“You want to look out for him,” Jim had ventured to warn the girl, when the two were alone together for a moment. “Do you mean father?” Lydia asked. “What else should I do? It is all I live for—just to look out for father.” Had she been a martyr bound to the stake, the faggots piled about her slim body, her face might have worn just that expression of high resignation and contempt for danger and suffering. The young man walked slowly on. He wanted time to think. Besides—he glanced down with a quick frown of annoyance at his mud-splashed clothing—he certainly cut a queer figure for a call. Some one was standing on the doorstep talking to Fanny, as he approached his own home. Another instant and he had recognized Wesley Elliot. He stopped behind a clump of low-growing trees, and watched. Fanny, framed in the dark doorway, glowed like a rose. Jim saw her bend forward, smiling; saw the minister take both her hands in his and kiss them; saw Fanny glance quickly up and down the empty road, as if apprehensive of a chance passerby. Then the minister, his handsome head bared to the cold wind, waved her farewell and started at a brisk pace down the road. Jim waited till the door had closed lingeringly on the girl; then he stepped forth from his concealment and waited. Abreast of him Elliot stopped; aware, it would seem, of the menace in the other man’s eyes. “You wished to speak with me?” he began. “Speak with you—no! I want to kick you.” The minister eyed him indignantly. “What do you mean?” “You sneaking hypocrite! do you think I don’t know what has happened? You threw Fanny down, when Lydia Orr came to town; you thought my sister wasn’t good enough—nor rich enough for a handsome, eloquent clergyman like you. But when you learned her father was a convict—” “Stop!” cried Elliot. “You don’t understand!” “I don’t? Well, I guess I come pretty near it. And not content with telling Lydia’s pitiful secret to all the busybodies in town, you come to Fanny with your smug explanations. My God! I could kill you!” The minister’s face had hardened during this speech. “See here,” he said. “You are going too far.” “Do you deny that you’ve made love to both my sister and Miss Orr?” demanded Jim. Physically the minister was no coward. He measured the slight, wiry figure of his wrathful opponent with a coolly appraising eye. “My relations with Miss Orr are none of your business,” he reminded Jim. “As for your sister—” “Damn you!” cried Jim. The minister shrugged his shoulders. “If you’ll listen to reason,” he suggested pacifically. “I saw you kiss my sister’s hand! I tell you I’ll not have you hanging around the place, after what’s gone. You may as well understand it.” Wesley Elliot reflected briefly. “There’s one thing you ought to know,” he said, controlling his desire to knock Fanny’s brother into the bushes. A scornful gesture bade him to proceed.