A storm was brewing. There had been scarcely any rain or snow thus far, but a damp wind from the south had shut away the mountain behind dark and threatening clouds. The Judge found he was needed at the mine that morning, but had promised Evaleen he would be back the next night, to make Christmas eve as merry as possible for them both--separated from the others. By staying one night at the mine he could, without doubt, return on the morrow. He had kissed her good-bye and left her looking out of the window in the gloom of the early day. Fifteen minutes later she heard his heavy tread again on the stairs, and he stormed into the room. “See here, daughter!” he panted in indignation, “I’ve just heard of the ---- ---- (I beg your pardon, child); I mean the shameful trick that that cur of a Zeke Runkle played on young Sherwood. Sherwood has just told me--just heard of it himself. Have you heard anything about it? No? Well, I thought not--I thought not! It seems everybody around the place, though, has known of it all along--but us. Why didn’t anybody tell me? Hey? What? Yes; but why didn’t anybody tell me, I want to know! Ah, they knew better. I’d have told Sherwood that he’d been played for a sucker! Yes, sir!” (forgetting his audience again) “and a ---- shame it is, too! There I go again--but I don’t know when anything has so worked me up!” “But, Daddy, what is it?” faltered Evaleen. “What has happened? I don’t understand.” “What has happened?” shouted the Judge. “Everything has happened--everything. Of course, you don’t understand. I don’t, myself--all of it. Somebody (I haven’t found out yet who, but I will!) put up that miserable old rascal--that drunken thief of a Zeke Runkle--to palming off on Sherwood as a bona fide mine, the worst fake I ever heard of. Hey? What? Why! a dug-out, I tell you--a hole in the cliff--a tunnel-like cellar-above-ground, if you want, that Crazy Dan, it seems, used to store away bacon, and flour, and potatoes in, more than thirty years ago. Just an old store-room, nothing else. That’s what! Made him a present of it (the foxy old rascal) so the law couldn’t touch him. Oh, he’s a clever swindler! I’m sorry for Sherwood--mighty sorry for him. I like the fellow; there’s good stuff in him. It’s a ---- A--hum! But, for the life of me I can’t see old Zeke’s object; for he made nothing by it. Somebody must have put him up to it--mark my words. And I’d like to know who.” Who had done it? Evaleen was again hearing Cadwallader’s laugh, and the words, “An amusing sequel to the story.” And “I’ll tell you some day.” He need not tell her now. She knew; and she knew why. All that day she stayed within her room. She felt she couldn’t see Sherwood in his humiliation; and Cadwallader she wouldn’t see.