"Better hurry along," he said, grimly, "or he'll take your head off. Lord, we are going to have a storm. I see a thundercloud gathering just below the rim of Barry's hat. If you—"
"Please keep your precious wit to yourself," she flamed, but with all her show of righteous indignation she could not hide from him the chagrin and mortification that lurked in her tell-tale eyes.
She rode off in high dudgeon, and he was left to curse his ill-timed jest. What a blundering fool he had been! Her first, timid little advance,—and he had met it with boorish, clownish wit! A scurvy jest, indeed! She was justified in despising him.
If Viola had turned her proud head a few moments later, she would have beheld an amazing spectacle: her supposedly smug and impeccable brother riding away at break-neck speed down the soggy lane, regardless of overhanging branches and flying mud, fleeing in wrath from the scene of his discontent.
Dusk was falling when he rode slowly into the town again. He had reached a decision during that lonely ride. He would not remain in Lafayette. He foresaw misery and unhappiness for himself if he stayed there,—for, be it here declared, he was in love with Viola Gwyn. No, worse than that, he was in love with Minda Carter,—and therein lay all the bitterness that filled his soul. He could never have her. Even though she cast off the ardent Lapelle, still he could not have her for his own. The bars were up, and it was now beyond his power to lower them. And so, with this resolve firmly fixed in his mind, he gave himself up to a strange sort of despair.
After supper at the tavern, he set out for a solitary stroll about the town before going to bed. He took stock of himself. No later than that morning he had come to a decision to open an office and engage in the practice of Law in Lafayette. He had made many friends during his brief stay in the place, and from all sides he had been encouraged to "hang out his shingle" and "grow up with the town." He liked the people, he had faith in the town, he possessed all the confidence and courage of youth. The local members of the bar, including the judge and justices, seriously urged him to establish himself there—there was room for him,—the town needed such men as he,—indeed, one of the leading lawyers had offered to take him into partnership, an opportunity not to be despised, in view of this man's state-wide reputation as a lawyer and orator, and who was already being spoken of for high honours in the councils of state and nation.
All this was very gratifying to the young stranger. He was flattered by the unmistakable sincerity of these new friends. And he was in a position to weather the customary paucity of clients for an indefinite period, a condition resulting to but few young men starting out for themselves in the practice of law. He was comfortably well-off in the matter of worldly goods, not only through his recently acquired possessions, but as the result of a substantial legacy that had come to him on the death of his grandmother. He had received his mother's full share of the Blythe estate, a no inconsiderable fortune in lands and money.
And now everything was changed. He would have to give up his plan to settle in Lafayette, and so, as he strolled gloomily about the illy-lighted town, he was casting about for the next best place to locate. The incomprehensible and incredible had come to pass. He had fallen in love with Viola Gwyn at first sight, that stormy night at Striker's. The discovery that she was his own half-sister had, of course, deluded his senses—temporarily, but now he realized that the strange, primitive instincts of man had not been deceived and would not be denied.
His blood had known the truth from the instant he first laid eyes upon the lovely stranger. Since that first night there had been revelations. First of all, Viola was the flesh and blood of an evil woman, and that woman his mortal foe. Notwithstanding her own innocence and purity, it was inconceivable that he should ever think of taking her to himself as wife. Secondly, he was charged with a double secret that must forever stand between him and her: the truth about her mother and the truth about herself.
There was but one thing left for him to do,—go away. He loved her. He would grow to love her a thousand-fold more if he remained near her, if he saw her day by day. These past few days had brought despair and jealousy to him, but what would the future bring? Misery! No, he would have to go. He would wind up his affairs at once and put longing and temptation as far behind him as possible. There was the town of Louisville. From all reports it was a prosperous, growing town, advantageously situated on the River Ohio. Crawfordsville was too near. He would have to go farther, much farther away than that,—perhaps back to the old home town.