“Then,” she said, with a shrug, “we will forget about it.” “You are trying,” he said, “to make me feel ashamed because I am afraid. It is useless. I shall not be ashamed. It is natural I should be afraid. Self-preservation dictates fear. The emotion of fear was implanted in man and animals as a--er--safety device to prevent them from incurring dangers. No, I am not in the least ashamed.... Fortunately, reason has been provided as well as fear, and, consequently, if reason counsels a course of action which fear would veto, it is only natural that intelligence should govern.... Reason should always control emotion. Therefore, apprehensive as I am of unpleasant consequences to myself, I shall proceed with the investigation as indicated.” His tone was final. There was no boasting in his statement, only the logical presentation of a fact. He was afraid, but his reason indicated to him that it was worth his while to subject himself to the hazards of the situation. Therefore he subordinated fear. But Carmel--responsibility sat upon her heavily in that moment. She had ordered or goaded a human being into risking his person, perhaps his life. That phase of it had not presented itself to her. She was sending a man into danger, and the responsibility of her doing so arose stark before her. “I--I have no right,” she said, hesitatingly. “I was wrong. I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger.” “Unfortunately,” said Evan Pell, “you have no vote in the matter. I have made the decision.... Of course, you may dispense with my services, but that will not affect my conduct. I shall find out what became of Sheriff Churchill and put myself in a position to lay before the proper authorities substantiated facts covering all phases of his disappearance.” “But----” He raised his hand, palm toward her. “My decision is final,” he said, with asperity. CHAPTER VIII Gibeon was so accustomed to Abner Fownes that it took him for granted, as if he were a spell of weather, or the Opera House which had been erected in 1881, or the river which flowed through the town, tumultuously in spring and parsimoniously in the heat of summer when its moisture was most sorely needed. On the whole, Abner bore more resemblance to the river than to either weather or Opera House. He was tumultuous when he could do most damage, and ran in a sort of trickle when such genius as he had might be of greater service. On the whole, the village was glad it possessed Abner. He was its show piece, and they compared him with the show citizens of adjacent centers of population.