The stranger bore with an admirable calmness the stare of amazement which Mrs. Strobe and Isabel fixed upon him. Marcella, who had seen him wielding the hammer at the forge, felt her capacity for surprise blunted. She was prepared to hear anything. Mrs. Strobe’s lower jaw dropped a little in dismay. She was sufficiently sophisticated to know that a physician might have slain his fellow-men in the regular course of business without finding it desirable to seclude himself in the mountains with the ostracized Baintree. Her inevitable conclusion was quickly reached,—it was not in the regular course of business; he was, doubtless, a fugitive from the law, hiding in the wilderness from the officers of justice. So simple a solution of the mystery was it that it had also forced itself irresistibly on both Marcella and Isabel, who gazed upon him with mingled pity, and awe, and repugnance. His hazel eyes were fixed upon the fire, and now and again he lifted the glass of apple-jack to his lips. Despite the definiteness of Mrs. Strobe’s convictions in general, when an emergency or perplexity supervened, she was less ready to reach a decision than her granddaughter. “We ain’t got no call ter tell, sure,” said Marcella. “Dad would hev been dead ef he hedn’t kem ter holp us.” “He would!” echoed Isabel. “Yes, sir! We hev got Eli agin, some sim’lar ter what he useter was,” said the old woman, recovering herself in her recollection of her ascendency over her big son. “An’ what war ye a-doin’ of in the forge?” she demanded, turning her lively eye on Baintree. He looked down into his glass and shook it gently, watching the amber and ruby light of the fire as it struck through the liquor. He made no pretense of consultation with his friend; he answered for him:— “Waal, I’d ez soon tell ye ez not, Mis’ Strobe.” He grinned significantly as he nodded at the physician, who had chanced to glance at the bed where his patient lay. The demonstration said as plainly as if he had spoken, “Some day when _he_ is away, I will tell you all.” The old woman nodded her acquiescence and comprehension, and as the stranger abruptly turned his head he came very near surprising them at this telegraphy. Mrs. Strobe spoke precipitately to cover her confusion:— “I’ll be powerful pleased, the Lord knows, not ter tell nuthin’. I be a mighty partic’lar woman with my words. Folks hev got ter be, ef thar kin hev dealin’s in politics. Mos’ly ef ye tell the truth ye’ll prosper, but them in pol’tics air ez ’feard o’ the truth ez a toper o’ cold water. Jes’ gin ’em the fac’s, an’ they’ll see snakes! Ye needn’t be ’feard I’ll tell the truth, stranger,”—that sly, superficially grave look on her thin lips. “I hev seen too much mis’ry kem from sech practices.”