Alfred had listened with intense interest to the Colonel’s recital.  When it ended, although his pulses quickened and his soul expanded with awe and reverence for the hero of that ride, he sat silent.  Alfred honored courage in a man more than any other quality.  He marvelled at the simplicity of these bordermen who, he thought, took the most wonderful adventures and daring escapes as a matter of course, a compulsory part of their daily lives.  He had already, in one day, had more excitement than had ever befallen him, and was beginning to believe his thirst for a free life of stirring action would be quenched long before he had learned to become useful in his new sphere.  During the remaining half hour of his call on his lately acquired friends, he took little part in the conversation, but sat quietly watching the changeful expressions on Betty’s face, and listening to Colonel Zane’s jokes.  When he rose to go he bade his host good-night, and expressed a wish that Isaac, who had fallen asleep, might have a speedy recovery.  He turned toward the door to find that Betty had intercepted him.

“Mr. Clarke,” she said, extending a little hand that trembled slightly.  “I wish to say—­that—­I want to say that my feelings have changed.  I am sorry for what I said over at Lydia’s.  I spoke hastily and rudely.  You have saved my brother’s life.  I will be forever grateful to you.  It is useless to try to thank you.  I—­I hope we may be friends.”

Alfred found it desperately hard to resist that low voice, and those dark eyes which were raised shyly, yet bravely, to his.  But he had been deeply hurt.  He pretended not to see the friendly hand held out to him, and his voice was cold when he answered her.

“I am glad to have been of some service,” he said, “but I think you overrate my action.  Your brother would not have drowned, I am sure.  You owe me nothing.  Good-night.”

Betty stood still one moment staring at the door through which he had gone before she realized that her overtures of friendship had been politely, but coldly, ignored.  She had actually been snubbed.  The impossible had happened to Elizabeth Zane.  Her first sensation after she recovered from her momentary bewilderment was one of amusement, and she laughed in a constrained manner; but, presently, two bright red spots appeared in her cheeks, and she looked quickly around to see if any of the others had noticed the incident.  None of them had been paying any attention to her and she breathed a sigh of relief.  It was bad enough to be snubbed without having others see it.  That would have been too humiliating.  Her eyes flashed fire as she remembered the disdain in Clarke’s face, and that she had not been clever enough to see it in time.

“Tige, come here!” called Colonel Zane.  “What ails the dog?”

The dog had jumped to his feet and ran to the door, where he sniffed at the crack over the threshold.  His aspect was fierce and threatening.  He uttered low growls and then two short barks.  Those in the room heard a soft moccasined footfall outside.  The next instant the door opened wide and a tall figure stood disclosed.