told himself that it was impossible
there should be any fellowship between them. To Bele he said nothing
of this spiritual superiority, and yet it was obvious in his constant
air of disapproval and dissent, in his lofty silence, his way of
not being conscious of Bele's presence or of totally ignoring his
remarks.

"Liot Borson mocks the very heart of me," said Bele to Matilda one
day, as he gloomily flung himself into the big chair she pushed
toward him.

"What said he, Bele?"

"Not a word with his tongue, or I had struck him in the face; but
as I was telling about my last cargo and the run for it, his eyes
called me '_Liar! liar! liar!_' like blow on blow. And when he turned
and walked off the pier some were quiet, and some followed him; and
I could have slain every man's son of them, one on the heels of the
other."

"That is vain babble, Bele; and I would leave Liot alone. He has more
shapes than one, and he is ill to anger in any of them."

Bele was not averse to be so counseled. In spite of his bravado
and risky ventures, he was no more a brave man than a dishonorable
or dishonest man ever is. He knew that if it came to fighting he
would be like a child in Liot's big hands, and he had already seen
Liot's scornful silence strip his boasting naked. So he contented
himself with the revenge of the coward--the shrug and the innuendo,
the straight up-and-down lie, when Liot was absent; the sulky nod
or bantering remark, according to his humor, when Liot was present.

However, as the weeks went on Liot became accustomed to the
struggle, and more able to take possession of such aids to mastery
of himself as were his own. First, there was Karen; her loyalty
never wavered. If Liot knew anything surely, it was that at
Christmas she would become his wife. She met him whenever she could,
she sent him constantly tokens of her love, and she begged him at
every opportunity for her sake to let Bele Trenby alone. Every
day, also, his cousin Paul Borson spoke to him and praised him
for his forbearance; and every Sabbath the minister asked, "How goes
it, Liot? Is His grace yet sufficient?" And at these questions
Liot's countenance would glow as he answered gladly, "So far He
has helped me."

From this catechism, and the clasp and look that gave it living
sympathy, Liot always turned homeward full of such strength that
he longed to meet his enemy on the road, just that he might show
him that "noble not caring," which was gal