“I assure you, sir,” said Carter, in a rage that any one should dare to doubt a lady’s word, “I assure you that what Miss Kennedy says is strictly true. I can vouch for her word.” “And who are you that I should believe you either?” Carter’s hand flew to his pistols. “I am a Virginian, and a gentleman. You shall answer to me for your insults, sir. Miss Kennedy, I insist that you retire. No further speech is necessary with this--” “Stop a minute, Carter,” Agnes interrupted him. “I did not expect to be met with courtesy. I told you that. It is not for your sake, Humphrey Muirhead, that I tell you this; I have taken the trouble to come here for Honey’s sake and for your wife’s.” She laid her hand on the child’s head, “And I swear to you by the affection I have for this dear, innocent child, that what I say is absolutely true. I know that we will profit by your going, but you will have to go sometime if not to-morrow or a week from now--you know that.” “I don’t know it,” returned Humphrey, grimly. “You’ll be put out if you don’t get out,” put in Carter, hastily. “There are enough men about here to accomplish it without much trouble.” “Some of ’em will never try it agin,” persisted Humphrey. “I’ve held out against the Injuns, and I guess I kin hold out against white men by force of arms.” “O dear! he is hopeless,” cried Agnes. “What can I do to make him see his danger?” “Don’t try,” said Carter, curtly. “But I must. He may defy the law, and he may commit murder, but it will be worse for him in the end. Can’t you see that? Oh, you foolish, foolish man, can’t you see that it will be worse for you if you stay? What if you do succeed for a time in keeping away these men, you cannot do it for long, and your days will be miserable, for you will be watched and hunted till you have to give up at last. And if you commit murder in trying to prevent attack, you will have to suffer a double penalty, that which they intend for you now and that which the law metes out to a murderer. Oh, can’t you see?” Agnes spoke in an imploring voice, but seemed to make no impression upon Humphrey. She clasped Honey in her arms. “Honey, Honey, oh, dear little lad, tell your father that it is all true! Ask him for your sake--say it Honey, say, ‘Dad, for Honey’s sake.’” “Dad, for Honey’s sake,” obediently repeated the child, in his little persuasive voice. The man’s eyes sought the face of his little son, and he stood looking gloomily toward the pair, Agnes kneeling there with her arms around Honey. A long silence ensued, at last broken by Humphrey. “I believe ye, girl. I don’t see why ye did it, unless because of the young un there, but I reckon you’re right, and it’s all up with me. Maybe I ought to thank ye, but I feel more like--” he paused really abashed by the expression on Carter’s face, for the boy was glaring at him like a tiger. “This is the last ye’ll see of Honey,” he added half maliciously.