other robberies by a secret masked gang; a hundred other things that had worried her, instinctively, vaguely.  She knew now, too, the meaning of the unrest that had driven her from Heavy Tree Hill—­the strange unformulated fears that had haunted her even here.  Yet with all this she felt, too, her present weakness—­knew that this man had taken her at a disadvantage, that she ought to indignantly assert herself, deny everything, demand proof, and brand him a slanderer!

“How did—­you—­know it was my husband?” she stammered.

“His mask fell off in the fight; you know another mask was found—­it was his.  I saw him as plainly as I see him there!” he pointed to a daguerreotype of her husband which stood upon her desk.

Mrs. Wade could only stare vacantly, hopelessly.  After a pause the man continued in a less aggressive manner and more confidential tone, which, however, only increased her terror.  “I ain’t sayin’ that you knowed anything about this, ma’am, and whatever other folks might say when they know of it, I’ll allers say that you didn’t.”

“What, then, did you come here for?” said the widow desperately.

“What do I come here for?” repeated the man grimly, looking around the room; “what did I come to this yer comfortable home—­this yer big ranch and to a rich woman like yourself for?  Well, Mrs. Wade, I come to get the six hundred dollars your husband robbed me of, that’s all!  I ain’t askin’ more!  I ain’t askin’ interest!  I ain’t askin’ compensation for havin’ to run for my life—­and,” again looking grimly round the walls, “I ain’t askin’ more than you will give—­or is my rights.”

“But this house never was his; it was my father’s,” gasped Mrs. Wade; “you have no right”—­

“Mebbe ‘yes’ and mebbe ‘no,’ Mrs. Wade,” interrupted the man, with a wave of his hat; “but how about them two checks to bearer for two hundred dollars each found among your husband’s effects, and collected by your lawyer for you—­my checks, Mrs. Wade?”

A wave of dreadful recollection overwhelmed her.  She remembered the checks found upon her husband’s body, known only to her and her lawyer, believed to be gambling gains, and collected at once under his legal advice.  Yet she made one more desperate effort in spite of the instinct that told her he was speaking the truth.

“But you shall have to prove it—­before witnesses.”

“Do you want me to prove it before witnesses?” said the man, coming nearer her.  “Do you want to take my word and keep it between ourselves, or do you want to call in your superintendent and his men, and all Santy Any, to hear me prove your husband was a highwayman, thief, and murderer?  Do you want to knock over that monument on Heavy Tree Hill, and upset your standing here among the deacons and elders?  Do you want to do all this and be forced, even by your neighbors, to pay me in the end, as you will?  Ef you do, call in your witnesses now and let’s have it over.  Mebbe it would look better ef I got the money out of your friends than ye—­a woman!  P’raps you’re right!”