They had now reached the mill-race and had seated themselves on the high embankment where they could watch the water swirl swiftly beneath them.  The mill was not grinding to-day and its neighborhood seemed quite deserted.  Here the old Colonel and his granddaughter sat dreamily for a long time, conversing casually on various subjects or allowing themselves to drift into thought.  It was a happy hour for them both and was only interrupted when Jackson the miller passed by on his way home from the village.  The man gave the Colonel a surly nod, but he smiled on Mary Louise, the girl being as popular in the district as her grandfather was unpopular.

After Jackson had passed them by Gran’pa Jim rose slowly and proposed they return home.

“If we go through the village,” said he, “we shall reach home, without hurrying ourselves, in time to dress for dinner.  I object to being hurried, don’t you, Mary Louise?”

“Yes, indeed, if it can be avoided.”

Going through the village saved them half a mile in distance, but Mary Louise would not have proposed it herself, on account of the Colonel’s well-known aversion to meeting people.  This afternoon, however, he made the proposal himself, so they strolled away to the main road that led through the one business street of the little town.

At this hour there was little life in Beverly’s main street.  The farmers who drove in to trade had now returned home; the town women were busy getting supper and most of their men were at home feeding the stock or doing the evening chores.  However, they passed an occasional group of two or three and around the general store stood a few other natives, listlessly awaiting the call to the evening meal.  These cast curious glances at the well-known forms of the old man and the young girl, for his two years’ residence had not made the testy old Colonel any less strange to them.  They knew all about him there was to know—­which was nothing at all—­and understood they must not venture to address him as they would have done any other citizen.

Cooper’s Hotel, a modest and not very inviting frame building, stood near the center of the village and as Mary Louise and her grandfather passed it the door opened and a man stepped out and only avoided bumping into them by coming to a full stop.  They stopped also, of necessity, and Mary Louise was astonished to find the stranger staring into the Colonel’s face with an expression of mingled amazement and incredulity on his own.

“James Hathaway, by all the gods!” he exclaimed, adding in wondering tones:  “And after all these years!”

Mary Louise, clinging to her grandfather’s arm, cast an upward glance at his face.  It was tensely drawn; the eyelids were half closed and through their slits the Colonel’s eyes glinted fiercely.

“You are mistaken, fellow.  Out of my way!” he said, and seizing the girl’s arm, which she had withdrawn in affright, he marched straight ahead.  The man fell back, but stared after them with his former expression of bewildered surprise.  Mary Louise noted this in a glance over her shoulder and something in the stranger’s attitude—­was it a half veiled threat?—­caused her to shudder involuntarily.