“Hold up!”

Mr. Hamlin was a light sleeper.  The crackle of underbrush had been enough to disturb him.  The voice was his; the click was the cocking of his revolver.

Rylands was no coward, but halted diplomatically.

“Now, then,” said Mr. Hamlin’s voice, “a little more this way, in the light, if you please!”

Rylands moved as directed, and saw Mr. Hamlin lying before the fire, resting easily on one hand, with his revolver in the other.

“Thank you!” said Jack.  “Excuse my precautions, but it is night, and this is, for the present, my bedroom.”

“My name is Rylands; you called at my house this afternoon and saw my wife,” said Rylands slowly.

“I did,” said Hamlin.  “It was mighty kind of you to return my call so soon, but I didn’t expect it.”

“I reckon not.  But I know who you are, and that you are an old associate of hers, in the days of her sin and unregeneration.  I want you to answer me, before God and man, what was your purpose in coming there to-day?”

“Look here!  I don’t think it’s necessary to drag in strangers to hear my answer,” said Jack, lying down again, “but I came to borrow a horse.”

“Is that the truth?”

Jack got upon his feet very solemnly, put on his hat, drew down his waistcoat, and approached Mr. Rylands with his hands in his pockets.

“Mr. Rylands,” he said, with great suavity of manner, “this is the second time today that I have had the honor of having my word doubted by your family.  Your wife was good enough to question my assertion that I didn’t know that she was living here, but that was a woman’s vanity.  You have no such excuse.  There is my horse yonder, lame, as you may see.  I didn’t lame him for the sake of seeing your wife nor you.”

There was that in Mr. Hamlin’s audacity and perfect self-possession which, even while it irritated, never suggested deceit.  He was too reckless of consequence to lie.  Mr. Rylands was staggered and half convinced.  Nevertheless, he hesitated.

“Dare you tell me everything that happened between my wife and you?”

“Dare you listen?” said Mr. Hamlin quietly.

Mr. Rylands turned a little white.  After a moment he said:—­

“Yes.”

“Good!” said Mr. Hamlin.  “I like your grit, though I don’t mind telling you it’s the only thing I like about you.  Sit down.  Well, I haven’t seen Nell Montgomery for three years until I met her as your wife, at your house.  She was surprised as I was, and frightened as I wasn’t.  She spent the whole interview in telling me the history of her marriage and her life with you, and nothing more.  I cannot say that it was remarkably entertaining, or that she was as amusing as your wife as she was as Nell Montgomery, the variety actress.  When she had finished, I came away.”

Mr. Rylands, who had seated himself, made a movement as if to rise.  But Mr. Hamlin laid his hand on his knee.