Her cheeks reddened.

"No, you are not! Is that then your conception of me? Let me tell you differently. Just so soon as this city wakes up, I am going to start forth again and seek work."

The smile I was attempting faded.

"Seek work! I understood you confided yourself to my care."

"Not—not in that way—never!" indignantly. "You had no right to so construe my words. You—you know I am not like that. I trusted you as a man; I—I gave you my—my confidence as a friend," her speech growing swift, and impetuous. "Do not make me sorry. I will not accept your money; I will never remain dependent upon you, or a burden. I have regained my courage, and am no longer afraid. All I needed was to know that I was not all alone—I can fight for the rest."

"Mrs. Bernard," I began quietly, realizing her spirit. "You have given a wrong meaning to my words; I respect you, believe in you, and merely desire to help you to the best of my ability. Sit down here, and let us face this thing squarely together. We must n't act like children, or close our eyes to facts. For instance—we have both been up all night. That is n't specially new for me, but it is to you, and the exposure and strain shows. You are not fit to go out hunting employment."

"Poverty has no choice," bitterly. "The fact that I am tired does not matter."

"Oh, but it does. Now I am not quite so badly off as you suppose. All I ask is a chance to think, to arrange some plan. Won't you sit quietly there until I puzzle it out?"

She sank down wearily upon one end of the settee, and I took the other, leaning forward, my face in my hands.



CHAPTER IX

WE COMPLETE ARRANGEMENTS

For a few moments as I sat thus in silence the obvious way out never once occurred to me. Somehow the memory of my own position had become blotted out in contemplation of the serious predicament of my companion. How could I assist her in spite of her pride, and her determination to continue the struggle alone. I could not take her to my boarding house, which was exclusively for men, nor did I have any acquaintance able to furnish her employment. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, and my fingers touched the two bills handed me by Vail. For an instant I failed to realize their significance, and then the recollection of my own engagement came swiftly back. At first the memory was a disgust; the very presence of the girl, and her tale of struggle, made me realize the sordidness of this plot in which I was involved. Somehow it struck me then as a dirty, underhanded scheme. Yet, as I reviewed the details, this conception largely vanished. We were defrauding no one, merely protecting a man helpless to protect himself, backed by legal advice, as well as by the desire of the administrators of the will. The comparatively large sum of money offered me for the service was not excessive considering the amount involved, or the way in which I physically resembled the party represented. The feeling of resentment died away, but I doubted if she could be made to look at it in the same light. I glanced across to where she sat, the gray dawn giving me clear view. Her head rested back upon one arm, and she was asleep. Uncomfortable as she looked, she was still resting, the tired lines of her face less noticeable. I had no heart to awaken her, and remained motionless, thinking it all over carefully in detail.

We remained undisturbed, our settee removed from the main pathway, along which a few early workmen passed. She was the very one to act the part of Philip Henley's wife, if she would consent. Her refinement, the clear innocence of her face, would be convincing, and I began already to long for her company. Yet she would have to be told every detail, convinced the apparent fraud was justifiable. I rather dreaded the look in her eyes when she first heard the proposal, and her questioning me. While I still hesitated, fearful of refusal, the sun shining upon her face awoke her suddenly. She straightened up instantly, but her eyes smiled as they met mine.

"I was asleep," she said in surprise. "For how long?"

"Nearly two hours."

"And you have sat there quietly all that time?"

"That is nothing. I was tired, but not sleepy. Besides, I had so much to think about."

"You mean regarding what you shall do with me," and she arose to her feet. "It is time now I did something for myself."

"Wait, please," and I extended my hand, almost forcing her back upon the settee. "Let me say a word first before you decide to go. All I told you last night about myself is true, with one exception. I have money, and profitable work in view—see!" and I held before her the two bills.

She gazed at them with wide-open eyes, half convinced of some legerdemain.

"A thousand dollars," she exclaimed bewildered. "You! why, what does it all mean?"

"Yes, and nine thousand more promised, when I complete work that ought not to require to exceed two months. I was not without money in the restaurant, only I could not ask the cashier to change so large a bill. Sit down again, please, and let me tell you the story."

She did so, almost reluctantly, as though doubting my sanity, but I could note a change in the expression of her face as I proceeded. I told it slowly, carefully, pausing to explain each detail to her questioning, yet was not interrupted more than once or twice. Somehow, as I thus repeated the proposed scheme to another it did not appear quite as easy, or honorable, as when I faced it alone. However, I struggled through, painting the affair as well as I could, but without daring to propose her cooperation. Her wide-open eyes on my face gave me a thrill of apprehension I could not analyze.

"That 's the whole story," I ended, rather lamely.

"What do you think of it?"

"I—I hardly know," with slow hesitation. "It is very strange. Tell me the young man's name again."

"Henley—Philip Henley."

"And the town?"

"Carrollton, Alabama."

"And he is in prison for crime, you say—what crime?"

"Forgery, a fourteen-year sentence."

"Did they tell you when he was sent there?"

"No; I believe not."

"And his wife has disappeared? They can find no trace of her?"

"So both men assured me."

"And this one named Neale—are you certain he is an administrator?"

"Yes, I was shown a certified copy of the will; everything seemed to be exactly as represented."

She pressed one hand to her forehead, her eyes on the ground. I watched her, an unasked question trembling on my lips. Suddenly she looked up again, her cheeks flushed.

"You were going to suggest that I go with you, were you not?" she asked swiftly. "That I play the wife's part? Why did n't you ask it?"

"Because I lacked courage," I replied frankly, yet leaning eagerly toward her. "I was afraid you would take such a proposition wrongly."

"Then you retain some respect for me; some faith in my character?"

"I certainly do," earnestly.

"And you see nothing wrong in carrying out your part? You mean to go to Carrollton with someone—a woman?"

"I—I agreed to the terms—yes."

She drew a long breath, her eyes upon mine.

"Then I will go also," she said soberly, and held out her hand.

"You mean that?"

"Yes—why not? Surely it is as right for me as for you. You wished me to say yes, did you not?"

My face must have answered, as my lips failed, but she went on swiftly:

"Then I will go; only remember it is acting, a mere play in which I have a certain part to perform. We are to be friends throughout it all—actors on the stage. There must be no misunderstanding about this."

I had recovered my voice now, realizing all she meant, and anxious to reassure her.

"Certainly. There will be no mistake, Mrs. Bernard. That was why I hesitated to ask you, for fear you might misinterpret my purpose. You are the very woman to do this. I dreaded to have with me the kind Vail would have sent. I am delighted—truly I am, and nothing shall occur to cause you any regret."

"We go tonight?—I shall need clothing."

"Of course; that was what this money was advanced for, to outfit us. How much will you need?"

She thought a moment, a little line of perplexity between her eyes, finally naming a sum which surprised me.

"Not more than that?" I exclaimed. "Surely that is not enough."

"Oh, yes, it is," laughing. "There will be no dressing. All I need do is appear neat."

We sat there and talked it over, deciding exactly our course of action. At nine o'clock I left her, hunted up the nearest bank and got change for my bill. Then I gave her the amount asked, and we separated, to meet again late that afternoon at the depot. I felt no doubt as to her being there on time. My day was a busy one, as I had to visit my boarding house, buy needful clothing, and arrange for transportation. At the moment specified I called up Vail on the phone, and he responded instantly, the very tone of his voice evidencing the relief he felt at hearing from me.

"Began to think I had skipped with the thousand?" I asked. "Well, I have n't, for the other nine looks too good."

"You are going, then?"

"Sure; all packed, and transportation bought. Best of it is I 've found the right woman to go along with me.

