“Yes,” she admitted, “I had heard she was at home, and I know only too well that Ben has been drinking more than ever of late. I can see that it is hurting Uncle Philip very much. He has always believed that when Ben sows what he calls his wild oats he will change and be a man, but I’ve doubted it. There isn’t anything you can do, not a thing; but I shall go to see Mary, and try to make her feel better.” She looked earnestly at Justin, riding beside her. He had put aside the checked business suit of gray, and was clad roughly, as became his muddy calling. Yet how manly he was, however he dressed; how broad his shoulders, how sturdy and well-knit his frame, how clear and open his countenance, and how intelligent and attractive the flash of his eyes, as he conversed with her! She knew that she loved him more than ever. “One would never dream that you are related to Ben!” “I hope I am not like him, even though he is my half-brother.” “You aren’t, not in the least; I don’t think I could like you so well as I do if you were.” “Then you do like me?” He looked at her, smiling. “It would be only natural for me to like the man I have promised to marry, wouldn’t it?” “I was merely hoping that you love me; like is too mild a word.” Then they began to talk again of that delightful day, ever hastening nearer, as they believed, when they should be not merely lovers, but husband and wife. It was a pleasant dream, and they lingered by the way, as they contemplated its beauties. As they thus talked and loitered, Ben Davison came driving by in his clog-cart, with Clem Arkwright. Arkwright’s pudgy form was not quite so pudgy, for he had not lived as well of late, but his face and nose were as red as ever, and his old manner had not forsaken him. He bowed elaborately to both Lucy and Justin. “A great day,” he called, “a glorious day, and the old mountain is grand; just take a glance at it now and then as you ride along; you’ll never see anything finer!” Ben did not look at Justin; but to Lucy he shouted: “I’m going to town to sell the horse and dogcart. I told you I would. Arkwright knows a man who will buy them.” When Lucy called on Mary, she heard details of a story which Mary had not ventured to hint to Justin. Mary had made a discovery too long delayed. Ben’s frequent visits to Denver were not merely to see her; the real attraction was Sibyl Dudley. Sibyl was the recipient of most of the money Ben had been able to wring from his father or gain at gambling. Her calls for money had increased his recklessness. Sibyl was the horse-leech’s daughter, crying ever for more, and Ben was weak.