"No?" said Silas, interrogatively, "I guess you can. See here, Mr. Damberton, I know what you are--none better, and that's straight. You know what Mrs. Belswin is, and if she plays low on you, sir, just ask her where she got the little gun to fix up things with her husband." "But she didn't kill him." Silas laughed disbelievingly. "I don't know nothin' of that game, sir. It's a cut beyond me, and that's a fact. All I say is, that if Mrs. Belswin comes on the war-path to my ranch, I'll tell some things about Mr. Damberton that Mr. Dombrain won't smile at. You take me, sir, I fancy." "Yes!" said Dombrain, slowly, while the great drops of sweat gathered on his forehead, "I understand." "Bully for you," replied Mr. Oates, in a friendly tone, going to the door. "Good-mornin', sir. I'm pleased to see you again. It's like the old days, and that's a fact." Mr. Oates sauntered out with his hands in his pockets and Dombrain flung himself in his chair, and, burying his face in his hands, sobbed like a child. "My God," he sobbed passionately, "am I to lose all after these years?" CHAPTER XXVI. VAE VICTIS. "Those who went forth in brave array Return again at the close of day, With tattered banners that flaunted gay, And swords now broken that once could slay; Their march is sad and slow. "Oh, sorrow for those who could not die, Who, lion-hearted, were forced to fly, And now for ever in chains must lie; For hark, there rises the terrible cry-- 'Woe to the vanquished, woe.'" When Mrs. Belswin received a letter from Mr. Dombrain asking her to call, she was considerably astonished, as she had thought her last interview with him would have pretty well resigned him to the loss of her society. But evidently he was now throwing down the gage of battle, so Mrs. Belswin, like an old war-horse at the sound of a trumpet, felt a certain exultation at the thought of the coming fight, and lost no time in assenting to the request of the solicitor.