for you if we are not seen from the house—and because I have something to say to you. Get down!"
For a moment Merton seemed to debate with himself; then, with a show of braggadocio, he swung out of the buggy and swaggered into the stall.
"Well?" he inquired, a hint of defiance in his tones, as Varge followed him.
Varge stepped close to him.
"How long have you been visiting Miss Rand?" he demanded bluntly.
"I don't see that it is any of your business," Merton responded surlily.
"Shall I help you to answer?" said Varge sternly. "Since that day when you came to see me in the penitentiary yonder—is that right?"
"Well," snarled Merton; "supposing it is? What is it to you?" He broke into a sharp, nervous laugh. "You're not jealous, are you? One would think you were in love with her yourself the way you—"
The sentence was never finished. The next instant Merton had crouched back against the side of the stall, his hands flung out as wards in front of him.
"No, no, Varge; I didn't mean that," he cried out. "I—I was only joking. Can't you see I was only joking?"
Without a trace of colour in his face, white to the lips, his eyes blazing, Varge had closed the single step between them.
"You have dared to come here," he said hoarsely. "You have dared to touch that pure life with yours, black to the soul with the guilt of hell! Answer me! How far has this thing gone?" His hand closed sud-
