"Humph!" sniffed Mrs. Scribbens. "The roosters crow, don't they? He'll git his dose at midnight!"
"Keep the children out of doors as much as you can; make each of them bathe every day and do the same yourself. I'll come back in the morning and bring something for each of you to take to keep you from catching the small-pox. Good-day."
The sweet summer afterglow which immediately follows the going down of the sun was spread mysteriously over all the landscape as John got in his buggy and began his return trip. The confession to which he had just given ear did not occupy his mind much. He knew beforehand that it must have been some creature like this; some degraded, conscienceless, cast-off devil. Dink Scribbens didn't matter, but Marston did—Marston, whose heavy figure was beginning already to loom on his life's horizon portentously. Now, since the occurrence on the streets of Macon a couple of hours before, he knew that trouble was ahead for him, swift and sure. Marston hated him well enough before that incident, providing Travers had delivered his message properly, but now—to be struck on the chest and almost knocked down! Glenning heard the little voice which always speaks to us when we are alone saying that he had done right, that his course all along had been true and proper, and that he had no cause to regret anything. He must simply keep his eyes open, and at the same time not let his brain get rusty. Innocent people were in actual distress at that moment, and the girl of the trusting brown eyes, proud and brave, would soon be hungry. Hungry! The word stung his brain like something hot would sting the flesh, and he clicked his teeth and drew up his lines, urging his horse faster. He was passing a gloomy looking house set considerably off the road, surrounded by doleful firs and funereal cedars. It was of brick, square and not ugly, but the shutters to all windows visible were closed, and the front doors were inhospitably shut. Some gaunt dogs of ferocious breed were stalking about the yard. He had not noticed this house when coming out, but he might well have passed it unseeingly, all of his attention at that time being demanded by Mr. Hoonover. But instinctively he knew who lived there. The place savoured of its master; forbidding, grim, merciless. John was not sorry when it lay behind him.
Deep twilight had come. The time when vague stars shine shyly, uncertain whether or not to show their faces. Objects along the roadside were becoming slightly blurred, and the unsightly things of the garish day were softened into pleasant lines and tones. The man riding townward felt the witchery of the hour. It entered into him and lay upon his soul, speaking of peace. He breathed more gently, and let his horse take its time. From the gates of the west which had unclosed to receive the going day, a breeze had surely blown from Paradise. And alone there, in the soft dusk, two faces rose up before the man. One was fresh, unfretted, appealing, beautiful, with brown eyes which looked innocence and trust. The one beside it was crowned with a bewildering glory of bronze-gold hair, full of sullen splendours, like a stormy sunset; an oval face of perfect lines and charm ineffable, and winey eyes which lured. He looked upon the two, and his eyes grew strained; that look of awful weariness stole over his face, as though the battle were almost too hard, and he groaned in his throat while a shudder swept him, making him tremble from head to foot. He was conscious of a sound, far away, but growing more distinct. Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! It was a horse on the highway ahead, running fast. Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! It was just around the bend in front of him. In a dull way he drew his horse somewhat to one side. A huge black shape thundered into view, seemingly of mammoth proportions in the dim light. Straight to the middle of the road it clung, its hoofs striking fire at every leap, its rider making no effort to swerve it. Glenning called, and pulled his horse sharply aside. Horse and rider swept by, so close that the man's knee brushed John's sleeve. In that fraction of a second their eyes met, and each recognized the other. But neither stopped. Marston rode on till his horse drew up quivering at his gate, and Glenning, a new, strange light in his eyes, drove on towards town.
Arriving at the livery stable he inquired for Judge Colver. That gentleman lived in the country, and had gone home. He would have to make his report in the morning, when the people could be advised by bulletin of the presence of small-pox in the county, the proper quarantine established, and measures taken for preventing the disease from spreading. He suddenly remembered that, in the business of getting established, he had neglected opening the account at the bank, and had also forgotten his hotel bill. It was too late to keep his promise to Dillard that day, so he turned down street towards the hotel, resolving to settle his bill there. Supper was in progress when he entered the office, and the place was comparatively empty. He paid his reckoning to the smiling Jones, and was preparing to leave, when Travers came out of the passage leading to the hotel bar, and called his name. John turned, and coldly faced him. The landlord beckoned, and retreated to the passage. John hesitated a moment, for he desired no further dealings with this person, but upon second thought he followed. Travers' nervous manner had returned. He fidgeted, and shifted his weight, and toyed with his watch chain.
"I want to tell you I have kept my word," he said, in a low, cautious voice. "You played fair with me, and I have some appreciation. I went out to Marston's place this morning and told him all about it, to his face, and I told him what you said, word for word. I did, 'pon my honor!"
"That's more than I expected," answered Glenning, icily. "But I admire your pluck. It took a man to do that."
"I did it, doctor, and for a while I thought he was going to kill me. But he didn't touch me."
"I suppose he made some threats?"
"Yes, he talked mighty ugly about you. I'd advise you to be on your guard. You'd better carry a gun with you all the time."