undecided. How still
everything was! There were no birds singing--but how could bird hearts
break forth in song under that pall of cedar? She turned again to gaze
at the heavy iron knocker, and just then a piercing animal yelp of pain
or fright reached her, followed by a foul malediction in a man's rough
voice. More yelps ensued, mingled with snarls and vicious oaths, then
around the corner of the house they came--the dog which had stood in her
path, with Devil Marston in hot pursuit. Plainly the dog had trespassed
in a most unwarrantable manner, for between his strong jaws was a roast
of beef, which thus far he had refused to deliver to its owner. Its
pursuer was armed with a heavy cudgel, and he did not temper his blows
with either mercy or judgment. In this wise they swept into view, the
dog but slightly in advance of the man, who was swinging his bludgeon to
an accompaniment of awful curses.

It happened that Julia was facing this spectacle, and its presentation
made her weak and faint for the moment. Never had her tender ears
listened to such words before as fell from the lips of this man. His
swarthy face was working and twitching from the volcano-like violence of
his rage, and his fangs showed even as did the beast's he was pursuing.
The sudden and altogether unexpected appearance of Miss Julia Dudley
before his door, mounted upon The Prince, was not sufficient to calm on
the instant his superlative passion, which at times almost amounted to a
fit, or frenzy. It is true he stopped short in his mad rush, but before
he could bring himself to any degree of control he hurled the cudgel in
his hand after the fleeing hound with all his strength, at the same
moment delivering a half smothered, parting malediction.

Julia sat like a stone statue upon The Prince, which had shied violently
at first, and in a way which would have unseated a less skillful rider.
Her head was up, her brows slightly contracted, and her fine eyes set
straight at the being who now walked towards her, his hat in his hand.

By a superhuman effort of will Marston had composed his features, and as
he halted a little to one side of The Prince's head, he was smiling, if
the incongruous facial expression he now assumed could be designated
that way.

"Good morning, Miss Julia," he said.

The covert insolence in his voice was thinly veiled by a respectful
intonation.

"Good morning, Mr. Marston."

Julia was surprised at the steady tones in which