Brent looked into the man's eyes and read his meaning; then he arose abruptly and opened the door.
"I'm not accusing—"
"Go," said the young man hoarsely. His face was white, and his teeth were hard set.
"You'll learn some respect for your elders yet, if—"
"Go!" Brent repeated, and he took a step towards his visitor. Mr. Simpson looked startled for a moment, but he glanced back into the young man's face and then passed hurriedly out of the room.
Brent let two words slip between his clenched teeth: "The hound!"
No one knew what had passed between the young pastor and Mr. Simpson, but many mutterings and head-shakings of the latter indicated that all was not right. No one knew? Perhaps that is hardly correct, for on Sunday, the sermon over, when Brent looked to find Elizabeth in her usual place whence they walked home together, she was gone. He bit his lip and passed on alone, but it rankled within him that she had so easily believed ill of him.
But he had not seen the last of the Rev. Mr. Simpson's work. It was the right of five
