Mamie and himself--a parting insult that should at the last moment
proclaim their treachery and his own credulity. Doubtless it
contained a declaration of their shame, and the reason why she had
fled from him without a word of explanation. And the enclosure, of
course, was some significant and degrading illustration. Those
Americans are full of those low conceits; it was their national
vulgarity.

He had the letter in his angry hand. He could break it open if he
wished and satisfy himself; but it was not addressed to HIM, and
the instinct of honor, strong even in his rage, was the instinct of
an adversary as well. No; Slinn should open the letter before him.
Slinn should explain everything, and answer for it. If it was
nothing--a mere accident--it would lead to some general
explanation, and perhaps even news of Mamie. But he would arraign
Slinn, and at once. He put the letter in his pocket, quickly
retraced his steps to his horse, and, putting spurs to the animal,
followed the high road to the gate of Mulrady's pioneer cabin.

He remembered it well enough. To a cultivated taste, it was
superior to the more pretentious "new house." During the first
year of Mulrady's tenancy, the plain square log-cabin had received
those additions and attractions which only a tenant can conceive
and actual experience suggest; and in this way the hideous right
angles were broken with sheds, "lean-to" extensions, until a
certain picturesqueness was given to the irregularity of outline,
and a home-like security and companionship to the congregated
buildings. It typified the former life of the great capitalist, as
the tall new house illustrated the loneliness and isolation that
wealth had given him. But the real points of vantage were the