The correspondence, so far as Betty was responsible for it, bore just on one point. She wanted Charley to promise that for a time, at least, he would not attempt to see her. It seemed such a needless risk to take, couldn't he be satisfied if he heard from her every day? Charley was regretful, but firm. Just as soon as he could mount his horse he would ride down to Belle Plain. She was not to distress herself on his account; he had been surprised, but this should not happen again. The calm manner in which he put aside her fears for his safety exasperated Betty beyond measure. She scolded him vigorously. Charley accepted the scolding with humility, but his resolution was unshaken; he did not propose to vacate the public roads at any man's behest; that would be an unwise precedent to establish. Betty replied that this was not a matter in which silly vanity should enter, even if his life was of no value to himself it did not follow that she held it lightly. It required some eight closely written pages for Charley to explain why existence would be an unsupportable burden if he were denied the sight of her. A week had intervened since the attack, and from Jeff, who always brought Charley's letters, Betty learned more of Charley's condition than Charley himself had seen fit to tell. According to Jeff his master was now able to get around pretty tolerable well, though he had a powerful keen misery in his side. “That was whar' they done kicked him most, Miss,” he added. Betty shuddered. “How much longer will he be confined to the house?” she asked. “I heard him 'low to Mas'r Carrington, Miss, as how he reckoned he'd take a hossback ride to-morrow evenin' if the black and blue was all come out of his features--” “Oh--” gasped Betty. “Seems like they was mighty careless whar' they put their feet, don't it, Miss?” said Jeff. It was this information she gleaned from Jeff that led Betty to desperate lengths, to the making of what her cooler judgment told her was a desperate bargain. At Thicket Point Charley Norton, greatly excited, hobbled into the library in search of Carrington. He found him reading by the open window. “Look here, Bruce!” he cried. “It's settled; she's going to marry me!” The book slipped unheeded from Carrington's hand to the floor. For a moment he sat motionless, then he slowly pulled himself up out of his chair. “What's that?” he asked a trifle thickly. “Betty Malroy is going to marry me,” said Norton. Carrington gazed at him in silence. “It's settled, is it?” he asked at length. He saw his own hopes go down in miserable wreck; they had been utterly futile from the first. He had known all along that Norton loved her, the young planter had made no secret of it. He had been less frank. “I swear you take it quietly enough,” said Norton. “Do I?” “Can't you wish me joy?” Carrington held out his hand. “You are not going to take any risks now, you have too much to live for,” he said haltingly.