that acts the fool.  I was plumb crazy about Marthy, an’ used to be afeerd she wus so fur gone on me that she wouldn’t take a sufficient supply o’ victuals to keep up ’er strength.  That wus when I was courtin’ of ‘er an’ losin’ sleep, an’ one thing or other.  After we wus married, though, me an’ ’er mother come to words one day about a shoat pig she claimed had her mark on its yeer an’ was penned up with mine, an’ she up an’ told me out o’ spite that the very night before me ‘n’ Marthy got married, Ward Billingsley wus thar at the house tryin’ to get ‘er to run off with him, an’ that Marthy come as nigh as pease a-doin’ of it.  Her maw said she’d a-gone as shore as preachin’ ef she’d a-had a dress fitten to take the trip on the train in.  I reckon it wus every word the truth, fer to this day Marthy won’t deny it; but it don’t make a bit of difference to me now.  Marthy would a-done as well by Ward as she did by me, I reckon.  When women once git married they come down to hard-pan like a kickin’ mule when it gits broke to traces.”

Westerfelt drew the blankets closer about him.  The road had taken a sharp turn round the side of a little hill, and the breeze from the wide reach of level valley lands was keen and piercing.  Bradley’s volubility jarred on him.  It brought an obnoxious person back, and roughly, into the warm memory of Harriet Floyd’s presence, and gentle, selfless tenderness.  He ground his teeth in agony.  He had just been debating in his mind the possibility of his being, in consideration of his own mistakes, able to take the girl, in her new love, into his heart and hold her there forever, but if she loved Wambush, as, of course, she once did, might she not later love some other man—­or might she not even think—­remember—­Wambush?

“Great God!” He uttered the words aloud, and Bradley turned upon him in surprise.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” said Westerfelt; “my wound twinged just a little, that is all.”

“I was driving too fast over these rocks anyway,” said Bradley, solicitously.

The horse stopped at a clear mountain stream that leaped in a succession of waterfalls down the sheer hill-side into the valley.  Bradley got out to loosen the bridle to allow the animal to drink, and stood with one foot on the shore and the other on a brown stone in the water.  Try as he would, Westerfelt could not banish Harriet from his mind.  Her sweet personality seemed to be trying to defend itself against the unworthy thoughts which fought for supremacy in his mind.  He thought of her wonderful care of him in his illness; her unfailing tenderness and sympathy when he was suffering; her tears—­yes, he was sure he had detected tears in her eyes one day when the doctor was giving him unusual pain in dressing his wound.  Ah, how sweet that was to remember! and yet the same creature had loved a man no higher than Wambush; had even sobbed out a confession of her love in the arms of his father.  Such was the woman, but he loved her with the first real love of his life.