"Good; I didn't know what to do about that—the one I had in mind is out of town. Who is she?"

"Oh, never mind her name; she is all right, a friend of mine."

"Not likely anyone I know. Where are you?"

I told him, and he agreed to send over certain papers to me by messenger. These arrived promptly, and I studied them carefully until nearly train time, getting all the facts firmly implanted in my mind. Then, my heart beating somewhat faster than usual, I took cab to the depot, more deeply interested I fear in again meeting Mrs. Bernard, than in the adventure itself. We met beneath the grim shadow of the train shed.



CHAPTER X

AT THE PLANTATION

The events of the day had changed her greatly. At first, as she came toward me through the crowd near the gate, holding out a neatly gloved hand, I could scarcely realise that this well-dressed, soft-voiced lady was the homeless creature I had consorted with the night before. Her eyes laughingly challenged mine, while the hours since had given her back perfect control.

"So you did not even know me," she said pleasantly. "Oh, but you did not—you were passing by when I spoke. Don't apologize, for really I take it as the highest compliment. You are wonderfully improved yourself. If I had ever doubted your claim to having been well born I would realize the truth now. That is something not easily counterfeited."

"And something evidently you need never try to counterfeit," I added, forgetful of our peculiar relations, as I gazed at the arch face under the broad hat brim. "Pray how did you work such a marvelous transformation on so small a sum? I had a theory marriage was expensive."

Her cheeks flamed.

"That depends," she replied; "I had excellent training. The marvel is even greater than you suppose, for behold this case also filled with necessities. Is this our train?"

"Yes," and I took up the grip she designated as hers. "Let us get settled and into the diner, for I am hungry as a wolf."

I had procured opposite sections, and, before retiring, we studied the papers, together with Vail's letter of instruction, and thus came to a complete understanding. She was quick-witted, and spoke frankly, and yet, when I finally lay down in my berth I felt less well acquainted with her than before. Somehow, in a manner inexplainable, a vague barrier had arisen between us. I could not trace it to any word or action on her part, and yet I felt held away as by an invisible hand. Her very cordiality exhibited a reserve which made me clearly comprehend that the slightest familiarity would be checked. Evidently she had determined coolly to carry out the deceit, to act her part to perfection, because of the reward, and she meant I should comprehend her exact position. I fell asleep dissatisfied, half believing she was also playing a part with me, although it was impossible to conceive her purpose. The conception even came that she was herself an adventuress, yet I throttled the thought instantly, unwilling to harbor it.

It was at the close of the following afternoon when our train reached Carrollton. The depot must have been a mile from the town, and very few people were upon the platform, two drummers and ourselves the only ones to disembark. The traveling men hastened to the nearest hack, while I glanced about in search of a conveyance. The only other vehicle present was a two-seated surrey, driven by a rather disreputable negro. I approached in some doubt.

"No, sah," he said, grinning. "Dis yere am my own curridge, sah; tain't nuthin' ter do wid de Henley plantation. I reckon dey done did n't git no telegram. Dey sure did n't less dey wus oxpectin' one, an' cum inter town after it. Yes, sah, I know whar de place am all right. I done worked dar onct. I reckon you 'se Massa Philip Henley, sah; though you 've sure growd some since I saw you de las' time. I 'se ol' Pete, sah; I reckon you remembers ol' Pete."

"Of course I do," I returned heartily, encouraged by his words to believe I would pass muster. "Can you drive us out?"

The negro scratched his head.

"I reckon as how I can, sah, leastwise so far as ther gate. It's going to be plum dark when we gits dar, an' dis nigger don't fool round dar none in de dark."

"Why, what's the trouble, Pete?"

"Cause ol' Massa Henley's ghost was hangin' round, sah. I ain't nebber seen it myself, an' I don't want to, for he was sure bad 'nough alive, but dar 's niggers what has."

"Oh, pshaw," I laughed, turning toward the silent girl. "We will risk the ghost if you 'll drive us out. Put in the grips."

"Yes, sah. I reckon this yere am de new missus."

"Yes," and I assisted her into the rear seat. "That's all; now jog along."

He climbed into his place, but with no special alacrity; but whipped his team into a swift trot, evidently anxious to complete the trip as early as possible. I glanced aside at my companion, observing the paleness of her face.

"Surely you are not afraid of the negro's ghost?" I questioned.

"Oh, no, but the strangeness of it all has got on my nerves. I did not suppose it would be so hard, and—and I am not so sure now that we ought to do this."

"But that is foolish," I insisted, a bit angrily. "We talked it all over, you know, and no harm can be done, except through our discovery. Don't fail me now."

"Oh, I am not going to fail," indignantly. "The ride will steady my nerves," she leaned forward whispering, her head inclined toward the front seat. "Perhaps he can tell us who we shall meet there?"

"Pete," I asked, "who is out there now?"

The negro turned, so I could see the whites of his eyes.

"At de Henley plantation, sah? Why, I reckon de oberseer an' de housekeeper—both white folks. I done don't know just who dey am fer shure, cause dey don't stay long no more. I reckon dey can't abide dat ghost, sah, an' de field han's dey won't stay on de place at all affer dark."

"The overseer and housekeeper then are newly employed?"

"Dem am de fac's, sah. Deh ain't been dar no time at all, an' I reckon as how dey won't stay long, though de niggers say de oberseer am a hell ob a man."

Here was a pleasant situation surely. While the conditions were favorable enough so far as our purpose was concerned, yet I fervently wished we had postponed our arrival until daylight. While the negro's ghost had no terrors for me—indeed, merely afforded amusement—I realized my companion was not so indifferent. She pressed closer to me in the narrow seat, her eyes on the dusky shadows. I endeavored to laugh away her fears, but got little response. The road was a lonely one, although apparently well traveled, bordered by rail fences and, deserted-looking fields. Once we passed through a swamp, and skirted the edge of timber. Then we turned to the right into a branch track, where low bushes brushed our wheels. By this time it was quite dark, and Pete was obliged to hold in his horses. There was a quarter moon in the sky, just enough to give everything a spectral look, with no human habitation visible, and owls hooting dismally in the distance. It was uncanny in the extreme, and even I felt the desolation, and became silent. Pete whistled stoutly, but without enthusiasm, occasionally turning his head to make sure we were still there. I could hear her quick breathing, and feel an occasional clutch of her fingers on my sleeve at some unusual sound. Suddenly the negro pulled up before a high hedge, and I perceived the white glimmer of a gate opposite us, the black shadow of trees beyond.

"Here we am, sah," he whispered, glancing about fearful, "an' de good Lord knows I 'se glad tain't no furder. You just han' me a dollar, sah, an' den I 'se goin' fur to git out o' dis."

"Is that the house in there?"

"Suah, you ought for to know dat. Tain't changed none, 'cept run down a bit, far as I know. Here am your grips, sah."

We had no sooner alighted than he wheeled his team, and departed, whipping the horses into a run. I felt her hand grip my sleeve, and glanced aside into her face.

"Frightened?" I asked, endeavoring to speak easily. "Don't let that fellow bother you; surely you do not believe in spooks?"

"No," her voice trembling, "but it is all so desolate. I—I wish we had waited until daylight."

"Well, frankly, so do I," I responded, "but the thought comes too late. There is nothing left us but to try the house; we cannot pass the night out here."

"No, oh, no!"

"Then come on," and I picked up the suit cases. "We will probably be laughing at ourselves in five minutes. You will have to unlatch the gate."

