Deep twilight had come. The time when vague stars shine shyly, uncertain whether or not to show their faces. Objects along the roadside were becoming slightly blurred, and the unsightly things of the garish day were softened into pleasant lines and tones. The man riding townward felt the witchery of the hour. It entered into him and lay upon his soul, speaking of peace. He breathed more gently, and let his horse take its time. From the gates of the west which had unclosed to receive the going day, a breeze had surely blown from Paradise. And alone there, in the soft dusk, two faces rose up before the man. One was fresh, unfretted, appealing, beautiful, with brown eyes which looked innocence and trust. The one beside it was crowned with a bewildering glory of bronze-gold hair, full of sullen splendours, like a stormy sunset; an oval face of perfect lines and charm ineffable, and winey eyes which lured. He looked upon the two, and his eyes grew strained; that look of awful weariness stole over his face, as though the battle were almost too hard, and he groaned in his throat while a shudder swept him, making him tremble from head to foot. He was conscious of a sound, far away, but growing more distinct. _Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!_ It was a horse on the highway ahead, running fast. _Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!_ It was just around the bend in front of him. In a dull way he drew his horse somewhat to one side. A huge black shape thundered into view, seemingly of mammoth proportions in the dim light. Straight to the middle of the road it clung, its hoofs striking fire at every leap, its rider making no effort to swerve it. Glenning called, and pulled his horse sharply aside. Horse and rider swept by, so close that the man's knee brushed John's sleeve. In that fraction of a second their eyes met, and each recognized the other. But neither stopped. Marston rode on till his horse drew up quivering at his gate, and Glenning, a new, strange light in his eyes, drove on towards town.
Arriving at the livery stable he inquired for Judge Colver. That gentleman lived in the country, and had gone home. He would have to make his report in the morning, when the people could be advised by bulletin of the presence of small-pox in the county, the proper quarantine established, and measures taken for preventing the disease from spreading. He suddenly remembered that, in the business of getting established, he had neglected opening the account at the bank, and had also forgotten his hotel bill. It was too late to keep his promise to Dillard that day, so he turned down street towards the hotel, resolving to settle his bill there. Supper was in progress when he entered the office, and the place was comparatively empty. He paid his reckoning to the smiling Jones, and was preparing to leave, when Travers came out of the passage leading to the hotel bar, and called his name. John turned, and coldly faced him. The landlord beckoned, and retreated to the passage. John hesitated a moment, for he desired no further dealings with this person, but upon second thought he followed. Travers' nervous manner had returned. He fidgeted, and shifted his weight, and toyed with his watch chain.