By this time Armstrong had recovered consciousness. To his other causes for hatred were now added chagrin, mortification, shame. He had been overcome. He would have been a dead man and by Newbold's hands if the others had not interfered. He almost wished they had let his enemy alone. Well, he had lost everything but a chance for revenge on them all.
"She has been alone here with this man in this cabin for a month," he said thickly. "I was willing to take her in spite of that, but—"
"He made that damned suggestion before," cried Newbold, his rage returning. "I don't know who you are—"
"My name is Robert Maitland, and I am this girl's uncle."
"Well, if you were her father, I could only swear—"
"It isn't necessary to swear anything," answered Maitland serenely. "I know this child. And I believe I'm beginning to find out this man."
"Thank you, Uncle Robert," said Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him as she spoke. "No man could have done more for me than Mr. Newbold has, and no one could have been more considerate of me. As for you," she turned on, Armstrong, who now slowly got to his feet, "your insinuations against me are on a par with your charges against the dead woman, beneath contempt."
"What did he say about her?" asked Old Kirkby.
"You know my story?" asked Newbold.
"Yes."