From the doorstep Essie looked up at him. Then, as he prepared to sit down beside her, she drew away, blushing primly. "I am going to be married," said she. "I think I ought to tell you." David grew suddenly pale. If a pigeon had turned from his caress to attack him with talons, if a board from his walk had arisen to smite him, he could not have been more astounded. "To whom?" said he. "I am going to marry Alvin." "Alvin who?" asked David, bewildered. "Alvin Koehler." Then was David's pride wounded! He wished Essie well with a steady voice, however, and went on to the post-office and back to his house and sat down on the dark back porch. How he hated them all, these miserable people, but how he hated most of all Alvin Koehler. It was not, he remembered, the first time that Alvin had been preferred to him. He thought again of William, gibbering and praying in the corner of the almshouse garden. God had put him there. It was a proof that God existed that he had punished Alvin's father. And Alvin should be punished, too. David knew of the mortgage among his father's papers. It was only by his father's grace that the Koehlers had been allowed to live so long on the mountain-side. That house should continue in their possession no longer. Other schemes for revenge came into his mind. He sat miserably, his head buried in his hands as though he were a tramp waiting for food instead of the heir of the house come home to take possession. He did not hear the sound of a step on the brick walk. Suddenly, a girl screamed lightly and he lifted his head, then sprang to his feet. "What is it?" he cried to the ghostly figure. "Who are you?" "I didn't mean to scream," said Katy Gaumer. "I didn't see you at first and I was frightened. I thought it was some stranger." "It is I," said David, gruffly. Katy's figure had seemed like an apparition in the dim light; he had been horribly startled. "I want to see you, David," said Katy, hesitatingly. "I have something I must talk to you about." "I'll make a light inside." "I'd rather talk here," said Katy. "I'll sit here on the step. I don't believe any one will come." David offered her a chair. The blood was pounding in his temples, his wrists felt weak. Katy had already seated herself on the low step. David sat on a chair on the porch; he could see her as she propped her elbows on her knees and made a cup for her chin with her hands. David breathed deeply; old habit was reasserting itself. Then he saw that Katy was trembling; to his amazement he heard her crying. "You aren't well, Katy!" "Yes," said Katy. "But I have a duty to do. It is hard. It nearly kills me." David's thoughts leaped wildly from one possibility to another. What had she done? What could she have done? Here was Katy in a new light, weeping, distressed. "What is it, Katy? Don't be afraid to tell me."