"Dode? Don't speak of her, boy! I'm sick! Kneel down an' pray,--the Lord's Prayer,--that's enough,--mother taught me that,"--baring his gray head, while Gaunt, his worn face turned to the sky, said the old words over. "Forgive," he muttered,--"resist not evil,"--some fragments vexing his brain. "Did He mean that? David boy? Did He mean His people to trust in God to right them as He did? Pah! times is different now,"--pulling his hat over his forehead to go. "Good bye, David!" "Where are you going?" "I don't mind tellin' you,--you'll keep it. Bone's bringin' a horse yonder to the road. I'm goin' to warn the boys to be ready, an' help 'em,--at the Gap, you know?" "The Gap? Merciful God, no!" cried Gaunt. "Go back"---- The words stopped in his throat. What if he met this man there? Scofield looked at him, bewildered. "Thar's no danger," he said, calmly. "Yer nerves are weak. But yer love for me's true, David. That's sure,"--with a smile. "But I've got to warn the boys. Good bye,"--hesitating, his face growing red. "Ye'll mind, ef anything should happen,--what I writ in the Book,--once,--'The Lord be between me an' thee,' dead or alive? Them's good, friendly words. Good bye! God bless you, boy!" Gaunt wrung his hand, and watched him as he turned to the road. He saw Bone meet him, leading a horse. As the old man mounted, he turned, and, seeing Gaunt, nodded cheerfully, and going down the hill began to whistle. "Ef I should never come back, he kin tell Dode I hed a light heart at th' last," he thought. But when he was out of hearing, the whistle stopped, and he put spurs to the horse. Counting the hours, the minutes,--a turbid broil of thought in his brain, of Dode sitting alone, of George and his murderers, "stiffening his courage,"--right and wrong mixing each other inextricably together. If, now and then, a shadow crossed him of the meek Nazarene leaving this word to His followers, that, let the world do as it would, _they_ should resist not evil, he thrust it back. It did not suit to-day. Hours passed. The night crept on towards morning, colder, stiller. Faint bars of gray fell on the stretch of hill-tops, broad and pallid. The shaggy peaks blanched whiter in it. You could hear from the road-bushes the chirp of a snow-bird, wakened by the tramp of his horse, or the flutter of its wings. Overhead, the stars disappeared, like flakes of fire going out; the sky came nearer, tinged with healthier blue. He could see the mountain where the Gap was, close at hand, but a few miles distant.