The news was not received as she expected. Elvira put back her bonnet from the soft rings of short hair that lay about her head. She fixed her dark eyes on Alethea in doubting surprise. “Waal,” she demanded, as if herself sitting in judgment, “who killed Tad?” “Tad be alive ez I be!” cried Alethea, harried by the reawakening of those questions which she had thought were forever set at rest. “An’ did the jury say sech?” Elvira asked. It might have seemed that with the breach between her and Mink irreparable, she was not rejoiced to hear of his good fortune. “The jury couldn’t ’gree,” said Alethea breathlessly. “The rescuers tuk him out.” “Sech ez that be agin the law,” said Elvira staidly. “I ain’t keerin’ fur the law!” cried Alethea. “He hev done no harm, an’ all the kentry knowed it. An’ ’twarn’t right ter keep him cooped in jail. So they tuk him out.” She lifted her head and smiled. Ah, did she indeed look upon a wintry landscape with those eyes? So irradiated with the fine lights of joy, so soft, they were, it might seem they could reflect only endless summers. The gaunt, bleak mountains shivered in the niggardliness of the averted sun; the wind tossed her loose locks of golden hair from beneath her brown bonnet as if they were flouts to the paler beams. Elvira looked down at her with the pitiless enmity of envy. “Waal,” she said, “’twixt ye two ye hev done me a powerful mean turn. Mink kep’ a-tryin’ ter cut out Pete Rood till I didn’t know my own mind. An’ then ye a-tellin’ them tales ’bout harnts till Pete drapped dead,—ye knowin’ he hed heart-disease! Yes, sir, he’s dead; buried right over yander in the graveyard o’ the church-house in the cove. An’ I reckon ye be sati’fied now,—ef _ye kin_ be sati’fied.” She looked away over the swift flow of the river, and began to fleck her shoe with the hickory switch she carried. Alethea’s face fell. She still stood holding the mare’s rein, but aunt Dely’s voice had broken upon the silence. For Bluff had followed Alethea when she turned from the main road, and had refused to be guided by Mrs. Purvine’s acrid remonstrance. As to Jerry, he was stalking on ahead, unaware that the others were not close on his steps. Sawing upon the ropes on Bluff’s horns which served for reins, Mrs. Purvine succeeded in drawing him up when she reached the spot where the two girls stood. She suddenly joined in the conversation with an astute intention. “Yes, sir, Mink’s out,” she said, confirming her niece’s statement. “An’ ye’ll hev ter do mighty little tollin’ ter git him back agin, Elviry,” she added beguilingly. “I don’t want no jail-bird roun’ me,” said Elvira, with a toss of her head.