e at the gate. He was
seeing me home. I've been there to supper."

"What!"

Never had the girl heard so many sensations crowded into one word. There
was surprise, unbelief, scorn, anger. But anger predominated.

"An' how long, pray tell me, have you been goin' backwards an' forrads to
the Howes, an' consortin' with their brother?"

"Only to-night."

Ellen looked at her niece as if, had she dared, she would have torn her in
pieces. "I s'pose it never entered your head it was a mean advantage for
you to take when I was gone," she said shrilly. "You wouldn't 'a' dared do
it if I'd been here."

"I'm not so sure."

The fearless response was infuriating to Ellen.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," she shouted, bringing her clenched hand
down on the table with such force that every dish rattled. "You ain't to
repeat this night's performance! If you ain't got pride enough not to go
hob-nobbin' with my enemies, I'll forbid it for good an' all--forbid it,
do you hear? I ain't a-goin'----"

Something in the quiet dignity of the girl before her arrested her tongue.
Her eye traveled over the white, rain-drenched figure. Then the corners
of her mouth twitched and curved upward.

"So Martin Howe saw you home, did he?" she observed sarcastically. "Much
good his comin' did! Had you tramped ten miles you couldn't 'a' got much
wetter. I guess he needs some lessons in totin' ladies round same's he
does in most everything else. I always said he didn't have no manners--the
puppy!"

CHAPTER IX

JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY

Martin Howe moved home as if in a trance, the voice of Lucy Webster
ringing in his ears. He recalled every glance, every smile, every gesture
of this enslaving creature, who, like a meteorite, had shot across his
firmament, rocking its serenity with the shock of her presence. How
exquisite she was! How wonderful! He had never realized there were women
like that. Was it to be marveled at that men pursued such enchantresses to
the borderland of eternity? That they were spurred to deeds of courage;
abandoned home, friends, their sacred honor; even tossed their lives away
for such?

Lucy's advent seemed to mark a new era in existence. All that went before
was not; and all that came after, apart from her, mattered not. Only the
vivid, throbbing present was of consequence, and the intensity of it swept
him out of his balance with a force that was appalling.

He was not the Martin Howe of yesterday, nor could