"I want you to tell Simon Odd to bring him here," he said. Then he smiled. "I intend him to spend the night with me. That is, until the first log comes down the river."
"What are you going to do?"
The man's smile increased in tenderness.
"Don't worry your little head about that, Betty," he said. "There are things which must be said between us. Things which only men can say to men. I promise you he will be free to go when the mill starts work—but not until then." His eyes grew stern. "I owe you so much, Betty," he went on, "that I must be frank with you. So much depends upon our starting work again that I cannot let him go until that happens."
"And if—just supposing—that does not happen—I mean, supposing, through his agency, the mill remains idle?"
"I cannot answer you. I have only one thing to add." Dave had raised himself upon his elbow, and his face was hard and set. "No man may bring ruin upon a community to satisfy his own mean desires, his revenge, however that revenge may be justified. If we fail, if Malkern is to be made to suffer through that man—God help him!"
The girl was facing him now. Her two hands were outstretched appealingly.
"But, Dave, should you judge him? Have you the right? Surely there is but one judge, and His alone is the right to condemn weak, erring human nature. Surely it is not for you—us."
Dave dropped back upon his pillow. There was no relenting in his eyes.
"His own work shall judge him," he said in a hard voice. "What I may do is between him and me."