“Why, ’Lissy!” cried the old mother, startled, horrified.

“Look at him!” said the girl.  The old woman looked; her face grew hard and frightened, and she rose feebly, moving toward the girl as though for protection against him.  Chad’s very heart seemed suddenly to turn to water.  He had been dreading the moment to come when he must tell.  He knew it would be hard, but he was not looking for this.

“You better git away!” quavered the old woman, “afore Joel and Rube come in.”

“Hush!” said the girl, sharply, her hands clinched like claws, her whole body stiff, like a tigress ready to attack, or awaiting attack.

“Mebbe he come hyeh to find out whar they air—­don’t tell him!”

“Lissy!” said Chad, brokenly.

“Then whut did you come fer?”

“To tell you good-by, I came to see all of you, Lissy.”

The girl laughed scornfully, and Chad knew he was helpless.  He could not explain, and they could not understand—­nobody had understood.

“Aunt Betsey,” he said, “you took Jack and me in, and you took care of me just as though I had been your own child.  You know I’d give my life for you or Uncle Joel, or any one of the boys”—­his voice grew a little stern—­“and you know it, too, Lissy—­”

“You’re makin’ things wuss,” interrupted the girl, stridently, “an’ now you’re goin’ to do all you can to kill us.  I reckon you can see that door.  Why don’t you go over to the Dillons?” she panted.  “They’re friends o’ your’n.  An’ don’t let Uncle Joel or Rube ketch you anywhar round hyeh!”

“I’m not afraid to see Uncle Joel or Rube, Lissy.”

“You must git away, Chad,” quavered the old woman.  “They mought hurt ye!”

“I’m sorry not to see Jack.  He’s the only friend I have now.”

“Why, Jack would snarl at ye,” said the girl, bitterly.  “He hates a Yankee.”  She pointed again with her finger.  “I reckon you can see that door.”

They followed him, Melissa going on the porch and the old woman standing in the doorway.  On one side of the walk Chad saw a rose-bush that he had brought from the Bluegrass for Melissa.  It was dying.  He took one step toward it, his foot sinking in the soft earth where the girl had evidently been working around it, and broke off the one green leaf that was left.

“Here, Lissy!  You’ll be sorry you were so hard on me.  I’d never get over it if I didn’t think you would.  Keep this, won’t you, and let’s be friends, not enemies.”

He held it out, and the girl angrily struck the rose-leaf from his hand to her feet.

Chad rode away at a walk.  Two hundred yards below, where the hill rose, the road was hock-deep with sand, and Dixie’s feet were as noiseless as a cat’s.  A few yards beyond a ravine on the right, a stone rolled from the bushes into the road.  Instinctively Chad drew rein, and Dixie stood motionless.  A moment later, a crouching figure, with a long squirrel rifle, slipped out of the bushes and started noiselessly across the ravine.  Chad’s pistol flashed.