Campbell was aroused from one of these fits of gloomy despondency by a low, taunting laugh sounding from close beside him, and hastily glancing up, he perceived that the old man had taken Lola’s position. The almost diabolical expression of triumph that rested upon his face, startled the young hunter, and he resolved to give his enemy no more such gleeful moments.
“Who are you that my misery should give you so much pleasure?” he demanded, with ill-concealed curiosity.
“I promised to tell you—and this is as good a time as any to keep my word,” slowly replied the old man, sinking down upon the rude stool that had been so recently occupied by a much more agreeable figure. “You may or you may not remember something of the matter, when I tell you that my name is Albert Mestayer.”
As he spoke, his gaze was riveted firmly upon the young man’s countenance. Though expressing curiosity, there was no change to indicate that Campbell had ever heard of the name before.
“I see you do not know—I might have known that they would never have told you. It is well. You will not be so prejudiced, and will be more likely to do me justice. Now listen well, and you will see why I hate your family and that of Hawksley.
“We three were close neighbors living then in the southern part of Illinois. Almost from childhood we had been play-mates and bosom friends. And such we might have remained to this day, only for the treachery of one—of Christopher Hawksley, the brother of Archibald.
“We three men married, but he—Chris—was single. Though living with his brother, he was quite as much at home while at your father’s house, or at mine. Indeed the gossips began to whisper that he was more so, and to point the finger of scorn at me.
“For a time I closed my ears to these rumors, but at my heart there gnawed a horrible fear that what I dreaded was but too well founded. He and she had long been intimate, and at one time were reported betrothed, but then a coldness came between them, and she accepted me. You see, young man, I am frank with you,” and Mestayer smiled bitterly. “I mean to tell you all—both for and against myself.
“I spoke to her of the rumors, but she was of a quick, passionate temper, and for the first time since marriage we had hot and angry words together. She refused to answer me, saying that I insulted her by the suspicion. While still angry, I met Christopher Hawksley and forbid him ever entering my house, or addressing my wife at any time or place where they might chance to meet.
“He seemed surprised—I thought then that he looked guilty, and I could scarcely keep my hands from his throat. But I did, and went home with a heart still more bitter and wicked.