“You don’t need any,” he broke in. “I mean any more than you have now. I’m not marrying your clothes, dear—I’m marrying _you_. Sh! Listen! There _is_ some one over there in the brush. Damn his sneaking eyes! I’ll—” “Don’t! Don’t go down there!” she cried, clutching his arm. “You must not leave me alone. I’m—I’m afraid, Ollie. I am always afraid when I am near that awful swamp. No matter if some one did see us. Let him go. Besides, it may have been a dog or some other animal—” “Let’s walk down the road a little way, Jane,” said he stubbornly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll stick close beside you.” “You won’t go down into the swamp?” she cried anxiously. “No. Just along the road.” They ran down the little embankment into the road. She clung tightly to his arm, feeling strangely secure in the rigid strength of it—and proud of it, as well. The night was dark, the road among the trees darker still. After fifteen or twenty paces, Oliver pressed her arm warningly and stopped to listen. Ahead of them, some distance away, they heard footfalls—the slow, regular tread of a man walking in the road. “I will not go a step farther,” she whispered, holding back as he started to go forward. He submitted. They stood still, listening. Suddenly the footfalls ceased. “He knows we have stopped,” said Oliver. “He’s listening to see if we are following.” She was silent for a moment. “You remember what I said about being spied upon, Oliver. I feel it, I feel it all about me. You are being watched all the time, Oliver. Oh, how hateful, how unfair!” He put his arm around her. “Jane dear, I am just beginning to understand. They really suspect me. They really think I may have had a hand in—Why, curse them, they—” “Hush, Oliver!” she cried softly. “The very worst thing you can do is to fly into a rage over this silly—” “Oh, my Lord!” he gasped, drawing back in sheer astonishment. “_You_ too, Jane? I’ve heard nothing for twenty years but—Hang it all, dear, I _want_ to get mad! I want to rage like a lion and tear things to pieces. Every time I frown the whole blamed town smooths my back and says ‘Now-now!’ And Joe Sikes and Silas Link—” “I know, I know,” she interrupted gently. “But you mustn’t, just the same. You must treat this thing as a—a sort of joke.” Many seconds passed before he spoke. “It’s pretty difficult to see anything humorous in being suspected of—Oh, I can’t even say it! It’s too awful—too unspeakable!” “We’d better be going back to the house, Oliver,” she began. “See here, Jane, I’ve been thinking. It’s wrong for me to ask you to marry me till all this mess is over. It’s wrong for me to even ask you to consider yourself engaged to me. We must wait. I mean it, dear. I’m under a cloud. There’s no getting around that fact. The—” “Nobody believes you had anything to do with—”