--from California to Maryland, and that the same Mr. Roland
Bayard had escorted the lady to the neighborhood, and had even introduced
her to his own aunt, the good Miss Sibby Bayard, who had entertained the
stranger without knowing who she really was, or what the nature of her
business in the neighborhood might be.

Therefore, the gossips and wiseacres of the Calvert decided that young
Roland Bayard must be a messenger from "his first wife."

Roland, meanwhile, unmindful of the discussion he had left behind him,
sturdily strode on his way over the frozen highroad, under the winter sky,
toward Greenbushes, to report to Leonidas Force.

Greenbushes was full five miles from Calvert's, so he walked on.

CHAPTER XXXII

PREPARING FOR FATE

Leonidas Force, after leaving Forest Rest, put spurs to his horse and
galloped all the way to Greenbushes, only pausing when it became necessary
to open a gate that crossed the road, by which chance the hard-pressed
steed got a moment in which to recover his wind.

When he reached Greenbushes, he sprang from his saddle, threw the bridle
to a boy who came up to take the horse, and hurried into the house.

His colored housekeeper came to ask him if he was going to stay home all
night, or to return to Mondreer, so that she might know whether she was to
get supper, and to make a fire in his bedroom.

Le told her that he should stay at home all night.

The woman went away to attend to his comforts.

Le opened the door of that little, oak-paneled parlor on the right of the
hall of entrance, where there was always a fire kept alive for the master,
and a round table covered with account books, piles of paper, bundles of
pens and bottles of ink.

Le threw off his riding coat, hat and gloves, drew off his boots, thrust
his feet into slippers, and dropped into the large, leather armchair
before the table, and laid his head upon his folded arms on its top.

Le was not the least of a coward. He knew no fear. Yet he fully realized
the awful gravity of the situation in which he had voluntarily placed
himself. His Christian conscience began to trouble him.

"Thou shalt not kill!" it whispered to him.

He tried not to hear it.

"The dastardly villain ought to be punished," he said to himself. "My
uncle cannot call the beast out. He is a justice of the peace; he is a
vestryman in the church; he is a husband and a father. He cannot fight the
monster! And he has no son to act for him!