“Powder and ball—­and grub!” he laughed.  “You see I am a sort of revolutionist and have my hiding-places.  To-morrow—­I will be a martyr.”  He spoke as quietly as though his words but carried a careless jest.

“A martyr?” laughed Nathaniel, looking down into the smiling, sweating face.

“Yes, to-morrow I shall kill Strang.”

There was no excitement in Neil’s voice as he stood erect.  The smile did not leave his lips.  But in his eyes there shone that which neither words nor smiling lips revealed, a reckless, blazing fury hidden deep in them—­so deep that Nathaniel stared to assure himself what it was.  The other saw the doubt in his face.

“To-morrow I shall kill Strang,” he repeated.  “I shall kill him with this gun from under the window of his house through which you saw Marion.”

“Marion!” exclaimed Nathaniel.  “Marion—­” He leaned forward eagerly, questioning.  “Tell me—­”

“My sister, Captain Plum!”

It seemed to Nathaniel that every fiber in his body was stretched to the breaking point.  He reached out, dazed by what he had heard and with both hands seized Neil’s arm.

“Your sister—­who came to you at the whipping-post?”

“That was Marion.”

“And—­Strang’s wife?”

“No!” cried Neil.  “No—­not his wife!” He drew back from Nathaniel’s touch as if the question had stabbed him to the heart.  The passion that had slumbered in his eyes burst into savage flame and his face became suddenly terrible to look upon.  There was hatred there such as Nathaniel had never seen; a ferocious, pitiless hatred that sent a shuddering thrill through him as he stood before it.  After a moment the clenched fist that had risen above Neil’s head dropped to his side.  Half apologetically he held out his hand to his companion.

“Captain Plum, we’ve got a lot to thank you for, Marion and I,” he said, a tremble of the passing emotion in his voice.  “Obadiah told Marion that help might come to us through you and Marion brought the word to me at the jail late last night—­after she had seen you at the window.  The old councilor kept his word!  You have saved her!”

“Saved her!” gasped Nathaniel.  “From what?  How?” A hundred questions seemed leaping from his heart to his lips.

“From Strang.  Good God, don’t you understand?  I tell you that I am going to kill Strang!”

Neil stood as though appalled by his companion’s incomprehension.  “I am going to kill Strang, I tell you!” he cried again, the fire burning deeper through the sweat of his cheeks.

Nathaniel’s bewilderment still shone in his face.

“She is not Strang’s wife,” he spoke softly, as if to himself.  “And she is not—­” His face flushed as he nearly spoke the words.  “Obadiah lied!” He looked squarely into Neil’s eyes.  “No, I don’t understand you.  The councilor said that she—­that Marion was Strang’s wife.  He told me nothing more than that, nothing of her trouble, nothing about you.  Until this moment I have been completely mystified.  Only her eyes led me to do—­what I did at the jail.”