For he was beginning not to believe it.  At first he had not thought of doubting Bennie D.’s statement concerning the divorce.  Now, as his thoughts became clearer, his doubts grew.  His wife had not mentioned the subject in their morning interview.  Possibly she would not have done so in any event, but, as the memory of her behavior and speech became clearer in his mind, it seemed to him that she could not have kept such a secret.  She had been kinder, had seemed to him more—­yes, almost—­why, when he asked her to be his again, to give him another chance, she had hesitated.  She had not said no at once, she hesitated.  If she was about to divorce him, would she have acted in such a way?  It hardly seemed possible.

Then came the letter and the telephone message.  It was after these that she had said no with decision.  Perhaps . . . was it possible that she had known of her brother-in-law’s coming only then?  Now that he thought of it, she had not gone away at once after the talk over the ’phone.  She had waited a moment as if for him to speak.  He, staggered and paralyzed by the sight of his enemy’s name in that letter, had not spoken and then she . . .  He did not believe she was seeking a divorce!  It was all another of Bennie D.’s lies!

But suppose she was seeking it.  Or suppose—­for he knew the persuasive power of that glib tongue only too well—­suppose her brother-in-law should persuade her to do it.  Should he sit still—­in seclusion, as his late adviser had counseled—­and let this irrevocable and final move be made?  After a divorce—­Seth’s idea of divorces were vague and Puritanical—­there would be no hope.  He and Emeline could never come together after that.  And he must give her up and all his hopes of happiness, all that he had dreamed of late, would be but dreams, never realities.  No! he could not give them up.  He would not.  Publicity, scandal, everything, he could face, but he would not give his wife up without a fight.  What should he do?

For a long time he paced up and down beneath the pines trying to plan, to come to some decision.  All that he could think of was to return to the Lights, to go openly to the bungalow, see Emeline and make one last appeal.  Bennie D. might be there, but if he was—­well, by jiminy crimps, let him look out, that’s all!

He had reached this point in his meditations when the wind, which had been steadily increasing and tossing the pinetops warningly, suddenly became a squall which brought with it a flurry of rain.  He started and looked up.  The sky was dark, it was late in the afternoon, and the storm he had prophesied had arrived.

Half an hour later he ran, panting and wet, into the blacksmith’s shop.  The automobile was standing in the middle of the floor, and Mr. Ellis was standing beside it, perspiring and troubled.

“Where’s Joshua?” demanded Seth.

“Hey?” inquired the blacksmith absently.

“Where’s my horse?  Is he ready?”