“When you left me at Franklinton and went to join General Harrison’s army, I was piqued. I argued with my better self that you didn’t love me, as you had professed, or you wouldn’t have left me. I felt angry—spiteful. I wanted to do something to make you suffer. My father and George Hilliard taunted me with your desertion. They said you had been too ready to leave me—that you didn’t love me—that you wouldn’t return. I listened to them—I half believed them. A month from the day of your departure, I had convinced myself of your perfidy and had consented to marry George Hilliard.” She paused momentarily, to moisten her dry lips. Ross Douglas’s eyes were shining with a strange, indefinable light. But he said nothing. Hastily she resumed: “Let me hurry over the events of my brief married life—I cannot bear to recall them. I promised to marry George Hilliard, on condition that my father should sell off everything and remove to a place where you would never find me. For, in spite of all my reasoning, I felt guilty. We disposed of our property and removed to Frenchtown, between here and Detroit. On our arrival there, George Hilliard and I were married. Before our marriage he had been very kind to me; humored me—spoiled me. But scarcely was he my husband, ere his whole nature seemed to change. He began to drink heavily, to curse me, to abuse me. Then I realized the sad truth that I had married a drunken brute!” For half a minute she could not proceed. When she had regained control of herself, she said huskily: “He was jealous. He accused me of still loving you. And—God help me!—I couldn’t deny the accusation. He tormented me—he beat me. My father remonstrated; and the two had many fierce quarrels. At last my child was born—six months ago. A few days after, my husband demanded that my father give him money with which to buy land. My father refused—and again they quarreled. In a whirlwind of drunken rage, George Hilliard caught up an axe and struck my father a blow that laid him dead upon the floor. I—I saw it all, while lying helpless upon my bed!” Once more she stopped in her recital. No sound broke the stillness of the place, but the fretful cry of her child in another part of the tent. Douglas’s jaws were set; his hands, clenched. With a fluttering sigh, Amy continued: