But that was all past and done with now.  All the things he had dreamed of, and so ardently desired, had been lost through a mischievous Fate.  The neglected stepdaughter of Leslie Standing was body and soul part of their enemy’s armament of offence.  It was all too crazy.  It was all too devilish for calm contemplation.

The sight of the girl’s pathetic eyes, so weary, so troubled, had been sufficient.  Bat could not have remained in that room another minute.  No.  Down at the mill were the things he understood.  They were the things he was bred to, and could deal with.  These others were something that left him hopeless and helpless.  So he went, determined to lay the ghost of the thing behind him in the tremendous effort the necessities of the mill demanded he should put forth.

* * * * *

Bull’s emotions were deeply stirred.  He gazed into the tired eyes of the girl, so beautiful for all their complete dejection.  He marked the cold pallor of her cheeks, and realised the dishevelled condition of her glorious masses of hair.  An intense pity left him gravely troubled.

As Nancy stood gazing up at the man, complete hopelessness oppressed her.  She remembered well enough the declaration of war between them.  She remembered, too, that it had meant nothing personal when it was made.  At the time she had had no inkling of the terrible thing it could mean, or how nearly it could bring them into real, personal conflict.

She had been wholly unprepared for the demand that had been thrust upon her by the man, Peterman.  It had frightened her at first.  She had shrunk from it.  Then, finally, she had accepted it as her duty, under pressure.  Peterman had made it appear so trifling.  A journey, a trying journey, perhaps, but one to be made with all the comfort he could provide.  And then to preach to those ignorant forest-men the disaster towards which their employers were heading.  As Peterman had put it, it had almost seemed a legitimate thing to do.  Convinced as she had been of the disaster about to fall on Sachigo, it had seemed as if she were even doing them a service.

Had she been able to search Peterman’s mind she would never have taken part in the dastardly thing he had planned.  Had she been able to read him she would have quickly discovered the real motive he had in sending her.  She would have discovered the furious jealousy and wounded vanity which meant her to be a prime instrument in the wrecking of Bull Sternford and his mills.  She would have realised the devilish ingenuity with which he intended to wreck her friendship with another man so that he might the more truly claim her for himself.  But she had no suspicion, and had blindly yielded herself to the duty she believed to be hers.

After Bat’s hurried departure Bull cast about in his mind for the thing to say to her.  And somehow, without realising it, the right words sprang to his lips.