The fact was Marg and Jed had gone away to be married.  Owing to the death of the near-by minister in the late storm, they had to travel a considerable distance in order to begin life according to Marg’s strict ideas of propriety.  Before leaving she had impressed upon her father the necessity of his keeping a clear head in her absence.

“We-all may be gone days, father,” she had said, “and yo’ certainly do drop in owdacious places when you’re drunk.  Yo’ might freeze or starve.  Agin, a lurking beast, hunting fo’ food, might chaw yo’ fo’ yo’ got yo’ senses.”

Something of this Greyson explained to his guest while setting forth the evening meal and apologizing for the lack of stimulant.

“Being her marriage trip I let Marg have her way and a mind free o’ worry ’bout me.  But women don’t understand, God bless ’em!  What’s a drop in yo’ own home?  But fo’ she started forth Marg spilled every jug onto the wood pile.  When I see the flames extry sparkling I know the reason!”

Greyson chuckled, walking to and fro from table to pantry, with steady, almost dignified strides.

“That’s all right,” Truedale hastened to say, “I’m rather inclined to agree with your daughter; and—­” raising the concoction Peter had evolved—­“this tea—­”

“Coffee, sir.”

“Excuse me!  This coffee goes right to the spot.”

They ate and grew confidential.  Edging close, but keeping under cover, Truedale gained the confidence of the lonely, broken man and, late in the evening, the hideous truth, as Truedale was compelled to believe, was in his keeping.

For an hour Greyson had been nodding and dozing; then, apologetically, rousing.  Truedale once suggested bed, but for some unexplainable reason Peter shrank from leaving his guest.  Then, risking a great deal, Truedale asked nonchalantly: 

“Have you other children besides this daughter who is on her wedding trip?  It’s rather hard—­leaving you alone to shift for yourself.”

Greyson was alert.  Not only did he share the mountain dweller’s wariness of question, but he instantly conceived the idea that the stranger had heard gossip and he was in arms to defend his own.  His ancestors, who long ago had shielded the recreant great-aunt, were no keener than Peter now was to protect and preserve the honour of the little girl who, by her recent acts—­and Greyson had only Jed’s words and the mountain talk to go by—­had aroused in him all that was fine enough to suffer.  And Greyson was suffering as only a man can who, in a rare period of sobriety, views the wrecks of his own making.