It was held in place by a sagging rope, but opened noiselessly, and we advanced onto a brick walk, so little used as to be half hidden by weeds growing in the crevices. The moon dimly revealed rank vegetation on either side, while ahead, beneath the tree shadows, the darkness was profound. There was no sound, no faintest gleam of light to indicate the house, and I was compelled to advance cautiously to keep to the path, which apparently wound about in the form of a letter "S." We were at the foot of the front steps, the building itself looming black before us, almost before we realized its nearness. I could perceive the outlines indistinctly, and the deserted desolation affected me strangely. Perhaps some of the negro's superstition had got into my blood, for I felt my heart leap when the girl suddenly sobbed, clutching me in an agony of fear. Yet the very knowledge of her fright stiffened my resolution, and I dropped the grips to clasp both her hands.

"Don't!" I insisted. "I know the place looks leery enough, but Pete said the overseer and housekeeper were here. Doubtless they are in the back rooms. Wait here until I go up and rouse them."

"Oh, no; I could not stand it to be left alone."

"All right; here, take my hand, and we 'll go up together."

They were broad wooden steps, leading to a wide porch, the roof supported by heavy columns. Beyond was the dark bulk of the house, shapeless in the gloom. We were within a single step of the top when a man—seemingly a huge figure—suddenly emerged from the shadow of a column, and confronted us.

"What ther hell," he ejaculated sullenly, "are you doin' here?"

I paused with foot uplifted, too astounded at the apparition to respond, conscious my companion had shrunk behind.

"Well, speak up!" growled the voice. "What 's wanted?"

It was not in my nature to fear men, and this was evidently a man. I could feel the warm blood surge back to my heart.

"You surely startled me, friend," I explained. "Are you the overseer?"

"I reckon I am, but what I want to know is, who you are?"

"I?" striving to regain my wits. "Why, I am—am Philip Henley; we—we have just got in from the North."

"How did you git out yere?"

"A negro drove us from the station—old Pete who worked here once; maybe you know him?"

The man grunted.

"What become of the nigger?"

"He simply dumped us out at the gate, and drove back as though the devil was after him. He said the place was haunted."

"And he hit it about right at that, as ye'r' likely to find out afore mornin'. Is that a woman with you?"

"Yes—may we come in?"

"Oh, I reckon I ain't got no license to turn yer away, if yer mind ter risk it. Lord knows I 'm willin' 'nough to hav' company. Git yer duds, an' I 'll light up, so yer kin see a bit."

He disappeared, and I lugged the grips to the top of the steps, where we waited. Then a faint light streamed out through the open door, a moment later outlining his figure.

"Come on in," he said, still gruffly. "Yer don't need be afeerd o' me, mam, and the housekeeper be yere directly."

I confess I entered the dim hall reluctantly, obsessed by some strange premonition of danger, but Mrs. Bernard clung to me, and the sight of her white face gave me new courage.



CHAPTER XI

A PLEASANT WELCOME

It was an old-fashioned living room into which we entered, the floor unswept, the chairs faded and patched. Curtains were drawn closely at the windows, while the single oil lamp stood on a center table littered with old newspapers. I dropped the grips on the carpet, not so much interested in my surroundings as in the appearance of the man in charge. The shading of the light gave me only a partial view of the fellow, but he was big, loose-jointed, having enormous shoulders, his face so hidden by a heavy mustache, and low drawn hat brim, I could scarcely perceive its outline. He appeared a typical rough, wearing high boots, with an ugly-looking Colt in a belt holster.

"Where are you from?" I asked, surprised at this display of firearms.

"Texas," with a grin, not altogether pleasant. "That's an ol' friend."

"No doubt, but I see no sense in wearing it here. What are you afraid of?"

He stroked his mustache, eyeing me.

"Wal, personally, stranger, I ain't greatly feerd o' nuthin', but I wus hired fer to keep people outer this shebang. There ain't no work goin' on, so I don't hav' no niggers to keep folks out."

"Who employed you?"

"That don't make no difference. Those wus my orders—not to talk, nor let enybody hang 'round except you folks."

"Then we were expected?" in surprise.

"Sure; I reckon yer 'd a been hoofin' it up the road long afore this otherwise. Still, I dunno," with a suggestive wink, "I 've got a likin' fer pretty girls."

I glanced at her, where she had sank down on a dilapidated sofa, but no expression of her face told me she had overheard. It was the man's wink, more than his language, which angered me.

"Cut out your references to the lady," I said in a low tone, "unless you are starting in for trouble."

"Oh, skittish, hey! Wal, stranger, I never run away frum no troble yet, an' I reckon I don't begin now. Besides, yer need n't ride no high hoss with me. I 'm on ter your game."

His words sufficed to silence my batteries. I felt no fear of the man, big as he was and armed, but the thought that he might have been sent there by either Neale or Vail, and informed of the conspiracy, made me cautious about angering him. I must discover first the exact situation before locking horns with this Texas steer.

"Oh, do you!" I returned carelessly. "All right, then, we 'll let it go at that; only please remember the lady is under my protection. What is your name?"

"Coombs," in better humor, feeling he had bluffed me. "Bill Coombs."

"Can we have a bit of lunch?"

"I reckon yer can. Ol' Sally is a rustlin' some grub now. I stirred her up when I furst cum in."

He sat down cross-legged on a chair the other side the littered table, and stared at us, his hat still drawn down over his eyes. Whether the fellow knew no better or was deliberately insolent, I could not clearly determine. However, it was easy to perceive the girl was alarmed, and my thought was with her. This unmannerly brute could wait until we were alone for his lesson. I had handled worse men than him in my time, and I proposed finding out before we retired who was master. So when he even rolled and lit a cigarette, eyeing me closely during the operation, I pretended to take no notice, but spoke to her quietly, in a voice which would not carry across the room.

"Don't mind him," I whispered. "He's only a rough-neck trying to bully a bit. I'll teach him his place before tomorrow."

"It is not the man so much," she replied, giving me a glimpse of her eyes. "But it is all so desolate and gloomy. I have never been superstitious, but that negro's fear actually gave me the creeps. I have been seeing shadows ever since."

I laughed lightly, touching her hand.

"Still we 've found nothing else than live ones. Shadows won't hurt us, and this place will look better by daylight."

"You have n't any nerves."

"Oh, yes, I have; only they are trained. I didn't anticipate an easy job when I came down here. It's assumed a different form, that's all."

"You do not like it?"

"Not altogether," I admitted. "I am beginning to wonder if those fellows were square, if they gave me the straight story. Coombs' words would seem to indicate that he knows I 'm a fraud. Perhaps he did n't mean that, but it sounded so. Why should they tell that rough-neck their plans, and send him down here? I 'll find out what he knows, and how he knows it, before another ten hours. If he 's here to spy on us I 'll make him earn his money."

She did not look around.

"Are—are you just beginning to doubt what those men told you?"

"Doubt!" in surprise. "No; I don't know that I do. But I don't like to be mistrusted and watched. Why? Do you think they are double-crossing us?"

"I 've—I 've taken your word," she said quickly. "But it has never seemed quite right to me. I—I hardly know why I consented to come, only I was so miserable, anything seemed better than the life I was leading."

"You saw all the papers," I interposed, "and they bear out every statement."

"Yes, but could they not be forged? Why should any honest lawyer advise a client to undertake such a fraud?"

"Why, really I do not know," I returned, looking at her in astonishment. "Of course it does seem queer, but the case is a peculiar one, and, perhaps, can be solved in no strictly legal way. If you felt so about it, why did you not say so before?"

"Don't get angry—please. I hardly think I was myself then. It was just an impulse I could not resist to get away from the past. I was desperate enough then for anything. I don't think I cared whether it was right or wrong. But on the train I lay awake and thought it all over, and—and I would have gone back then if I could. I am sorry, so sorry, but I am thoroughly ashamed of myself—here, as I am."

"You mean, pretending to be my wife?"

"Yes; that—that is bad enough, surely. I must have been crazy to ever consent. Even if the truth is never known I can no longer respect myself. But—but that is not all—we are actually criminals, engaged in a criminal plot. Because the plan was concocted by a lawyer makes no difference. We could be arrested, imprisoned."

"I supposed you understood."

"No doubt I did, but my brain was numbed; I could not comprehend. It was not your fault, but mine; I do not blame you. Only, must we go on?"

"We shall have to play out the game tonight, at least," I said, startled by her earnestness. "I will talk with Coombs, and will tell you the result tomorrow. Your nerves are all unstrung, and the affair may appear different by daylight."

She put her hand in mine, her eyes on my face.

"No; it is not my nerves. See, my hand does not tremble; I am not afraid physically. I 've simply come to myself; I 'm convinced we 're doing wrong."

"But you will wait until morning? until I have talked with Coombs?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes," after an instant's hesitation. "There is nothing else I can do."

The Texan got noisily to his feet, and swaggered across the floor.

"If you all hav' got through yer whisperin'," he said roughly, "I reckon Sally 's got ther grub laid out."

I bit my lips to keep back a hot reply, feeling the restraint of her eyes, and we followed him into the next room. The table was set for two, and I could distinguish the shadow of a woman standing motionless in the farther corner. The dim light barely revealed her outlines.

"Yer kin talk it out yere," announced Coombs, waving one hand, "cause I won't be present, havin' et already. I reckon Sally won't interfere none."

He slammed the door viciously going out, causing the lamp to sputter. Then the woman came silently forward, a coffeepot in her hand. She was a mulatto perhaps sixty years of age, her face scarred by smallpox, and with strangely furtive eyes. Somehow she fitted into the scene, and I saw my companion gazing at her almost with horror, as she flitted about us silently as a specter. I endeavored to talk, while eating heartily, for I was hungry, but found it difficult to arouse Mrs. Bernard to any response, and she merely toyed with her food. In despair I turned to the other, hopeful that a question or two might dissolve the spell.

"You are the housekeeper, I believe?"

She favored me with a single glance of surprise.

"Yes."

"Have you been here some time?"

"No."

"You probably knew the old Judge?"

"No."

Her monosyllabic answers were perfectly colorless, and, with this last, she picked up an empty dish, and vanished. I endeavored to laugh, but there was no response in the eyes of the woman opposite. She dropped her fork, and pushed back her chair.

"Oh, I simply cannot stand this place!" she exclaimed. "There is something perfectly horrid about it, and—and the people. How shall I ever get through the night?"

"That is nothing," I soothed, although hardly at ease myself. "She is evidently of the taciturn sort. We don't need to keep these servants, you know. I 'll hunt up some more cheerful in town tomorrow. Why, by Jove, it's ten o'clock already. Have you finished?"

"I could n't choke down another mouthful."

"Well, don't be afraid. They mean well enough, no doubt. Sallie!"

She came gliding in, her back to the door.

"Are you the one who is to show us to our rooms?"

"Yes."

She picked up the lamp and went out, and Mrs. Bernard followed instantly, evidently afraid to be left in the dark. I followed with the grips, trailing up the stairs, having seen nothing of Coombs in the front room. In the upper hall our guide threw open two doors, going into the rooms and lighting lamps, thus giving glimpses of the interiors. The one in the corner was the larger, and better furnished.

"This will be yours," I said, placing her valise on the floor. "You can feel safe enough there with the door locked—yes, there is a key—and I will be right opposite if you need anything."

She gave me her hand, but I felt it tremble.

"You are still afraid?"

"Yes, I am—but—but I am not going to be such a fool."

As her door closed I turned to the mulatto, who still stood there, lamp in hand. I was not sleepy, and I wanted most of all to have an understanding with Coombs. I could not talk with the fellow in the presence of Mrs. Bernard, for he was the kind to be handled roughly for results, but now I was ready to probe him to the bottom. "Is the overseer downstairs?"

"No."

"See here, Sallie," I insisted warmly, "I 'm master of this house and I want some kind of answer besides yes, and no. Where is he?"

"Ah reckon he's out in one o' ther cabins, sah—he done don't sleep in the house nohow."

"He does n't sleep here! Why?"

"Ah spect it 's cause he 's afeerd too, 'sah," she replied, her snaky eyes showing. "Ah 's a voo-doo, an' ah don't care 'bout 'em tall, but good Lor', dar ain't no white man wants ter stay in des yere house mor'n one night."

She laughed, a weird, grating laugh, and started downstairs. I stood still, watching her light disappear. Then, swearing at myself for a coward, stepped back into my own room, and closed the door.



CHAPTER XII

THE DEAD MAN

This revealment of conditions left me thoroughly puzzled. I was not frightened at the situation, for I largely attributed the fear shown by both Pete and Sallie to negro superstition. I could have dismissed their faith in a haunted house with a smile, and gone to sleep myself with an easy conscience, confident that a noisy wind, or a hooting owl, was the sum and substance of all the trouble. But Bill Coombs was a very different proposition. He was of the hard-headed kind, not to be easily alarmed by visionary terrors, and yet he was manifestly afraid to sleep in the house. I was sufficiently acquainted with his type to comprehend there must be some real cause driving him to retreat to the negro cabins for rest. He was a rough of the Southwest, illiterate of course, but a practical fellow, and, without doubt, a gun-fighter. He had been employed because of these very characteristics, and it would require surely a very real ghost to drive him away.

I sat there for some time smoking, endeavoring to think it all over coolly, and listening intently. At first I could distinguish the rattle of dishes downstairs, as Sallie cleared the table, and, a little later, heard Mrs. Bernard moving about uneasily in her room across the hall. But at last these sounds ceased, and the house became still. I removed a portion of my clothing and lay down on the bed, a certain uneasiness preventing me from undressing entirely. I was tired, but with little inclination for sleep. The room was large, the furniture of old style and well worn, the light of the small hand lamp leaving much of the spacious apartment in shadow. It was not only imagination which kept me wakeful, but the dim suspicion engendered in my mind by what Mrs. Bernard had said below. Could there be any truth in her questioning of the motives actuating the man who had sent us here? Had we come—mere pawns in some game of crime—deceived, perhaps betrayed to arrest? Was Coombs here merely to watch us, and report to Neale and Vail how we carried out our part of the bargain? The affair certainly looked altogether different now I was upon the ground, although I could figure out no possible object those men could have. At least they could accomplish nothing without my cooperation, and, if I discovered any evil afoot, I could block them instantly. I was there to save this property for the rightful heir, and was determined now to see that Philip Henley received all that was due him. It was after one o'clock before I fell into a drowsy sleep.

Indeed, it hardly seemed to me that I had entirely lost consciousness, when I was jerked bolt upright by the sharp report of a firearm. For a single instant I imagined the shot fired within my room; then I sprang to the door, and flung it open, peering out into the hall. Everything was still, the rays from my lamp barely extending to the head of the stairs. I could neither see, nor hear anything, and yet I had a strange premonition that I was not alone. There was an automatic revolver in the pocket of my coat, and I stepped back after it, picking up the lamp on my return, determined on a thorough examination of the upper story. There was no doubt about the shot—the sound was no effect of a dream. I wondered if the girl had been awakened by the report, and paused to listen at her door, but no sound reached me from within. The thought that she might have discharged the weapon occurred to my mind, but was as instantly dismissed, as I was convinced she possessed nothing of the kind.

