"You know too dern much," he said and walked away, leaving behind a thoroughly dissatisfied woman. But Mrs. Hardesty did not know how deeply she had cut nor how he raged inwardly as he hurried homeward through the night. Several days later he boldly climbed the meadow fence, and, for the first time since the fight, started across Justine's property on a short cut to the hills. What his object was in going to the hills in the dusk of that evening he himself did not clearly understand, but at the bottom of it all was the desire to intrude upon forbidden ground. Beneath the ugliness of his motive, however, there lurked a certain timidity. He was conscious that he was trespassing, and he knew she would not like it. But if she saw him cross the meadow, he never knew. His intention had been, of course, to attract her notice, and he was filled with disappointment. Late in the night he walked back from the hills. There was a light in one of her rear windows, and he peered eagerly from the garden fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. When Yank began to bark, he threw stones at the faithful brute and stood his ground, trusting that she would come to the door. He cursed when old Mrs. Crane appeared in the yard, calling in frightened tones to the dog. Then he slunk away in the night. The next day and the next he strode through the meadow. With each failure he grew uglier and more set in his purpose, for he had a fair certainty that she saw and avoided him. One evening he ventured across the meadow, his black eyes searching for her. Suddenly he came upon her. She was driving a cow home from a far corner of the pasture, leisurely, in the waning daylight, her thoughts of Jud and the future. She did not see Crawley until he was almost beside her, and she could not restrain the gasp of terror. Hoping that he would not speak to her, she hurried on. "Have you heerd from Jud ag'in, Justine?" he asked, his voice trembling in spite of himself. "How dare you speak to me?" she cried, not checking her speed, nor glancing toward him. "Well, I guess I've got a voice an' they ain't no law ag'in me usin' it, is there? What's the use bein' so unfriendly, anyhow? I'll drive the cow in fer you, Justine," he went on with a strange bashfulness. His stride toward her brought her to a standstill, her eyes flashing with resentment. "'Gene Crawley, you've been ordered to keep off of our place and I want you to stay off. If you ever put your foot in this pasture again I'll sic' Yank on you. Don't you ever dare speak to me again." She drew her form to its full height and looked into his face. "If you sic' Yank on me I'll kill him, jes' as I could 'a' killed _him_ when we fit over yander by the crick. I let him up fer your sake an' I've been sorry fer it ever sence. Say, Justine, I want to be your friend----"