“Certainly, certainly,” said Wynn, abandoning his method, considerably disconcerted by Low’s simplicity, and a certain natural reserve that shook off his familiarity.  “Certainly it’s a noble thing to be able to put your hand on your heart and say to the world, ’Come on, all of you!  Observe me; I have nothing to conceal.  I walk with Miss Wynn in the woods as her instructor—­her teacher, in fact.  We cull a flower here and there; we pluck an herb fresh from the hand of the Creator.  We look, so to speak, from Nature to Nature’s God.’  Yes, my young friend, we should be the first to repel the foul calumny that could misinterpret our most innocent actions.”

“Calumny?” repeated Low, starting to his feet.  “What calumny?”

“My friend, my noble young friend, I recognize your indignation.  I know your worth.  When I said to Nellie, my only child, my perhaps too simple offspring—­a mere wildflower like yourself—­when I said to her, ’Go, my child, walk in the woods with this young man, hand in hand.  Let him instruct you from the humblest roots, for he has trodden in the ways of the Almighty.  Gather wisdom from his lips, and knowledge from his simple woodman’s craft.  Make, in fact, a collection not only of herbs, but of moral axioms and experience,’—­I knew I could trust you, and, trusting you, my young friend, I felt I could trust the world.  Perhaps I was weak, foolish.  But I thought only of her welfare.  I even recall how that, to preserve the purity of her garments, I bade her don a simple duster; that, to secure her from the trifling companionship of others, I bade her keep her own counsel, and seek you at seasons known but to yourselves.”

“But ... did Nellie ... understand you?” interrupted Low hastily.

“I see you read her simple nature.  Understand me?  No, not at first!  Her maidenly instinct—­perhaps her duty to another—­took the alarm.  I remember her words.  ‘But what will Dunn say?’ she asked.  ’Will he not be jealous?’”

“Dunn! jealous!  I don’t understand,” said Low, fixing his eyes on Wynn.

“That’s just what I said to Nellie.  ‘Jealous!’ I said.  ’What, Dunn, your affianced husband, jealous of a mere friend—­a teacher, a guide, a philosopher.  It is impossible.’  Well, sir, she was right.  He is jealous.  And, more than that, he has imparted his jealousy to others!  In other words, he has made a scandal!”

Low’s eyes flashed.  “Where is your daughter now?” he said sternly.

“At present in bed, suffering from a nervous attack brought on by these unjust suspicions.  She appreciates your anxiety, and, knowing that you could not see her, told me to give you this.”  He handed Low the ring and the letter.

The climax had been forced, and, it must be confessed, was by no means the one Mr. Wynn had fully arranged in his own inner consciousness.  He had intended to take an ostentatious leave of Low in the bar-room, deliver the letter with archness, and escape before a possible explosion.  He consequently backed towards the door for an emergency.  But he was again at fault.  That unaffected stoical fortitude in acute suffering, which was the one remaining pride and glory of Low’s race, was yet to be revealed to Wynn’s civilized eyes.