The tale aroused him from his apathy--more especially the episode, which related to my first meeting with Lilian, and the encounter that followed. As a hunter, this last would have secured his attention; but it was not altogether that. The scene touched a chord in unison with his own memories; for by some such incident had he first won the favour of Marian. As I approached the _finale_ of the duel scene--that point where the stranger had appeared upon the stage--I could perceive the interest of my listener culminating to a pitch of excitement; and, before I had pronounced ten words in description of the clerical visitor, the young hunter sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he did so--"Josh Stebbins!" "Yes; it was he--I know it myself." I continued the narrative; but I saw I was no longer listened to with attention. Wingrove was on his feet, and pacing the floor with nervous irregular strides. Every now and then, I saw him glance towards his rifle--that rested above the fireplace; while the angry flash of his eyes betokened that he was meditating some serious design. As soon as I had described the winding up of the duel, and what followed--including my departure from Swampville--I was again interrupted by the young hunter--this time not by his speech but by an action equally significant. Hastily approaching the fireplace, he lifted his rifle from the cleets; and, dropping the piece upon its butt, commenced loading it! It was not the movement itself, so much as the time and manner, that arrested my attention; and these declared the object of the act. Neither for squirrel nor coon--deer, bear, nor panther--was that rifle being loaded! "Where are you going?" I inquired, seeing that he had taken down his coon-skin cap, and slung on his pouch and powder-horn. "Only a bit down the crik. You'll excuse me, stranger, for leavin' o' ye; but I'll be back in the twinklin' o' an eye. Thar's a bit o' dinner for ye, if you can eat cold deer-meat; an' you'll find somethin' in the old bottle thar. I won't be gone more'n a hour. I reckon I won't." The emphasis expressed a certain indecision, which I observed without being able to interpret. I had my conjectures however. "Can I not go with you?" I asked in hopes of drawing him to declare his design. "The weather has cleared up; and I should prefer riding out, to staying here alone. If it is not some business of a private nature--" "Thar's nothin' particularly private about it, stranger; but it's a bizness I don't want you to be mixed up in. I guess ye've got yur own troubles now; 'ithout takin' share o' myen." "If it is not rude, may I ask the business on which you're going?" "Welcome to know it, stranger. I'm a-goin' _to kill Josh Stebbins_!" "Kill Josh Stebbins?" "Eyther that, or he shall kill me." "Oh! nonsense!" I exclaimed, surprised less at the intention--which I had already half divined--than at the cool determined tone in which it was declared.