Jason turned, every line of his terrified face etched clear in the moonlight. He went straight to the window and climbing through it, slid down the slanting roof of the lean-to, and dropping to the ground, turned his face toward the adjoining pasture and the woods back of it, and with all the strength he could summon, ran for cover, for the protection of the darkness that the big trees afforded. Kneeling on the floor beside the banker, Marcia ran her hand across his temple and was horrified to find that it was covered with a sticky, warm red. She staggered to her feet, and hurrying to the kitchen, she brought back a basin of water. But before she used it she again put brandy to Moreland’s lips. For a few minutes she worked over him frantically. Then she arose, and stepping across his body, she called up the stairway: “I’m afraid you’ve killed him. Run, Jason, run! Run to the end of the earth and never come back!” She listened, but there was no sound and no answer. She glanced backward, and then with flying feet, she climbed the stairs until her head was level with the floor of the garret, and in the pale light she searched the empty room and the vacant bed. Then she hurried back and renewed her ministrations. It was a long time before Martin Moreland opened his eyes. Another long time elapsed before he allowed her to assist him to her room, where he dropped upon the bed and lay struggling to attain self-control. “Can you feel if my skull is cracked?” he asked Marcia. “I was afraid to try,” she answered. “I don’t think that it is.” “Feel!” he said. “Push against the scalp hard. See if it gives any, if you can detect a seam.” With sick eyes and nauseated lips, Marcia knelt beside Martin Moreland and felt his temple, ran her fingers through the thick, light hair covering his head. “I am quite sure it is only a surface cut,” she said. Strengthened by the brandy and recovering slightly from the shock, Martin Moreland stopped raving. In slow, deliberate pauses of finality he laid down the law: “I will not risk coming in contact with that hound pup again,” he said. “After this he’ll shift for himself. After this you are going to live where such a scene cannot be repeated. You can get ready what you want to take with you. You are going to leave this house inside of an hour, if my legs will carry me down town.” Despite her entreaties, he arose and staggered from the house. It was not an hour later until a dray stood before the door. The beautiful room was dismantled, and into the night, with her personal belongings heaped around her, Marcia was driven from the only home she had. CHAPTER V “THE VERDICT GOES AGAINST JEZEBEL”