I moved down the hall cautiously, regretting the need of a lamp, but the place was strange, and I dare not venture about in the dark. Old as the house was, there was no creaking of boards underfoot, and, strain my ears as I would, not the slightest sound reached me.

The first doors I came to were ajar, but the moon was at the back of the house, and I was obliged to enter each apartment, and flash my light into the corners to make sure they were vacant. These were medium-sized bedrooms, comfortably furnished, although containing nothing new. Only one exhibited any evidence of late occupancy, being in considerable disorder, the bed unmade, some discarded garments strewn about the floor. I prowled about within this room for some time, even invading the closet, but discovered nothing more suspicious than a loaded revolver in a bureau drawer, together with some torn letters, and an old newspaper. This was a local sheet, containing a notice of the death of Judge Henley, which I took time to read. The letters were in such scraps I could not even decipher the address.

One fact, however, was revealed—some man had been sleeping up here lately, and it was not Coombs, but a much smaller Individual. This knowledge made me even more cautious, as I tiptoed down the hall, now narrowed by the back stairway. The first door opened into a bath-room, the tub half full of dirty water, a mussed towel on the floor. The last door, leading to a room apparently extending clear across the rear of the house, was tightly closed. I set my lamp down well out of sight, and gripped my revolver, before attempting to manipulate the knob. It opened noiselessly; moonlight streamed through one window, where the curtain was not closely drawn, but the gloom was too dense to reveal much of the shrouded interior. I could dimly perceive a table, and some chairs, one overturned. There was no movement, however; no sign of present occupancy. Convinced as to this, I slipped back for my lamp, shading the flame so the light was thrown forward into the room. A single glance revealed everything. The table, a common deal affair, contained two bottles, one half filled, and three dirty glasses, together with a pack of disreputable-looking cards, some of these scattered about the floor. There was no other furniture, and the walls were bare, a dirty gray color. But what my eyes rested upon in sudden horror, was the body of a man, curled up in a ball on the floor as a dog lies, his face hidden in his arms. That he was dead I knew at a glance.

I had seen violent death often, but this was different, and I shrank back, staring at that motionless form as though stricken by paralysis. There was no movement in the room, no sound except the fluttering of a curtain. With effort I gained control over my nerves, and moved slowly forward, placing my lamp on the table, so as to have both hands free. This murder—or was it suicide?—had occurred within ten minutes. I turned the man over, revealing a bearded face, the features prominent but refined. He was no ordinary rough, and his clothing was of excellent material. He had been shot in the back of the head.

It was murder then—murder! In an instant I pictured the tragedy exactly as it must have occurred—the open window, the overturned chair, the scattered cards, telling the whole story. Just what was the fellow doing here alone at that hour? Why should he have been killed? Even as I struggled with the horror, a sudden gust of wind extinguished the lamp, and I gripped the table, staring about in the haunted darkness. A moment and my eyes adapted themselves to the new environment, the moonlight streaming through the open window, and across the man's body. With heart quaking like a frightened girl, I stole across the floor, and glanced out. A single story extension, probably the kitchen roof, was below. Kneeling upon this the assassin could easily fire into the room. Beyond, the pale moonshine revealed a patch of grass, a weed-entangled garden, and behind these a dense forest growth. To the right of the garden I could dimly distinguish a row of small cabins, the negro quarters. Coombs would be occupying one of these, and they were so close that, even if asleep at the time, he could scarcely fail to hear the report of the gun in the silent night. Yet there was no light along the row of huts, no sign of human presence.

All this was but a rapid survey, for I dare not remain there, my back to that black interior. The body of the dead man huddled on the floor, the unknown mystery of the dark house, filled me with an awful dread. Seized by sudden terror I caught up the extinguished lamp, scarcely breathing until again outside in the hallway, the door closed behind me. Trembling in every limb I felt my way along through the darkness, guiding myself by the wall. What could I do? What ought I to do? I knew nothing of the house, or where to find the woman; I was not even sure of her presence. Indeed, the very memory of her snaky eyes gave me new horror. And Coombs! Suspecting him, as I did, it would be the height of folly to seek him out yonder in the dark. There was nothing left but to await daylight; to remain on watch, endeavoring alone to formulate some plan of future action.

Accustomed as I was to danger, the situation set my pulses throbbing—the intense blackness, the silence, the memory of that dead face, utterly unnerving me. I imagined things—a presence in that deserted hall through which I groped. Some unknown horror close at hand, even a spectral passing down the stairs. I listened, clinging to the banister-rail, feeling again helplessly for matches. Perhaps the faint scuffling was some scurrying rat, or some puff of wind in a chimney hole, but God only knows how glad I was to discover the open door to my own room again. There were matches there on the table, but my hand trembled so I struck three before the wick of the lamp caught fire. When I ventured to look out again, holding the light so as to see, the hall was desolate. I tiptoed across, and listened at her door; there was no sound within.



CHAPTER XIII

I GET INTO THE GAME

I crept back, closed the door behind me, and sat down facing it. My hand shook as I lit a cigar. This was becoming serious, a ghastly tragedy, in the playing of which I scarcely knew my part. The whole affair had seemed so simple at first, almost humorous. The earliest impression being that it was no more than a good joke. I was willing enough to be an instrument for keeping certain unknown institutions out of a legacy bequeathed them by a crazy man, and saving the property to his rightful heirs. Why not? especially as the very administrators themselves considered it the proper thing to do. Of course a technical crime was involved—I must pretend to be another, even forge that other's name, but for no criminal purpose. I was merely paid for the risk assumed, and it was easy money. Perhaps the years of rough life I had led had blunted my sensibilities to large extent—had left me less capable of distinguishing between right and wrong, yet, not until Mrs. Bernard had so unexpectedly voiced her doubt did I so much as suspicion I was being made a catspaw of for a criminal end. I was not willing to confess as much even now, but I saw the affair from a new viewpoint. I was not so sure, so certain, that I understood the entire truth.

Coombs was no plantation overseer, but a mere Texas bully. The very appearance of the man told that, and those neglected, weed-grown fields were another proof. What was he here for, then? And Sallie! Lord, I could despise that Texas rough, but the snaky eyes of the woman made me shiver, and look about apprehensively. Then there was the dead man—the dead man. There echoed into my brain the woman's whisper in the parlor below, "I 'm not afraid, but I am beginning to believe we 're doing wrong." There was wrong somewhere surely—cowardly crime, murder! But were we connected with it? Was it also part of the plot in which we were employed? I could not understand, yet resolved one thing clearly—I would find out tomorrow, early, before she had to be told the ghastly discovery of the night. With the first return of daylight I would seek out Coombs, tell him what I had seen, and compel him to confess the truth. Then I should know how to act, how to approach her, and explain. My nerves steadied as I sat there in the silence, and my mind drifted to the woman sleeping across the hall. Then, my cigar smoked out, I also fell asleep in the chair.

The gray of dawn was on the windows when I awoke, my body aching from its unnatural position. For the instant I imagined some unusual sound had aroused me, yet all was quiet, the only noise the twittering of birds from without. I closed my eyes again, but a ceaseless train of thought kept me wide awake, and, finally, I got upon my feet and looked out into the dawn, determining to explore our strange surroundings before any others were astir. With loaded revolver in my pocket, I slipped into the hall. The faint light revealed its shabbiness, the grimy rag carpet, and discolored walls. Some spirit of adventure led me the full length until my hand was upon the latch of that last door. I could not resist an impulse to look upon the dead man again by daylight, and thus assure myself of the reality of what seemed only a dream. I opened the door slowly, noiselessly, and peered cautiously within. The light was strong there, revealing clearly every nook and corner of the room. All was exactly as I recalled it to memory—the stained walls, the dirty floor, the table littered with cards, the overturned chair and the motionless body of the dead man. I ventured half way to the window, staring about at every sign revealed in the glare. From the wound in the head a dark flow of blood stained the floor, and, as I bent closer, noticed the eyelids were lowered over the dead eyes. Shot as he had been, killed instantly, the hand of the assassin must have performed this act. Then surely this killing had been no common quarrel, but a planned assassination, the culmination of some prearranged plot.

