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I prompted Camille to ask if he had ever encountered Ned Ferry, and he laughed.

"It's twenty miles off; why are you not with it? What are you doing here?"

"Two--what?" His smile broadened. "You know that?"

"Whose hand was it; that fellow's, yonder?" Oliver was several paces away.

We rode in silence while I tried to think what it must be to a woman of her warmth--of her impulsive energies--to be, week in, week out, month after month, besieged by that man's law-protected blandishments and stratagems. "I wish you would use me in her service every time there is a chance," I said.

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