But when he neared the white house, with its pleasant green shutters, his fears became acute; for the owner was leaning over the little garden gate, and one glance at his face showed that he was inflamed with triumph. He had evidently been gathering flowers; his hands were full of them; the fact impressed the new-comer much as though he had seen a lion sitting down to tea in a lady's drawing-room.
Bert was dressed with scrupulous care; his linen was fresh. He looked ten years older; had graduated from boy to man in two days. There was a steady blaze in his eyes; his mouth wore a defiant curve. The exaltation and triumph of his aspect affected Mayne strongly. But no look of guilt or remorse crossed his handsome face at sight of the approaching guardian.
"Hallo!" he frankly cried; "come in! Things have hummed since you went away."
Mayne stiffened in fierce wrath.
"Mestaer," he said, keeping himself calm with difficulty, "tell me that this I have heard of you is a slander—tell me that Millie Lutwyche is not here!"
Bert's eyes flamed.
"Millie Lutwyche is here," he cried, "and what's more, she'll stay here. Didn't you leave it to me to see she wasn't murdered? Well, I managed it, but only just."
Mayne came in through the gate and walked into the house.
"I've heard one side of the story," he said. "It's only fair that I should hear yours."
Bert followed him in. His style was abrupt but convincing. He told how Amurrica and Tante Wilma had tried to steal a march on Mayne, and how the Predikant had been willing to aid and abet. He told how he had foiled this plan, how he had been sent a message to decoy him out of the way, how he had gone down to the farm, but too late to prevent violence. He told how he had brought Millie home, and at once called in Dr. Fraser, who could corroborate all he said. He spoke without eagerness, and with an underlying confidence in his voice which showed how sure he felt of his position.