“Your sister is my wife, and I will not brook interference in my family,” said Clinton, in that same tone of suppressed passion. “That is my child, and I will do with him as I think best. Norine, I command you, put him down!” and he glowered at her, with his face white with passion. “Oh, Clinton--Jim, please do not get angry! See, the dear baby is asleep now, and I will lay him on the bed,” and Norine made a trembling move toward the door. “Let me have him,” said Clinton, starting forward; but Jim stood between them, quiet, but very determined. “Out of my way!” cried Clinton, trying to push him one side. Jim put his hands on the other’s shoulders and pushed him back. “I am not going to move,” he said. “You shall not abuse either the child or its mother.” Clinton, white-faced and raging, sprang forward and seized him around the waist. Jim tried to shake him off in vain, until, losing his own head, he struck the white, upturned face, once, twice, thrice. Clinton staggered back, with his face covered with blood, and laid his hand on the table to support himself. It closed upon a knife lying there. Then there was a spring forward, a savage yell, a cry from Norine, a slamming open of the doors, and Clinton Percival had rushed out into the storm, leaving Jim Bright weltering in his blood upon the floor. “I knew hit was er comin’,” cried Mrs. Higgins, as, after stanching the flow of blood, and bringing Norine back to consciousness, she was running along the road in search of help. “I knew hit was er comin’. He’s a-took ter ther mountain, an’ he’ll never get across alive, thank ther Lord! Oh, Doctor Conway, is that you? Is that you, doctor?” and her voice rose to a shriek. “Yes, yes!” cried Conway, bending down from the little rough pony. “Who is it?” “Norine, doctor--quick!” gasped Mrs. Higgins; and she had hardly uttered the name before the doctor was rushing the little pony through the wind in the wildest way possible. It was late that night--or rather, early the next morning--when a dark figure went skulking through the woods in the direction of the old shanty. Reaching this, he skulked into the darkest corner, looking far more like a wild animal than a human being. He had hardly stretched himself down when the sound of approaching voices made him start out of his lair. They were too close; he dare not try the door; so, with one spring, he seized the low rafters overhead and drew himself up on them. The voices were those of Doctor Conway and the elder Higgins. “Are you sure?” the doctor was saying. “Dead sure, doctor,” replied the other voice. “They seed him goin’ directly fer ther ravine; he’s dead, doc--deader nor a door nail.” “Do you think the body can be recovered?” inquired Conway. “Hit might be, doc,” replied Higgins, striking a light for his pipe; “but, yer see, ther branch is purty full now, an’ ef he’s found at all, it’ll be way down below. How’s Jim?”