A shadow in the beautiful dark eyes, a half-tone lowering of the voice, and a general indifference of manner, as Elinor answered: “I'm sure I don't know anything about him, except that he's coming back next year.” Dr. Fenneben read the whole story in the words and manner of the answer, and he smiled grimly as he thought of Burgess and of the conflict of Wream against Wream if Elinor and his brother Joshua ever came to the clash of arms. But he was too weak now to direct matters. And meantime, while Lagonda Ledge was holding its breath in anxiety and dread, and all the churches were joining in union prayer service for the life of their beloved Dean Fenneben, and the college year was ending in a halting between hope and dread--meantime, the same queries of Dr. Fenneben as to motives were also queries in Professor Burgess' mind. To the school and the town Dr. Fenneben's recovery was the only thing asked for. There was as yet no clew regarding the cause of the assault. Bond Saxon had avoided Burgess since the event, so the young man himself made occasion to get Bond up into Dr. Fenneben's study one June day just before commencement. “Saxon,” he said gravely, “you are a man of sense, and you know that there's something wrong about this Fenneben assault. You've put up some smooth stories about our happening to be out at the bend of the river that night, so I guess suspicion will be turned from us all right when Lagonda Ledge gets time to think about causes; but I must be let into the truth now.” Burgess was adamant now. For a little while the old man looked away through the study window at the prairie empire to be found for the looking. “Do you see that little twist of blue smoke over west?” he queried presently. “What of it?” Burgess asked. “Nothing, only the man huddlin' down round the fire makin' that smoke way down where it's cold and dark, that's the man who--say, Professor!” Old Bond looked up appealingly, and the pitiful face touched Burgess' heart. “What is it, Saxon? Be frank now, but be fair, too. Sooner or later, this thing must be run down. Fenneben will do it himself, anyhow, as soon as he's well enough.” “Professor, I have asked you twice if you'd be good to Dennie--” “Yes, yes; you always come back to that. Anybody would be good to her, and she's a capable girl who does n't need anybody's care, anyhow. Now, go on.” “I will”--it seemed an heroic resolve--“I asked this for Dennie, because my own life is never safe.” “So you have said. Why not?” Burgess insisted. There was no way to evade the question now. “That's my own business--just a little longer,” Bond answered slowly. “One thing more; I want your promise not to tell what I say--yet awhile. It can't hurt anyone to keep still, and it will help some folks.” “Oh, I'll help you all I can.” Burgess's kindly patience now was strangely unlike the aristocratic, resentful man to whom old Bond Saxon had appealed one stormy October night.