“I want to tell you something,” she said, when they were striding along the country road. “There is no William Vane. I lied about him. I made him up.” Gay laughed. “Of course. We knew that, Henrietta.” “I suppose so. I was clumsy--toward the last. I was worried. About Freeman.” Gay closed her lips firmly. “Freeman is my husband,” said Henrietta. For a full minute Gay said nothing. “Is that another lie?” she asked then, but her voice was choked. “I deserve that,” said Henrietta. “No, it is not a lie. It is the full truth. Freeman is my husband. He is also a thief. He stole from Johnnie Alberson. That is why he fled. So, you see, we are a nice couple--a thief and a liar.” Strangely enough, Lorna put her arm around Henrietta's waist. Gay stopped short. The next moment she was at the side of the road, sunk down upon the grass, her face buried in her arms, sobbing. Lorna went to her, and Henrietta stood before her. “He is not worth it,” she said, meaning Gay's tears. “Oh, I know! I know!” Gay wept. “It's not that. I don't know what it is. I did n't like him. I hated him. I knew he was bad. I don't know what's the matter. I'm just so miserable! I'm so wicked; so mean!” “Don't cry; don't cry, Gay,” Lorna was begging. “Well, I can't help it. I've been so mean to him; to Car--to Carter. And he loves--he loves me so. He's so good and--and good and--and I've been so--” “Hush! It will be all right, Gay,” Lorna comforted. “Stop now. Pretend you've not been crying, anyway; here comes a farmer.” Gay wiped her eyes and looked down the road. Up the hill a rig was coming slowly, one flat wheel thumping the road with a rattle of loose tire at each revolution, while it, or another wheel, screeched nerve-rackingly. In the shafts was an aged gray horse that stopped now and then to swish its tail and turn its head in an attempt to biteahorsefly on its withers. In the cart sat a fat man, a very fat man, and he objurgated the old horse vociferously. “Dod-baste you!” he cried. “Get along there. Giddap! Go on! Dod-baste you, you're enough to make a saint swear, you old lummox, you!” Saint Harvey of Riverbank was returning from his travels. CHAPTER XXV That noon Henrietta hurried across the road to the Bruce mansion and found Judge Bruce on the porch, wiping his face and resting, after his walk up the hill, before going in for his midday meal. “Carter here?” she asked rather breathlessly. “Why, no, he ain't,” said the old Judge. “Set down, won't you, Henrietta? Hot day. No, Carter ain't home. He's gone on a trip. Out to Nevada or somewhere. Some sort of business Johnnie Alberson sent him off on. Wasn't nothing I'd do as well at, was it?” It was not. “Johnnie Alberson sent him?” exclaimed Henrietta. “That's right,” said the Judge. “Looks sort of suspicious to me,” he added with a twinkle. “Ain't ever heard of Johnnie having a wife, have you? Nevada's where folks go to get rid of them entangling alliances, I've heard tell.”