He wanted to tell her all about it, as he had told her of other things touching his inner life, and she had repulsed him--driven him away--to Evelyn Duncan. A sob struggled up in her bosom and forced its way to the surface. XII A WEEK later Pole Baker came back from Darley on foot. He was covered with dust, his clothing was soiled and torn, his hair unkempt. He looked thinner; his big eyes seemed to burn in their sockets as if fed by the slow oil of despair. He paused at the well at the court-house to get a drink of water. He drank copiously from the big wooden bucket, and wiped his mouth on the back of his dusty hand. It was a very quiet afternoon at Springtown; scarcely any one was in sight. Pole moved over to the steps of the public building and sat down in abject indecision. “The Lord knows I ort to go on home to Sally an' the childem,” he groaned, “but how kin I?--how kin I?” He sat there for half an hour, his head hanging, his great hands twitching nervously. Presently a shadow fell on the ground before him, and, looking up, he saw a negro boy extending a letter to him. “A man told me ter give you dis here, Mr. Baker,” the boy said. “What man?” Pole asked, as he took the communication. “I didn't know 'im, suh. I never seed 'im before. He looked ter me like a mountain man. He was ridin' a little white mule, an' as soon as he gimme de letter an' tol me whar you was a settin' he whipped his mule an' rid off.” Pole held the letter in his hand till the boy had gone, then he tore the envelope open and read it. It slipped from his inert fingers to the ground, and Pole, with glaring eyes, picked it up and read it again and again. To him it was worse than a death-blow.