She broke from him with lifted hands and a wailing cry. "Let me go! Let me
go! I am running through the corn, in the darkness, and I hope to meet the
Indians! I am awake,--oh, God! I am wide awake!"

With another cry, and with her hands shutting out the sound of his voice,
she turned and fled toward the approaching trader. Haward, after one deep
oath and an impetuous, quickly checked movement to follow the flying
figure, stood beneath the oak and watched that meeting: Hugon, in his
wine-colored coat and Blenheim wig, fierce, inquisitive, bragging of what
he might do; the girl suddenly listless, silent, set only upon an
immediate return through the fields to the glebe house.

She carried her point, and the two went away without let or hindrance from
the master of Fair View, who leaned against the stem of the oak and
watched them go. He had been very ill, and the hour's search, together
with this unwonted beating of his heart, had made him desperately
weary,--too weary to do aught but go slowly and without overmuch of
thought to the spot where he had left his horse, mount it, and ride as
slowly homeward. To-morrow, he told himself, he would manage differently;
at least, she should be made to hear him. In the mean time there was the
night to be gotten through. MacLean, he remembered, was coming to the
great house. What with wine and cards, thought might for a time be pushed
out of doors.




CHAPTER XXIII

A DUEL