He spoke with a slight drawl, in a mellow, agreeable voice, and with meticulous regard for the King's English,--an educated youth who had enjoyed advantages and associations uncommon to young men of the frontier. His untanned face testified to a life of ease and comfort, spent in sheltered places and not in the staining open, where sun and wind laid bronze upon the skin. A lordly fellow, decided Kenneth, and forthwith took a keen dislike for him. Nevertheless, it was not difficult to account for Viola's interest in him; nor, to a certain extent, the folly which led her to undertake the exploit of the night before. Barry Lapelle would have his way with women. "You come from Kentucky, Mr. Gwynne," Lapelle was saying. "I am from Louisiana. My father came up to St. Louis a few years ago after establishing a line of steamboats between Terre Haute and the gulf. Two of our company's boats come as far north as Lafayette, so I spend considerable of my time there at this season of the year. You will find, sir, a number of Kentucky and Virginia people in this part of the state. Splendid stock, some of them. I understand you have spent several years in the East, at college and in pursuit of your study of the law." "Principally in New York and Philadelphia," responded the other, subduing a smile. "My fame seems to have preceded me, Mr. Lapelle. Even in remote parts of the country I find my arrival anticipated. The farmer with whom I spent the night was thoroughly familiar with my affairs." "You are an object of interest to every one in this section," said Lapelle, indifferently. "Where did you spend the night?" "At the farm of a man named Striker,--Phineas Striker." Lapelle started. His body appeared to stiffen in the saddle. "Phineas Striker?" he exclaimed, with a swift, searching look into the speaker's eyes. Suddenly a flush mantled his cheek. "You were at Phineas Striker's last night?" "Yes. We had lost our way and came to his place just before the storm," said Kenneth, watching his companion narrowly. Lapelle's face was a study. Doubt, indecision, even dismay, were expressed in swift succession. "Then you must have met,--but no, it isn't likely," he said, in some confusion. Kenneth hesitated a moment, enjoying the other's discomfiture. Then he said: "I met no one there except my sister, who also happened to be spending the night with the Strikers." The colour faded from Lapelle's face, leaving it a sickly white. "Were you in any way responsible for--well, for her departure, Mr. Gwynne?" he demanded, his eyes flaming with swift, sudden anger. "I was not aware of her departure until I arose this morning, Mr. Lapelle. Striker informed me that she went away before sunrise." For a moment Lapelle glared at him suspiciously, and then gave vent to a short, contemptuous laugh. "A thousand apologies," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I might have known you would not be consulted."