She glanced at the clock, and counted from its dial the hours until morning.  She wished that the sun would never rise; that some unexpected thing would snatch her from the hut before the night-shades disappeared into the dawn.  Cronk moved, and the girl turned with a startled face.  How timid she had grown of late!  She remembered distinctly that at one time she had loved the chirp of the cricket, the mournful croak of the marsh frogs; but tonight they maddened her, filled her with an ominous fear such as she had never before felt.  When Lon saved her from drowning, and had scathed Lem for his actions, she had hoped—­oh, how she had hoped!—­that he would let her fill Granny Cronk’s place.  She glanced at the squatter again.

Lon was staring out upon the lake with eyes somber and restless, eyes darkening under thoughts that threshed through his brains like a whirlwind.  He was face to face with a long-looked-for revenge.  Through the pain of Flea he could still see that wraith woman who had haunted him all the past-shadowed years.  He believed with all his soul that then Midge would sink into his arms, silent in her spirit of thankfulness, and would always stay with him until he, too, should be called to join her; for Lon had never once doubted that in some future time he would be with his woman.  If anyone had asked him during the absence of Flea and Flukey which one of them he would rather have had back in the hut, he would undoubtedly have chosen the girl; for well he knew that she was capable of suffering more than a boy.  Still, he moved uneasily when he thought of the soft bed and the kindly hands that were ministering to the son of his enemy.

Suddenly the squatter dragged his pipe from his lips and said: 

“Look about here, Flea!”

The girl turned her head.

“What, Pappy Lon?” she questioned.

“Keep yer mouth shet!” commanded Lon.  “I’ll do the talkin’ fer this shanty.”

Then, seeing her cowering spirit racked by fear, he grinned broadly.  Fledra sank back.

“I’ve always said as how I were a goin’ to make money out of ye, and I’ve found a chance where, if Lem ain’t a fool, he’ll jine in, too.  Will I tell ye?” Lon’s question brought the dark head closer to him.  “Ye needn’t speak if ye don’t want to,” sneered he; “but I’ll tell ye jest the same!  Do ye know who’s goin’ to own ye afore long?” Fledra’s widening eyes questioned him, while her lips trembled.  “I can see that ye wants to find out.  Does ye know a young fellow by the name of Brimbecomb?” Observing that she did not make an effort to speak, Lon proceeded with a perceptible drawl.  “Well, if the cat’s got yer tongue, I’ll wag mine a bit in yer stead.  Brimbecomb’s offered to buy ye, and, if Lem says that it’ll be all right, then I says yep, too.”

Fledra found her voice uttering unintelligible words.  She was slowly advancing on her knees toward the squatter, her face working into strong, mature lines.