The man
sprang from the saddle. A barn-hand took the beast away to its stable.
Elvine's tongue remained almost cleaving to the roof of her mouth.
The man's fair brows were depressed. His eyes were sternly cold. And
not once did they turn in her direction. He spoke in his usual tone to
the barn-hand. He issued his orders without a sign of emotion.
Elvine could stand no more. She stirred. Then slowly she passed
within the house.
Presently Jeff's step sounded on the veranda. It was quick. There was
nothing lagging in it. The woman gripped the back of a chair in the
living-room in which she had taken refuge. She was seeking support.
The man entered the room. Nor did he remove his hat. He stood just
within the window opening, and his eyes, cold as the gleam of the
mountain glaciers, regarded her steadily.
"I see you understand," he said. "You realized what must happen when I
visited Dug McFarlane in the matter of Peters, who bought your dead
husband's farm. You knew it when you read that letter I gave you.
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