“Was there an answer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, give it to me.”
The note read:
“Dear Miss Chester,—A discussion of a matter so familiar to us both as the Anvil Creek controversy would be useless. If your inclination is due to the incidents of last night, pray don’t trouble yourself. We don’t want your pity. I am,
“Your servant,
“Roy Glenister.”
As she read the note, Judge Stillman entered, and it seemed to the girl that he had aged a year for every hour in the last twelve, or else the yellow afternoon light limned the sagging hollows and haggard lines of his face most pitilessly. He showed in voice and manner the nervous burden under which he labored.
“Alec has told me about your engagement, and it lifts a terrible load from me. I’m mighty glad you’re going to marry him. He’s a wonderful man, and he’s the only one who can save us.”
“What do you mean by that? What are we in danger of?” she inquired, avoiding discussion of McNamara’s announcement.
“Why, that mob, of course. They’ll come back. They said so. But Alec can handle the commanding officer at the post, and, thanks to him, we’ll have soldiers guarding the house hereafter.”