"Stop that!" she cried, springing to her feet, white with fury, her eyes blazing. "You are forgetting yourself, Barry Lapelle. Not another word! How dare you speak like that about my brother?" He sat staring up at her in a sort of stupefaction. "How dare you?" she repeated furiously. He found his voice. "You weren't sticking up for him this time last week," he sneered. "You were hating him like poison. Has the old woman had a change of heart, too? Is she letting him sit in her lap so's she can feed him with a spoon when he's hungry and--" "I wouldn't marry you if you were the only man in the world, Barry Lapelle," said she, her voice low with passion. She whirled and walked rapidly away from him, her head in the air, her hands clenched. Leaping to his feet, he started after her, calling: "Wait a minute, Viola! Can't you see I'm almost out of my head over what you've--Oh, well, go it! I'm not going to CRAWL after you! But let me tell you one thing, my girl. You'll be talking out of the other side of your mouth before you're much older. You'll be down on your knees--" "Don't you follow me another step!" she cried over her shoulder. He was not more than two yards behind her when she uttered this withering command. He stopped short in his tracks. "Well, this is a hell of a way to treat a gentleman!" he shouted, hoarse with fury. CHAPTER XVI CONCERNING TEMPESTS AND INDIANS Shortly after dark that evening, the tall, swarthy man who had come up on the Paul Revere sauntered slowly up and down that part of Main Street facing the Court House. Ostensibly he was inspecting store windows along the way, but in reality he was on the lookout for a man he had agreed to meet at a point just above the tavern,--a casual meeting, it was to appear, and between two strangers. Barry Lapelle came out of the tavern at the stroke of eight and walked eastward a few paces, halting at the dark open lot between Johnson's place and Smith's store beyond. The swarthy man approached slowly, unconcernedly. He accosted Lapelle, inquiring: "Is that the tavern, Mister?" "Yes," replied Barry, needlessly pointing down the street. "Well?" "It's her," said the stranger. "I had a good look at her 'long about five o'clock from the woods across from her house. She's a heap sight older but I knowed her all right." "You are sure?" "Sure as my name is--" "Sh!" "Course I'm sure. She was Owen Carter's widder. He was killt by a tree fallin' on him. Oh, I got a good memory. I can't afford to have a bad one. I remember her as plain as if it wuz yestiday." He pointed off in a westerly direction for the benefit of a passerby. "Thank ye, mister. You say it's not more'n six mile out yan way?" Lowering his voice, he went on: "A feller wouldn't be likely to fergit a woman like her. Gosh, I used to wish--but wishin' don't count fer much in this world." "Get on with it. We can't stand here talking all night."