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It was nearly noon when Billy, bending beneath a load of wild ducks, came up the path to the cottage. Stanhope, reading his step, groped his way out to meet him. "Ho, Billy Boy," he cried, holding out his hands. "I wish, madam," he said, "I could see you seated more comfortably. But I wish more that you could see into my heart, what I feel there, and how my pain is infinitely keener than yours, because my love for you, my inexorable passion for you, my determination to win you and make you my own for life, paralysing the efforts of those who would keep us asunder, make the very soul within me shrink to behold you so uneasy, so unhappy, so reluctant to cast upon me one look—even one look—to persuade me that my stratagem was based upon my conviction that I am not[Pg 319] indifferent to you, nay, that deep in your spirit your love for me dwells as a jewel in a casket that yourself dare not open, though willing that I should." Billy spit out the fox-tail. "Where's this feller Scroggie now?" he asked, in a business-like tone..
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"Scoot you!" commanded the woman, and with a wild scurry mother dog and puppies turned and fled to the friendly darkness of their retreat. "Thin God bless him," cried Harry. "Now grasp tight t' yer rabbit fut, an' we'll be afther goin' on our way t' tempt Satan, over beyant in the evil cedars." "You may succeed," she replied, "but I'm afraid you would have to know Billy a long time to know him well." What would Trigger Finger do if placed in his position? Billy asked himself. There was only one answer to that. He took a long breath and, picking up a heavy club, swung the door open. The feeble rays of the lantern probed the gloom and something animate, between the cages, stirred and sat up..
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