hurriedly, as one who had already considered the question and had his mind made up:
"There will be no scandal!" He spoke in so decided a way that the other was impressed.
"How do you know? What ground have you for speaking so decidedly?"
"It rests entirely on you—yourself, Colonel Ogilvie."
"What!" His tone was laden with both anger and surprise. Do you think I would spread any ill report of my own daughter? Sir, you must" Once more the Sheriff cut into his speaking:
"You misapprehend me. Colonel Ogilvie. You misapprehend me entirely. Why should I—how could I think such a thing! No! I mean that if you accept the facts as they seem to me to be, no one—not you, nor any one else, can make scandal; if you do not!"
"Explain yourself," he interrupted. "Nay, do not think me rude"—here he put up a deprecating hand—"but I am so deeply anxious about my daughter's happiness—her future welfare and happiness," he added as he remembered how his violent attitude had, only a few minutes ago imperilled—almost destroyed, that happiness. Joy had been, off and on, whispering a word to her aunt so that the latter was now fairly well posted in the late events.
"Quite so! quite so, my dear sir. Most natural thing in the world," said the Sheriff soothingly. "Usual thing under the circumstances is to kill the man; or want to kill him!" As he spoke he looked at Athlyne meaningly. The other understood and checked the words which were rising to his lips. Then, having tided over the immediate danger of explosion, the Sheriff went on:
"The fact is Colonel Ogilvie, that the series of doings (and perhaps misdoings) and accidents, which have led to our all meeting here and now, has brought about a strange conclusion. So far as I can see"—here his manner grew grave and judicial—"these two young people are at the
