Squire Talford remembered the ring well, but it galled him inexpressibly to hear Clifford so vaunted--this boy whom he had always hated because of a secret wrong in which his mother had once figured, and which he had nursed for half a life-time. It rasped him almost beyond endurance to find that, in spite of the efforts he had made to crush him, he had overcome every obstacle in the past, and was steadily rising toward fame and fortune; that even now, in his early manhood, he had far outstripped himself in attaining a social position in the world.
"He is a handsome, intellectual-looking fellow, don't you think?" his companion inquired. "You do not often see a finer head, a more frank, honest face on a man, while his eyes are simply magnificent."
The squire literally ground his teeth with rage, but controlling himself after a moment, he remarked, with a touch of sarcasm in his tones:
"You are enthusiastic over him, I perceive. But it seems that he isn't above becoming a fortune-hunter, since he is going to marry the rich Miss Heatherford."
"There you are mistaken, sir," was the spirited retort. "Faxon is no fortune-hunter--I'd take my oath that he would never stoop to win any one from a mercenary motive. The fact is that he and Miss Heatherford met and became acknowledged lovers while the girl was working for her living, and, notwithstanding he has no fortune or social position except what he has won for himself, she is prouder of him than she would be of a crown prince."
The squire could bear no more of that kind of talk in his present frame of mind, and, excusing himself to his communicative companion, he left him and made his way toward the hall, with the intention of slipping out unobserved and returning to his boarding-place. He was so absorbed in his disagreeable reflections that he paid no heed to any of the people about him, and had just reached the great archway leading out of the drawing-room when his way was suddenly blocked by some one who had paused before him and given vent to a startled exclamation.
Squire Talford lifted his head with a great, inward shock, and found a familiar form confronting him. The two men glared into each other's faces for a full minute without speaking, both looking like a couple of specters. Then the stranger gasped with colorless lips: