. I'll come back in the morning
and bring something for each of you to take to keep you from catching
the small-pox. Good-day."

The sweet summer afterglow which immediately follows the going down of
the sun was spread mysteriously over all the landscape as John got in
his buggy and began his return trip. The confession to which he had just
given ear did not occupy his mind much. He knew beforehand that it must
have been some creature like this; some degraded, conscienceless,
cast-off devil. Dink Scribbens didn't matter, but Marston did--Marston,
whose heavy figure was beginning already to loom on his life's horizon
portentously. Now, since the occurrence on the streets of Macon a couple
of hours before, he knew that trouble was ahead for him, swift and sure.
Marston hated him well enough before that incident, providing Travers
had delivered his message properly, but now--to be struck on the chest
and almost knocked down! Glenning heard the little voice which always
speaks to us when we are alone saying that he had done right, that his
course all along had been true and proper, and that he had no cause to
regret anything. He must simply keep his eyes open, and at the same time
not let his brain get rusty. Innocent people were in actual distress at
that moment, and the girl of the trusting brown eyes, proud and brave,
would soon be hungry. _Hungry!_ The word stung his brain like something
hot would sting the flesh, and he clicked his teeth and drew up his
lines, urging his horse faster. He was passing a gloomy looking house
set considerably off the road, surrounded by doleful firs and funereal
cedars. It was of brick, square and not ugly, but the shutters to all
windows visible were closed, and the front doors were inhospitably shut.
Some gaunt dogs of ferocious breed were stalking about the yard. He had
not noticed this house when coming out, but he might well have passed it
unseeingly, all of his attention at that time being demanded by Mr.
Hoonover. But instinctively he knew who lived there. The place savoured
of its master; forbidding, grim, merciless. John was not sorry when it
lay behind him.

Deep twilight had come. The time when vague stars shine shyly, uncertain
whether or not to show their faces. Objects along the roadside were
becoming slightly blurred, and the unsightly things of the garish day
were softened into pleasant lines and tones. The man riding townward
felt the witchery of the hour. It entered into