"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure there is," said the Reverend, blinking and withdrawing his hand slowly. "I'm a man of peace. I'm not a man of force."
He lifted his hand clear, the ominous bulge in his pocket giving way, and held up one of his pens.
"One dollar," he said rather weakly ... as though frightened, or vastly amused.
Standing there, looking rather blankly about, holding that pen in his hand he was in ludicrous contrast to the furious Hilton. It made the other man seem absurd, his raging like the burlesque of some clowning actor.
With a helpless, choking oath Hilton turned, livid with rage, and strode for the doorway.
"For the last time I've been made a fool of!" he cried, and hastened up the path.
They heard him mount his horse and ride away.
Jane was too busied with more somber thoughts to appreciate the humor of the situation; she did later. Even had she been able to give attention to the contrast between Hilton's rage and the chagrin which followed so closely, the change in the Reverend would have diverted her attention. He stood looking at her with grief in his eyes and when he spoke his voice shook.
"I feel that I have done my duty, ma'am, but that is all Azariah Beal has to say for himself. There has been no result. I may have been too late in my attempt. Surely, there is nothing more to be done....
"Nothing more, unless you may succeed in ridding yourself of your enemies."