This knowledge, while it set my heart throbbing in realization of new danger, yet served also to stiffen my nerves. What had we blindly drifted into? What was behind this lawlessness which could make murder commonplace? What mystery lurked about this haunted, hideous house where death skulked in the dark? My thought was not so much concerned with myself, and my own danger, as with that of the young woman whom I was bound to protect. She had come innocently, driven by desperation, to play a part she already loathed in this tragedy, and now I alone stood between her and something too awful to contemplate. Now, before she awoke I must discover the truth, and thus be prepared to get her safely away.

I closed the door on the silence, and stole quietly downstairs. There was no movement, no sound in the great house. The front room, hideous in its grimy disorder, was vacant, and I opened the front door noiselessly, and stepped forth into the spectral gray light of the dawn. The first glimpse about was depressing enough. I had no conception of what I was confronting, or of what was to be revealed by my explorations, but the dismalness of the picture presented to that first glance gave me a shock impossible to explain. The house itself, big and glaring as it was, was nevertheless little better than a ruin, the porch beams rotten, the front blinds sagging frightfully, the paint blistered by the sun. Several of the windows were broken, and the steps sagged and trembled under my weight. The front yard, a full half acre in extent, was a tangled mass of bushes and weeds, a high, untrimmed hedge shutting off all view of the road. The narrow brick path winding through this mass of vegetation was scarcely discernible, apparently seldom, if ever, used. I was unable to determine the position of the gate so luxuriant was the weed growth, and thick the shrubbery. From the foot of the steps a narrow passage trampled into the dirt circled the corner of the house, disappearing within a few feet. This was the only sign visible of human occupancy.

Convinced that this must lead to the rear, and possibly the negro cabins where Coombs slept, I followed its tortuous windings, although half afraid to desert my guardianship of the house even for this purpose. Still there was little to be feared so long as Mrs. Bernard remained securely locked in her room. I was freer for exploration now than I would be later, and must know at once the conditions with which we had to contend. Beyond doubt the woman was still asleep, and, perhaps, by the time she aroused and appeared below stairs I could find a reasonable explanation of all this mystery—something to smile over, rather than fear. While this was but a vague hope, it still yielded me a measure of courage as I picked my way cautiously along the south side of the house, avoiding the windows as much as possible, until I emerged into a somewhat clearer space of ground at the rear. The kitchen was an ell, constructed of rough boards, but with shingle roof. The door stood ajar, and I glanced in, only to find the room empty, the pots and pans used the night before still unwashed.

There was nothing there to interest me, and I crossed a narrow space of grass to where a broken picket fence was visible amid a fringe of weeds. No description can fitly picture the gloomy desolation surrounding that ramshackle place. It got upon the nerves, the decay, the neglect apparent on every side. The very silence seemed depressing. Evidently this fence, now a mere ruin, had once served to protect a garden plot. But I saw merely a tangled mass of wild vegetation, so thick and high as to obstruct the view. Narrow footpaths branched in either direction, and I chose to follow the one to the right, thinking thus to skirt the fence, and learn what was beyond, before approaching the negro cabins on the opposite side. To my surprise, I found myself suddenly standing on the bank of a narrow bayou, the water clear, yet apparently motionless, the opposite shore heavily timbered. Owing to a sharp curve I could see scarcely a hundred yards in either direction, yet close in beside the shore a light boat was skimming over the gray water. Even as I gazed, the fellow plying the paddle saw me, and waved his hand. In another moment the bow grounded on the bank and its occupant came stumbling up the slight declivity.

He was a medium-sized, wiry-looking fellow, with olive skin and small mustache, dressed in brown corduroy, a colored handkerchief wound about his head in lieu of a hat. As he came to the level where I stood, he stopped suddenly, staring into my face.

"Sacre! I thought eet vas Coombs. Who are you, M'sieur?"

"I came in last night," I replied evasively, "and was just looking about a bit."

"So! you know Coombs, hey?"

"I 've met him—yes."

The black eyes searched my face, and I noted his right hand touch the hilt of a knife in his belt.

"What water is this?" I asked, ignoring his action, "bayou?"

"Oui, M'sieur."

"Are we near the sea?"

"Twenty-seex mile. You not know where you are? 'Tis odd you not know, M'sieur."

I laughed, enjoying his bewilderment, yet not realizing how to turn it to better account.

"Oh, no. I came by train in the night, and am a little hazy as to location. You live about here?"

"Som'time; then off again—sailor."

I nodded to prove I understood, but the man stopped uneasily.

"Whare Coombs? You know, M'sieur?"

"No, I don't," I acknowledged. "Asleep in his cabin likely."

The Creole, for such he undoubtedly was, made a swift resolve.

"'Tis like, M'sieur. I find out, maybe you come too!"

The last was more of an order than a question, and the fellow stepped back slightly in a manner almost a threat. Understanding the significance of the gesture I gave it no apparent heed, but turned in the direction of the cabins. I had no reason to avoid Coombs; indeed, I desired to see him, and I had no intention of permitting this lad to suppose that I feared his veiled threats. Without so much as glancing back at him I advanced along the footpath, my hands in my pockets. Yet my mind leaped from point to point in eager speculation. The whole thing was puzzling. I had come expecting a mere bit of play-acting, with all details left in the control of others. I anticipated no more than a few weeks of idleness, with, perhaps, the overseeing of a plantation, to partially keep my time occupied. Instead I found myself instantly involved in a network of mystery where even murder was part of the play. Little as I liked Coombs, this Creole was even more dangerous. The one was a rough, the other a venomous snake. So far as the original purpose of my adventure was concerned it had already largely faded from recollection. The swift recurrence of more startling events dominated. The spirit of adventure, with which I was liberally endowed, was fast taking possession of all my faculties. Whatever mystery surrounded this house, whatever of crime lurked in the neighborhood, I became determined to solve. For the moment I forgot even Mrs. Bernard, and my own assumed character, in the excitement of this new chase.

"Ze right; turn to ze right, M'sieur," said a voice behind me, and then I saw Coombs standing before the door of the second cabin. Half dressed as he was, his ever-present "gun" hung low at his hip, and his face scowled in surprised recognition.

"What does this mean, Broussard?" he growled savagely. "Where did you pick up that fellow?"



CHAPTER XIV

THE CONFESSION

I caught the wicked, snaky gleam of the Creole's eyes. All his early suspicion of me had revived instantly.

"At the landing," he hastened to explain. "How could I tell? He said he knew you, M'sieur."

"Oh, he did, hey! Well, all I know about him is that he blew in here last night with a woman; claimed to be young Henley, and took possession of the place. I reckon it 's about time I saw some papers to prove what yer are, young feller, 'for yer go snoopin' round at daylight. What's yer game enyhow?"

The man's bluster gave me my clew. The thought suddenly occurred to me that, for some reason, he was more afraid of me than I of him. And if I met him on the same ground he was of the disposition to give way first.

