enley prompted.

"He said something one day that worried me a lot," she went on, slowly.
"It was the day, you remember, when he was drinking and you ordered him
from the store. I met him, and he was in an awful state of fury. I
didn't tell you about it because I was afraid it would make trouble."

"Oh, I reckon he was mad that day," Henley said, lightly. "He looked it
when he left."

"It wasn't that exactly," Dixie said. "He seemed to be under the same
impression that lots of folks are, that--that you are very much in love
with your wife, and always have been, for he sneered a great deal about
it, and finally said he knew something which, if he was not bound by
promise to keep, would tear you all to pieces."

"Humph!" Henley sniffed, "I reckon it was some lie or other that Dick
Wrinkle told him when they was out West together. You know Dick hated me
like a snake. That ain't nothing, don't let it bother you."

"I couldn't help it," Dixie said, as she turned away. "It looked to me
like he really meant something important. He seemed so sure that he had
you in his power. Now, good-bye. Keep your promise."

CHAPTER XXXIII

Hank Bradley, his face stinging from the bruises he had received, his
blood boiling with fury and humiliation, slunk deeper and deeper into
the wood. Now he would utter a despondent groan, again a long and
resonant string of threatening oaths. As he slowly spat the blood from
his gashed lips, he solemnly vowed that he would have the man's life who
had dared to interfere with him. To the end of his existence he would
see himself sprawling at the feet of the woman whom he had so long and
persistently sought--as long as he lived he would see the righteous
glare in his antagonist's eyes, the look of grateful relief which
lighted the face of the rescued. Plunging onward, he came to a
mountain-brook which, as clear as crystal, leaped and rippled, gurgled
and muttered down the rugged declivity. Here he paused, whining and
bemoaning his luck, and sat down and bathed his face. He was sober now,
all too sober, in fact, for his peace of mind. Above the tree-tops he
saw the roof and gables of his uncle's house, and, as he mopped his face
with his blood-clotted handkerchief, he trudged toward it.

Old Welborne himself was on the lawn inspecting his beehives, near the
front gate, when his nephew entered, and he turned toward him, staring
curiously.

"Why, what's the matter?" the old man asked. "You loo