“Oh!  I beg pardon,” with a tone half-mocking.  “I did not know but I might help settle matters.  I think I have Mrs. Anderson’s confidence; and I know that I have Miss Anderson’s confidence in an unusual degree.  I think a great deal of her.  And she thinks me her friend at least.  I thought that there might be some little matters yet unsettled between you two, and she suggested that maybe there might be something you would like to say, and that if you would say it to me, it would be all the same as if it were said to her.  She considers that in the relation I bear to her and the family, a message delivered to me is the same in effect as if given to her.  I told her I did not think you would, as a gentleman, wish to hold her to any promises that might be irksome to her now.”

These words were spoken with a coolness and maliciousness of good-nature quite devilish, and August’s fist involuntarily doubled itself to strike him, if only to make him cease smiling in that villainous rectangular way.  But he checked himself.

“You are a puppy.  Tell that to Jule, if you choose.  I shall send her a release from all obligations, but not by the hand of a rascal!”

Like all desperadoes, Humphreys was a coward.  He could shoot, but he could not fight, and just now he was affecting the pious or at least the high moral role, and had left his pistols, brandy-flasks, and the other necessary appurtenances of a gentleman, locked in his trunk.  Besides it would not at all have suited his purpose to shoot.  So in lieu of shooting he only smiled, as August rode off, that same old geometric smile, the elements of which were all calculated.  He seemed incapable of any other facial contortion.  It expressed one emotion, indeed, about as well as another, and was therefore as convenient as those pocket-knives which affect to contain a chest of tools in one.

[Illustration:  “TELL THAT TO JULE.”]

Julia was already stung to jealousy by Betsey Malcolm’s mischief-making, and it did not require much more to put her into a frenzy.  As they walked home from meeting the next night—­they had meeting all nights now, the world would soon end and there was so much to be done—­as they walked home Humphreys contrived to separate Julia from the rest, and to tell her that he had had a conversation with young Wehle.

“It was painful, very painful,” he said, “I think I had better not say any more about it.”

“Why?” asked Julia in terror.

“Well, I feel that your grief is mine.  I have never felt so much interest in any one before, and I must say that I was grievously disappointed.  This young man is not at all worthy of you.”

“What do you mean?” And there was a trace of indignation in her tone.

“It does seem to me that the man who has your love should be the happiest in the world; but he refused to send you any message, and says that he will soon send you an entire release from all engagement to him.  He showed no tenderness and made no inquiry.”