Here the stranger on the veranda, still gazing abstractedly at the landscape, gave a low and apparently unconscious murmur, as if enraptured with the view.  Mr. Windibrook, recalled to an attempt at dignity, took up his hat and handkerchief.  “When you have remembered yourself and your position, Miss Trixit,” he said loftily, “the offer I have made you”—­

“I despise it!  I’d sooner stay in the woods with the grizzlies and rattlesnakes?” said Cissy pantingly.  “Go and leave me alone!  Do you hear?” She stamped her little foot.  “Are you listening?  Go!”

Mr. Windibrook promptly retreated through the door and down the steps into the garden, at which the stranger on the veranda reluctantly tore himself away from the landscape and slowly entered the parlor through the open French window.  Here, however, he became equally absorbed and abstracted in the condition of his beard, carefully stroking his shaven cheek and lips and pulling his goatee.

After a pause he turned to the angry Cissy, standing by the piano, radiant with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes, and said slowly, “I reckon you gave the parson as good as he sent.  It kinder settles a man to hear the frozen truth about himself sometimes, and you’ve helped old Shadbelly considerably on the way towards salvation.  But he was right about one thing, Miss Trixit.  The house is in the hands of the law.  I’m representing it as deputy sheriff.  Mebbe you might remember me—­Jake Poole—­when your father was addressing the last Citizen’s meeting, sittin’ next to him on the platform—­I’m in possession.  It isn’t a job I’m hankerin’ much arter; I’d a lief rather hunt hoss thieves or track down road agents than this kind o’ fancy, underhand work.  So you’ll excuse me, miss, if I ain’t got the style.”  He paused, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then said slowly and with great deliberation:  “Ef there’s any little thing here, miss,—­any keepsakes or such trifles ez you keer for in partickler, things you wouldn’t like strangers to have,—­you just make a little pile of ’em and drop ’em down somewhere outside the back door.  There ain’t no inventory taken nor sealin’ up of anythin’ done just yet, though I have to see there ain’t anythin’ disturbed.  But I kalkilate to walk out on that veranda for a spell and look at the landscape.”  He paused again, and said, with a sigh of satisfaction, “It’s a mighty pooty view out thar; it just takes me every time.”

As he turned and walked out through the French window, Cissy did not for a moment comprehend him; then, strangely enough, his act of rude courtesy for the first time awakened her to the full sense of the situation.  This house, her father’s house, was no longer hers!  If her father should never return, she wanted nothing from it, nothing!  She gripped her beating heart with the little hand she had clinched so valiantly a moment ago.  Suddenly her hand dropped.  Some one had glided noiselessly