"You can see my authority, Coombs, any time you are ready to exhibit your own," I returned coolly, leaning back against the side of the cabin, and staring him straight in the eyes. "I 've got more occasion to question you, you big brute, than you have me. Who is going to prevent my walking about these grounds? You? Just try the experiment, and see how it comes out. If you are the overseer here, then it is my money that is paying your wages, and from the look of things," and I swept my hand toward the surrounding weeds, "you 'll not hold the job long at that."

Coombs did not cringe, but my tone brought him uneasiness.

"The niggers won't work," he returned gruffly. "Thar ain't a nigger on the place."

"Apparently white men enough hanging around. What 's the matter with the negroes?"

"Ghosts," and the fellow laughed. "Maybe yer've seen sum?"

I straightened up, stung by the sneer in his voice.

"No; but I 've seen something more to the point—a murdered man."

"What?"

"Just what I said. There was a man killed last night in that back room upstairs. Shot in the head through the window. I heard the shot and investigated. His body lies there now."

I saw Broussard's snaky eyes flash across toward Coombs' face, but the latter remained motionless.

"It's a damn lie!" he ejaculated roughly. "There is no body there."

"Easily settled. Come with me, and I 'll show you."

Rather to my surprise neither objected to the test, and we tramped in single file toward the house. Some precaution kept me at the rear, and I followed silently when Coombs entered the open door of the kitchen. Unknown to me there was a narrow back stairway, and we mounted this without exchanging a word. In the upper hall Coombs threw open the rear door, and, stood aside, not even looking within.

I glanced past him. There was the furniture as I remembered it, the dirty walls, the opened window. But the overturned chair stood against the wall, the cards were stacked on the table, and there was no body lying on the floor. So startled was I by this discovery that I could scarcely credit my eyesight, but was brought to a realization of the truth by Coombs' harsh laugh.

"Well, where 's yer dead man? I reckon ye don't see none, hey!"

"No," I insisted, "but I did see one—twice. The body lay there where the stain shows on the floor. It has been carried away within half an hour."

"A likely story. Who could do the job? Nobody round this shebang but Sallie an' me. I sure ain't been in yere, an' I reckon it wan't Sallie. So cut it out, young feller. After breakfast you an' I 'll hav' a talk, an' find out a few things. Come on, Broussard, an' let 's talk over that matter o' ours."

The two went down the stairs together, and I closed the door of the rear room, and stepped out into the hall. Sallie was in the kitchen, for I heard her voice questioning the men as they passed through. Out of the window I caught a glimpse of them both disappearing through the weeds toward the bayou. As to myself I was more at sea than ever. The sudden disappearance of the body had left me bewildered, yet more strongly convinced than before that this was no ordinary affair. Evidences of a plan, of cooperation, rendered the situation serious. That dead body had not moved itself; human hands had accomplished the deed during the brief period of my absence outside. Whose hands could have done it? Not those of Coombs, surely, for he could not have passed me and attained the house while I was in the garden unseen. Nor Sally, for she possessed no strength to more than drag the dead man to some near-by covert. With the possibility of this in mind I searched the vacant rooms of that floor, closets and all, thoroughly, but to no result. There was, therefore, but one conclusion possible—unknown parties were involved. We were not alone in the house in spite of its apparent desertion.

I paused in doubt before Mrs. Bernard's door, convinced this was the truth. Should I tell her frankly the story of the night, my vague discoveries, my suspicion? I surely had no right to deceive the woman, or keep her with me. I had determined myself to face it out, to risk life if need be, to learn the truth. But I had no right to further involve her. She had accompanied me thus far innocently enough, accepting my explanation, driven to acquiescing by the desperate situation in which she found herself. Already she regretted her hasty action. To involve her still deeper would be heartless. I could not do it, at least not without full confession.

I rapped at the door twice before there was any movement within. Then her voice asked who was there, and at my answer she came out fully dressed, fronting me with questioning eyes.

"The night has rested you," I said smilingly, my heart beating in swift appreciation of her beauty. "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"For anything to escape the loneliness of that room," she replied seriously. "If I really look rested, it is not from sleep for I have passed the night in terror." She held out her hands as though seeking to assure herself of my real presence. "Tell me what is wrong with this house? What occurred last night?"

"I am not altogether sure myself," I said, striving to speak quietly, and holding her hands tight, "But I will tell you all I know, after you have explained. Were you disturbed?"

"Yes, but I hardly comprehend what was reality, and what dream. I slept some, I am sure, lying pressed upon the bed. At first I thought that was impossible, I was so frightened, and I had so much to think about, but found myself too utterly exhausted to keep awake. Yet my slumber was fitful, and filled with dreams. But I am sure of some things—my door was tried twice, and I heard someone prowling about the hall—"

"That might have been me," I interrupted, "as I was out there during the night, but I certainly never tried your door."

"You had a light?"

"Yes."

"I saw that shining over the transom; it was much later when my door was tried; not long before daylight I think. Whoever it was, passed out the front hall window onto the porch roof. My light was burning, although turned low, and no doubt he saw me sitting up, wide awake on the edge of the bed, for he had disappeared by the time I gained sufficient courage to approach the window and look out."

"Climbed down the trellis, probably," I said, deeply interested. "It appears strong enough to support a man. I wish you had got sight of the fellow."

She lifted her hands to her head.

"But I was so frightened. My head throbs now with pain. I cannot explain, but—but I had begun to hate this mission of ours before we ever reached here, and then this awful house, and that man and woman. I almost begged you not to leave me alone, yet I conquered that weakness, and said good night, and locked my door. You never realized how I felt."

"No, not entirely, although I did comprehend you were sorry you had consented to come."

"Not that altogether," and her eyes uplifting met mine, "I was frightened last night in the darkness. I confess I completely lost my nerve, and would have run away if I could. Perhaps I even said things which made you believe I regretted my action in coming with you. But I am more myself now, and I mean to remain, and discover what it all means. Can you guess why?"

"No; I would naturally suppose the night would have added to your terror, your desire to get away."

"Then you do not suspect even now who I am?"

"Who you are? Only as you have told me."

"And I told you only a half truth. I am the wife of Philip Henley." Her cheeks flushed, a touch of passion in her voice as she faced me. "That is the truth. Do you suppose that I would ever have come here with you otherwise? No matter how desperate my condition was that would have been impossible. I should have despised myself. Even as it was I have been thoroughly shamed to have permitted you to think of me as you must. Now I tell you the truth—I consented to come because I am Philip Henley's wife."

My surprise at this swift avowal kept me silent, yet I could not conceal the admiration from revealment in my eyes. She must have read aright, for she drew back a step, grasping the knob of the door.

"I—I wanted to tell you yesterday—all the way coming down here. I felt that I could live the deceit no longer. I do not blame you, Mr. Craig, for you are a man, and you had every reason to believe that you were doing nothing really wrong. I wanted to learn all I could before I confessed my identity, and—and I wanted to discover just what you were like."

"You mean whether I could be trusted?"

"Yes; I—I could not tell at first. We met so strangely, and merely because I liked you from the beginning was not enough. You understand?"

"Yes, and now?"

She looked at me frankly.

"Now I am simply going to trust you fully. I must; there is no other way. I thought it all over and over again last night, and determined to confess everything as soon as we met this morning. I am Viola Henley, Mr. Craig, and I need you."



