the village. They stood about the streets in mysterious groups and
spoke in undertones, and now and then a man would go to the jail window
and confer with the prisoners through the bars. Several men had been
summoned to attend the trial as witnesses, and others went out of
curiosity or friendship for the accused.

That evening, as John Westerfelt was passing through the hall of the
hotel to the dining-room, he met Harriet Floyd. She started when she
saw him, and he thought she acted as if she wanted to speak to him, but
just then some other boarders entered, and she turned from him
abruptly. She sat opposite him at the table a few moments later, but
she did not look in his direction.

On his return to the stable after supper, Washburn gave him a letter.
He recognized Sue Dawson's handwriting on the envelope.

"Is it a order?" asked Washburn, thinking it concerned the business.

"No, no; from a--a friend." Westerfelt lighted a candle at the wick of
Washburn's lantern and went up to his room. He put the candle on a
little table and sat down by it.

"I'll never read another line from that woman," he said. "I can't.
She'll run me crazy! I've suffered enough."

He threw the letter unopened on the table, and clasped his hands over
his knee and sat motionless for several minutes. Then he picked up the
letter and held one corner of it in the candle-flame. It ignited, and
the blue blaze began to spread over the envelope. Suddenly he blew it
out and tore the letter open. The margin of the paper was charred, but