hump-backed liar and got a clip on the head that did for him."

"It's an ugly story," said Sylvie. Bella and Pete retained their
silence.

"Murder ain't pretty telling, as a general thing," remarked the
sheriff.

"No, though I've heard of cases where a man was justified in killing
another man--I mean to save some one he loved from dreadful
suffering," Sylvie replied.

"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. I've read stories that make
it look that way, but in all my experience, it's the cowards and the
fools that kill, and they do it because they're lower down, closer
to the beast, or perhaps to an uncontrolled child, than most of us."

"But there was a time," Bella said, with a smothered passion, "when
an insult to a gentleman's honor had to be avenged."

"Yes, ma'am," drawled the sheriff, "in them history days things was
fixed up to excuse animal doin's, kind of neater and easier and more
becomin' than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we have our beds?
We've kept these ladies up talkin' long enough. Your mother looks
plum wore out."

They slept in the bed usually shared by Pete and Hugh. Pete lay on the
floor in the living-room not far from his brother's hiding-place--lay
there rigid and feverish, staring at the night. Sylvie, at Bella's
side, slept no better. Her imagination went over and over the story