been friends sence they was boys, I've heered. Do you think he's afeared o' Jed?"

"Why should he be afraid of Jud? So long as each attends to his own business there is nothing to be afraid of. They're not good friends, that's all."

"Well, 'Gene's been doin' some ugly talkin'," said the visitor doggedly.

"What do you mean?" asked Justine. A strange chill seized her heart—a fear for Jud.

"He's been very unwise to say the things he has. I tole Jim Hardesty ef they ever got to Jed's ears 'Gene 'd pay purty dearly fer them. But Jim says 'twouldn't be good fer Jed ef he tackled 'Gene. He's wuss'n pison."

"Why, Mrs. Hardesty, I don't—I don't know what you're talking about," cried the poor girl. "What has 'Gene been saying?"

"Oh, it wouldn't be right fer me to git mixed up in it. It's none o' my funeral," said Mrs. Hardesty, now in the full delight of keeping a listener tortured with suspense. It was a quarter of an hour before she could be induced to relate the very tales she had come to tell in the first place.

"'Gene tole the boys that night that he'd made love to you ever sence you was children and that he could tell Jed Sherrod some things ef he was a mind to. He said he could take you away from him any time, an' that Jed 'd have to stay 'roun' home purty close ef he wanted to be sure o' you."

"Oh, oh, oh!" moaned the dumfounded girl.

"An' then he went on to say that you'd promised to—to—well—well, to leave Jed some time an' go away with him. That's the mildest way to put it. I couldn't say it the way 'Gene did. Don't look so put-out about it, Jestine—really, you look like you want to faint. Shell I git you some water?"

"Did—did he say all of that?" Justine whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, he did. I heered him. I was in the house an'——"

"Mrs. Hardesty, don't tell me any more. I cannot bear it. How could he have said it—how could he have been so mean?" she wailed, struggling to her feet.

"Of course, they wasn't any truth in what 'Gene said," Mrs. Hardesty volunteered, but the declaration bore distinct marks of a question. Justine's eyes blazed, her body trembled, her lips quivered. Never had any one seen such a look upon that sweet, gentle face.

"No!" burst from her lips so fiercely that Mrs. Jim's eyes wavered and fell. "No! And everybody knows it! How can you ask?"

"I didn't ask—you know I didn't, Jestine——" stammered the guest.

"You did ask. God forgive 'Gene Crawley for those awful lies—God forgive him! Oh, Matilda, how could he—how could he have said such things? I never did him any wrong——"

"Jed ought to kill him—the mean snake! He ought to go right over to Martin Grimes's an'——" began Mrs. Hardesty excitedly.

"No, no! He must not know!" cried Justine, with a new terror. She clutched Mrs. Hardesty by the shoulders so that the old lady winced. "Jud must never know! Don't you see how it would end? There would be a murder—a murder! Jud would kill him. Let it be as it is; I can stand it—yes, I can! We must keep it from him. You will help me, won't you? You will see that nobody goes to Jud with this awful story—I know you will! Oh, God! They would fight and—one of them would be killed. How can we keep Jud from hearing?"

Mrs. Hardesty stared up at her, and after a moment laid a hand upon the clinging one upon her shoulder.

"You are right," she agreed. "Jed mus' never be tole. Him an' 'Gene would settle it, an' I'm afeard fer Jed's sake. 'Gene's so vicious like."

CHAPTER V.

WHEN THE CLASH CAME.

Despite her apparent cheerfulness, Jud could but note the ever-recurring look of trouble in her eyes. Those wistful eyes, when they were not merry with smiles, were following him with an anxious look like that of a faithful dog. Sometimes he came upon her suddenly and found her staring into space. At such times he saw indignation in the soft brown eyes, or wrath, or terror. He wondered and his soul was troubled. Was she unhappy? Was she tired of him? He thought of asking her to confide in him, but his simple heart could not find courage to draw forth the confession he feared might hurt him endlessly.

Early in October she resumed her work in the schoolhouse. There was not an evening or a noon that did not see her hurrying home, dreading that 'Gene and Jud had met. One day when she saw 'Gene gallop past the schoolhouse, coming from the direction of the farm, she dismissed the school early and ran almost all the way home. When Jud met her near the gate she was sobbing with joy. He never forgot the kisses she burnt upon his lips.

How she loathed and feared 'Gene Crawley! She had dismal nightmares in which he was strangling her husband. In her waking hours she dreamed of the dreadful boast he had made. One night she was startled by the fear that people might believe the words the wretch had uttered.

One Friday evening they were coming home across the meadow from the Bossman farm. The sun was almost below the ridge of trees in the west and long shadows darkened the edges of the pasture land. The evening was cool and bright, and they were as happy as children. Reaching the little creek which ran through a corner of Justine's land, not far from the house, they sat down to watch the antics of two sportive calves. Peace was in their hearts, quiet in the world about them. She was like a delighted child as she laughed with him at the inane caperings of the calves, those poor little clowns in spots and stripes. He looked more often at her radiant, joyous face than at their entertainers, and his heart throbbed with the pride of possessing her.

Suddenly she gasped and he felt her hand clasp his arm with the grip of a vise. A glare of horror drove the merriment from her eyes.

"It's 'Gene Crawley!" she whispered. "He's coming this way. Oh, Jud!"

"What's the matter, Justine? He won't hurt you while I'm here. Let him come. Dear, don't look like that!" he laughed.

Crawley was approaching from down the creek, walking rapidly and glancing covertly toward the house. It was evident he had not seen the couple on the bank.

"Let us go in, Jud. Please do! I don't want to see him," she begged.

"I'd like to know what in thunder he's doing in our pasture," growled Jud, with a sudden flame of anger.

"Maybe he's drunk and has lost his way. He'll find the way out, Jud. Come to the house—quick!" She was on her feet and was dragging him up.

"You go in, Justine, if you want to. I'm going to find out what he's doing here. This isn't a——"

"No, no! You must not stay—you must not have words with him. If you stay, I'll stay! Won't you please come in, Jud?" she implored; but his eyes were not for her. They were glaring angrily at the trespasser, who, seeing them, had stopped in some confusion twenty feet away.

"Do you think I'm afraid of the derned scoundrel?" he demanded, loud enough for 'Gene to hear. The man down on the bank put his hand out and steadied himself against a sapling. For an instant his black eyes shot fire toward Sherrod, but turned away when they met the wild, dark eyes of the girl. He had not been drinking and he was truly surprised by the meeting. There was a stillness for a moment. The two men again glared at one another, all the hatred in their hearts coming to the surface. The girl was suffocating with the knowledge that she could do nothing to stay the catastrophe.

"Get off this place and don't you ever step your foot on here again," said Jud savagely. Justine's hand fell tremblingly from his rigid arm and she looked a mute appeal to 'Gene, who, still holding to the sapling, was trying to control his rage.

"I was jest takin' a short cut to Bossman's," he began, hoarsely, through his teeth. "I'll git off yer place, if you say so. I didn't think you'd mind my cuttin' off a mile er so. Mrs. Grimes's baby's sick an'——"

"You needn't