“Oh, not that—­Ruth.”

“Yes—­yes, sartin, of course . . .  Ruth, I mean.”

She left him standing by the writing table.  After she had gone he sank slowly down into the chair again.  Eight o’clock struck and he was still sitting there. . . .  And Fate chose that time to send Captain Sam Hunniwell striding up the walk and storming furiously at the back door.

“Jed!” roared the captain.  “Jed Winslow!  Jed!”

Jed lifted his head from his hands.  He most decidedly did not wish to see Captain Sam or any one else.

“Jed!” roared the captain again.

Jed accepted the inevitable.  “Here I am,” he groaned, miserably.

The captain did not wait for an invitation to enter.  Having ascertained that the owner of the building was within, he pulled the door open and stamped into the kitchen.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“Here,” replied Jed, without moving.

“Here?  Where’s here? . . .  Oh, you’re in there, are you?  Hidin’ there in the dark, eh?  Afraid to show me your face, I shouldn’t wonder.  By the gracious king, I should think you would be!  What have you got to say to me, eh?”

Apparently Jed had nothing to say.  Captain Sam did not wait.

“And you’ve called yourself my friend!” he sneered savagely.  “Friend—­you’re a healthy friend, Jed Winslow!  What have you got to say to me . . . eh?”

Jed sighed.  “Maybe I’d be better able to say it if I knew what you was talkin’ about, Sam,” he observed, drearily.

“Know!  I guess likely you know all right.  And according to her you’ve known all along.  What do you mean by lettin’ me take that—­ that state’s prison bird into my bank?  And lettin’ him associate with my daughter and—­and . . .  Oh, by gracious king!  When I think that you knew what he was all along, I—­I—­”

His anger choked off the rest of the sentence.  Jed rubbed his eyes and sat up in his chair.  For the first time since the captain’s entrance he realized a little of what the latter said.  Before that he had been conscious only of his own dull, aching, hopeless misery.

“Hum. . . .  So you’ve found out, Sam, have you?” he mused.

“Found out!  You bet I’ve found out!  I only wish to the Lord I’d found out months ago, that’s all.”

“Hum. . . .  Charlie didn’t tell you? . . .  No-o, no, he couldn’t have got back so soon.”

“Back be hanged!  I don’t know whether he’s back or not, blast him.  But I ain’t a fool all the time, Jed Winslow, not all the time I ain’t.  And when I came home tonight and found Maud cryin’ to herself and no reason for it, so far as I could see, I set out to learn that reason.  And I did learn it.  She told me the whole yarn, the whole of it.  And I saw the scamp’s letter.  And I dragged out of her that you—­you had known all the time what he was, and had never told me a word. . . .  Oh, how could you, Jed!  How could you!”