lonesome hills to live in a cabin all
alone to carry out. The burden of it all was burning his own soul and
gnawing at the very vitals of the life within him. He was a man through
and through, a man who could have gained the topmost heights of the
most elevated, elaborate society, but he had sought instead the quiet
life of the farmer, a life alone in a cabin away toward the hills of
Kentucky, far from civilization. Beside him rode in perfect silence,
broken only by the sound of the horses' feet falling upon the dirt, a
child of the wilds, whose own heart burned her bosom, that heart which
had in an unguarded moment unloaded all that was most sacred to her and
to her own people, all that had been held dear to one who had been
taught in only one way. She felt sorrowful, but that same power which
bound her when Jack Wade was away kept her silent when he was near. The
rocks of the rugged mountain ridge pointed to her as she passed, the
little yellow wild flowers bowed their sweet heads in shame when her
skirts touched them. She would not look at them, their beauty had in a
moment flown. She would not look over the wild mountain scenery; its
picturesqueness had departed. A dead shade rested over everything. She
would not even glance up at the strong man at her side for fear his
powerful gaze might pierce her heart as an arrow shot out from a strong
arm. But why all this sorrow? He knew, he understood, and was silent. He
looked toward her in silent admiration, and his heart smiled, but his
lips moved not. To assure her was his thought, was the only motive of
his heart, but he could wait until a calmer moment. The waters of life
were troubled now, there was a storm upon the quiet sea, whose ruffled,
wind-tossed waves were rolling high, and he must wait.

Behind them was the very hound of the devil, cursing and swearing
uproariously. Every curse was an avowed vengeance, every breath foretold
the death of someone. The murderous black eyes of the mountain wolf
gazed on, the steel-like paws of the forest lion t