Nat nodded.
“And some people,” went on Ezra Prentiss, in the same quiet way, “remember them to advantage.” Seeing Nat’s questioning look he added: “I mean that there are certain dispositions that take great pleasure in rewarding a good deed—and others that take equal pleasure in repaying an evil one.”
“I suppose there are,” replied Nat, his eyes never leaving the face of the other. “But,” with a laugh, “the doer of good deeds can rest in peace; and the other—well, he can only be watchful.”
As these last words were being spoken Ben Cooper turned. And now he broke in upon them with a grin.
“I say,” spoke he, “what are you two mumbling away about? And you’re staring at each other like a couple of owls.”
In an instant Ezra’s face took on its usual expression of good humor.
“Don’t criticise us,” said he laughingly. “You should see yourself. Your eyes have grown so goggled through looking at so many great men that it’s a wonder they don’t pop out on the ground.”
All through the day Nat Brewster watched Ezra Prentiss when he got the opportunity; and deeper and deeper grew his impression that beneath the merry laugh and ready good humor there was a hidden something that must not see the light.
“It’s a fear,” thought the young mountaineer, as he and Ben mounted their horses late in the afternoon and waved their hands to Ezra. “It’s a fear. And, perhaps, a fear that he may be shown to be a traitor to the cause of the colonies!”