I looked to Graham and he followed the direction of my gaze to the work-bench, where Sam stood with his back to it, his worn hands folded quietly before him. He seemed a little whiter than usual, I thought; and perhaps it was only my fancy that made him appear to tremble ever so slightly. For he was quite calm and self-possessed--so much so that I realised for the first time there was another man in Radville besides myself who did not fear old Colonel Bohun. "I'm here, colonel," he said quietly. "What is it you wish?" The colonel swung on him, shaking with passion. But he held his tongue until he had mastered himself somewhat: a feat of self-restraint on his part over which I marvel to this day. "You know well, Graham," he said presently. "You got my letter--the letter I wrote you a week ago?" "Yes," said Sam, with a start of comprehension. "Yes, I got it." "Then why the devil, man, don't you answer it?" Sam's apologetic smile sweetened his face. "Why," he said haltingly--"I'm sure I meant no offence, but--you see, I'm a very busy man--I forgot it." "The hell you forgot it. D'ye expect me to believe that, man?" "I'm afraid you'll have to." Bohun was speechless for a moment, stricken dumb by a second seizure of fury. But again he calmed himself. "Very well. I'll swallow that insolence for the present--" "It wasn't meant as such, I assure--" "Don't interrupt me! D'you hear? ... I've come for my answer. Yes, I've come down to that, Graham. If you can't accord me the common courtesy of a written reply--I've come to hear it from your mouth." Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Mebbe," he said, "you forgot you have failed to accord me the common courtesy of any sort of a communication whatever for twenty years, Colonel Bohun. Even when my wife, your daughter, died, you ignored my message asking you to her funeral...." "Be silent!" screamed the colonel. "Do you think I'm here to bandy words with you, fool? I demand my answer." "And as for that," continued Sam as evenly as if he had not been interrupted, "your proposition was so preposterous that it could have come only from you, and deserved no answer. But since you want it formally, sir, it's no." For a moment I feared Bohun would have a stroke. The back of the chair I had just vacated and his stick alone supported him through that dumb, terrible transport. He shook so violently that I looked momentarily to see the chair break beneath him. There was insanity in his eyes. When finally he was able to articulate it was in broken gasps. "I don't believe it," he stammered. "It's a lie. I don't believe it. It's madness--the girl wouldn't be so mad. ..." "What is it, father?"