For what seemed a long time Lane remained motionless there in the silence of the meadow.  Then at length he arose and retraced his slow steps back to town.  Darkness overtook him on the bridge that spanned Middleville River.  He leaned over the railing and peered down into the shadows.  A soft murmur of rushing water came up.  How like strange distant voices calling him to go back or go on, or warning him, or giving mystic portent of something that would happen to him there!  A cold chill crept over him and he seemed enveloped in a sombre menace of the future.  But he shook it off.  He had many battles to fight, not the least of which was with morbid imagination.

When he reached the center of town he entered the lobby of the Bradford Inn.  He hoped to meet Blair Maynard there.  A company of well-dressed youths and men filled the place, most of whom appeared to be making a merry uproar.

Lane observed two men who evidently were the focus of attention.  One was a stranger, very likely a traveling man, and at the moment he presented a picture of mingled consternation and anger.  He was brushing off his clothes while glaring at a little, stout, red-faced man who appeared about to be stricken by apoplexy.  This latter was a Colonel Pepper, whose acquaintance Lane had recently made.  He was fond of cards and sport, and appeared to be a favorite with the young men about town.  Moreover he had made himself particularly agreeable to Lane, in fact to the extent of Lane’s embarrassment.  At this moment the stranger lost his consternation wholly in wrath, and made a threatening movement toward Pepper.  Lane stepped between them just in time to save Pepper a blow.

“I know what he’s done.  I apologize for him,” said Lane, to the stranger.  “He’s made a good many people victims of the same indignity.  It’s a weakness—­a disease.  He can’t help himself.  Pray overlook it.”

The stranger appeared impressed with Lane’s presence, probably with his uniform, and slowly shook himself and fell back, to glower at Pepper, and curse under his breath, still uncertain of himself.

Lane grasped Colonel Pepper and led him out of the lobby.

“Pepper, you’re going to get in an awful mess with that stunt of yours,” he declared, severely.  “If you can’t help it you ought at least pick on your friends, or the town people—­not strangers.”

“Have—­a—­drink,” sputtered Pepper, with his hand at his hip.

“No, thanks.”

“Have—­a—­cigar.”

Lane laughed.  He had been informed that Colonel Pepper’s failing always took this form of remorse, and certainly he would have tried it upon his latest victim had not Lane interfered.

“Colonel, you’re hopeless,” said Lane, as they walked out.  “I hope somebody will always be around to protect you.  I’d carry a body guard....  Say, have you seen Blair Maynard or Holt Dalrymple to-night?”

“Not Blair, but Holt was here early with the boys,” replied Pepper.  “They’ve gone to the club rooms to have a little game.  I’m going to sit in.  Lately I had to put up a holler.  If the boys quit cards how’m I to make a living?”