“I’m so glad, so glad it’s you.”

“And I’m glad that you’re glad to see me.”

“Has he gone?  I’m afraid of him.”

“Afraid of whom, Carlia?”

“Don’t you know?  Of course you don’t know.  I—­”

“Sit down here, Carlia.”  He brought a chair; but she took it nearer the open window, and he pushed up the blind that the cool air might the more freely enter.  The sun was nearing the western hills, and the evening sounds from the yard came to them.  He drew a chair close to hers, and sat down by her, looking silently into the troubled face.

“I’m a sight,” she said, coming back to the common, everyday cares as she tried to get her hair into order.

“No, you’re not.  Never mind a few stray locks of hair.  Never mind that tear-stained face.  I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“You said you were afraid, afraid of Mr. Jack Lamont.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Well, you never need be afraid of him again.”

“I—­I don’t understand.”

“Jack Lamont is dead.”

She gave a startled cry.

“Dorian—­you—?”

“No; I have not killed him.  He was and is in the hands of the Lord.”  Then he told her what had happened that afternoon.

Carlia listened with staring eyes and bated breath.  And Dorian had actually risked his life in an attempt to save Jack Lamont!  If Dorian only had known!  But he would never know, never now.  She had heard of the fight between Dorian and Lamont, as that had been common gossip for a time; but Carlia had no way of connecting that event with herself or her secret, as no one had heard what words passed between them that day, and Dorian had said nothing.  And now he had tried to save the life of the man whom he had so thoroughly trounced.  “What a puzzle he was!  And yet what a kind, open face was his, as he sat there in the reddening evening light telling her in his simple way what he had done.  What did he know, anyway?  For it would be just like him to do good to those who would harm him; and had she not proved in her own case that he had been more patient and kind to her after her return than before.  What did he know?

“Shall I close the window?” he asked.  “Is there too much draught?”

“No; I must have air or I shall stifle.  Dorian, tell me, what do you know about this Mr. Lamont?”

“Why, not much, Carlia; not much good, at any rate.  You know I met him only a few times.”  He tried to answer her questions and at the same time give her as little information as possible.

“But Dorian, why did you fight with him?”

“He insulted me.  I’ve explained that to you before.”

“That’s not all the reason.  Jack Lamont could not insult you.  I mean, you would pay no attention to him if only yourself were involved.”

“Now, Carlia, don’t you begin to philosophize on my reasons for giving Jack Lamont a licking.  He’s dead, and let’s let him rest in as much peace as the Lord will allow.”