"Truly, indeed, 'God moves in a mysterious way,'" mused Mr. Verne as
he glanced at the crumpled paper, "and to think they have been
foiled in the outset. To think that I have entertained such a
monster, and to have heard him applauded until I was nigh sick.
Heavens! if there be a retributive justice it shall surely be meted
out to that accursed viper, Hubert Tracy."
The compressed lips and fierce scowl gave expression to the anger
within, and showed that when once aroused Stephen Verne was "a
foeman worthy of his steel."
He deliberated long upon his young friend's magnanimity.
"Lawson is a man of ten thousand, else he would have had the
satisfaction of seeing the whole gang reap their reward. Aye,
lynching is too good for them, the scoundrels. But the time will
come when they'll be found out, for they'll not stop at that," and
in clear distinct tones Mr. Verne repeated the following lines:--
"Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding
small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds
He all."
Mrs. Montgomery was not satisfied with Mr. Verne's evasiveness. Like
most women she had a fair share of curiosity, and now she was doubly
curious.
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