But between the girl and that last row of close-set trees, waiting his coming, stood the woman with the disfigured face.
Rutlidge paused--angry with himself for so foolishly yielding to the impulse of his passion.
Myra Willard went toward him fearlessly--her fine eyes blazing with righteous indignation.

"What are you trying to do, James Rutlidge ?" she demanded--and her words were bold and clear.
The man was silent.
"You are evidently a worthy son of your father," the woman continued--every clear-cut word biting into his consciousness with stinging scorn.

"He, in his day, did all he knew to turn this world into a hell for those who were unfortunate enough to please his vile fancy.

You, I see, are following faithfully his footsteps.

I know you, and the creed of your kind--as I knew your father before you.