CHAPTER XV

THE DECISION

I had had time to think, swiftly to be sure, yet clearly enough. Surprised as I was by her statement, yet the truth as thus revealed failed to startle me seriously. Vaguely I had suspicioned the possibility before, not really believing it could be so, and yet struck by the similarity in circumstances of the two women. Consequently the shock of final discovery was somewhat deadened, and I retained the pose of thought. Moreover, to know her identity was an actual relief. Before, I had half doubted the righteousness of my cause, at times almost felt myself a criminal. Now that I could openly associate myself with Philip Henley's wife, in a struggle to retain for her what was justly her own, all feeling of doubt vanished, and I became grimly confident of the final result. Perhaps the relief I felt found expression in my face, for the woman exclaimed:

"I believe you are actually glad; that it pleases you to know this."

"It certainly does," I replied swiftly, "for now I can work openly, knowing exactly what I ought to do. I have felt like a rat skulking in a hole. I believed what those men told me; they convinced me with proofs I could not ignore, but they must have lied. In some details, at least, they must have deceived. Now would it be possible for Philip Henley to be in a penitentiary convicted of crime?"

"It would not be," she returned firmly. "There was no time after I left him for an arrest and conviction. That alone is sufficient to convince me of fraud and conspiracy. More than that, Philip Henley was not one to commit a crime of that nature, and there was no reason why he should. His remittances were amply sufficient. Under the influence of liquor he might commit assault, or even murder, but never forgery."

"Then what do you think has occurred?"

"Either one of two things," she said soberly. "He is dead, or helplessly in the power of those men who sent you here. There is no other conclusion possible. They had possession of his papers—even his private memoranda. They knew more of conditions here than I had ever been told. In my judgment, he is dead. Otherwise I cannot conceive it possible they would dare attempt to carry out such a conspiracy. The very boldness of their plan convinces me they believed no one lived to expose them. They knew he was dead, and believed, if I still lived, that I knew nothing of this inheritance. The telegram announcing the Judge's death I never saw. It must have arrived while Philip was too intoxicated to grasp its meaning."

"You know nothing then of the two men, Neale and Vail?"

"No; there is a Justus C. Vail, a lawyer in the city. I found the name in the directory, and called at his office. He was away making political speeches; had been gone two weeks."

"Then the fellow assumed that name, thinking I might be familiar with it, and thus be impressed with the legality of the transaction. As to Neale, I will go to the courthouse in this county, and find out about him. Only first of all we must understand and trust each other. We have got some shrewd villains to fight, men capable of resorting to desperate measures. You have told me the whole truth about yourself now?"

"Absolutely, yes. I told you the truth before, except only my real name. I was married to Philip Henley. Wait, here is my marriage certificate; I have always kept it with me, for I have been afraid of him almost from the first. I gave you the name Bernard unthinkingly, as that was the name he insisted upon living under. He explained his father required this, or else would stop his remittances. I had to humor him, although I thought it most strange. Is that all you wish to know?"

"All now, yes. I must have time to think, and plan what is best for us to do. I can already see my duty sufficiently clear, but not how to go at it. The fact is, Mrs. Henley—"

"Would it not be better for you to call me Viola?" she interrupted. "Someone might overhear, and we must continue to carry out the deception, I suppose."

"It will be safer, if you do not object."

"I? Oh, no; I shall not care in the least. You were saying?"

"This, Viola," and her eyes suddenly flashed into mine, "the conditions I have already discovered here—in this house—are no less strange, and dangerous than the mission which brought us here. Everything looks bad. You ought to know it, and you are strong enough to be told. I do not know who tried your door last night, and later escaped down the trellis. If I did I could determine what action to take. But one thing I do know—there was murder committed in this house."

"Murder!" her face went white, her fingers clasping my sleeve, "Who was killed? Coombs? That woman?"

"Neither. A man I never saw before. I heard the same shot which frightened you; took my lamp and investigated. I found him lying dead on the floor of the rear room. He had been shot in the back of the head through an open window."

"Merciful God! and the body still there."

"No, but its disappearance only adds to the mystery. I dared not create an alarm at once, as we were in a strange house, and I had no means of knowing where to find either Coombs or the housekeeper. Nor did I venture to leave you alone unguarded. As soon as daylight came I went in there again to convince myself the murder was not a dream. The man's body lay there undisturbed. I turned him over, and examined the wound. Then I went out and found Coombs, who sleeps in one of the negro cabins. He sneered at my discovery, but finally accompanied me back to the house. I could not have been absent to exceed thirty minutes, and yet, when we opened the door of that rear room, the body had disappeared—vanished completely. Not a thing remained to tell of any tragedy."

"It had been dragged into some other room; hidden away in some closet. The woman did it."

"That was my thought at first. As soon as I got free from Coombs I searched this floor, every inch of it, and found nothing, not even so much as a stain of blood. The dead man was heavily built, and Sallie could never have lifted him alone. There were others—men—concerned in the affair."

"And you saw none?"

"Only a Creole who came down the bayou by boat just as I reached the bank. He had some message for Coombs—a snaky-eyed little devil—but he had nothing to do with the removal of the body, for he was not out of my sight after he landed."

Bewildered consternation was clearly manifested in the girl's white face, and yet there was a firmness to the lips that promised anything but surrender. I was sufficiently a fighting man to comprehend the symptoms, and my own heart throbbed in quick response to her anticipated decision. For an instant she seemed to struggle to regain her breath.

"Oh, how terrible! I can scarcely realize that all you have told me can be fact. It sounds incredible, monstrous. Why, it is as if we lived in a wild land, and another century. No novelist could conceive of such a horrible condition. There were pirates along this coast once—I have read of them—but now, in our age of the world, to even dream of such a state of affairs would be madness. What can it mean? Have you any theory?"

"Absolutely none; I am groping in the dark, without a single clew. All I know is that Coombs is a big ruffian, but too cowardly to commit murder. The Creole might, and I would n't trust Sallie with a knife on a dark night, but, in my judgment, there are others involved about whom we know nothing."

"You mean there is a band? that we have stumbled into a rendezvous of outlaws?"

"I suspicion so. This plantation has been practically abandoned for years. Even when the Judge was alive he lived in town, and could get no negroes to work out here because they believed the place was haunted. A bayou comes within a hundred yards of the rear of the house, so concealed by trees and weeds as to be almost invisible until you stand on the banks. We are only a little over twenty miles from the Gulf. Altogether this would make an ideal hiding place for Mobile or New Orleans thieves. I don't say this is the solution, but it may be. More likely they will prove to be a local gang, smugglers, or moonshiners with a touch of modern piracy on the side."

"What do you mean to do?"

The question was asked quietly, and I glanced at her, noting the color had returned to her cheeks.

"I? Why remain and ferret it out, I suppose," and I laughed. "I was never very good at running away, and really I must get at the bottom of this affair. Coombs is going to have a talk with me later—intends to make sure who I am, no doubt—and I may learn something from him during the interview. Anyhow, I am just obstinate enough to stay it out."

"What about me?"

"You better return to town; a traveling man on the train said there was a good hotel. Probably Coombs has some kind of a rig we can drive down in. I 'll ask him after breakfast."

"Is it because you do not wish me with you?"

I hesitated slightly, confused by such direct questioning.

"I shall feel more free alone," I replied at last, "for I shall have only myself to guard. I am used to taking care of myself. Besides, this is likely to prove a rather unpleasant situation for a lady. You must remember I propose to fight this thing out now in the open. I am going to be Gordon Craig, and not a make-believe Philip Henley. The scene has changed, and I 'm glad of it. I feel more like a man already."

"And you conclude I can be of no help, no assistance—"

The cracked voice of Sallie came to us up the stairs, the unexpected sound startling both.

"I reckon you all better com' down an' eat."

She stood in the light of the front door watching us, and we descended the flight of steps without exchanging a word. The woman turned and walked in advance into the dining-room.

"Where is Coombs?" I asked, looking about curiously.

"He done eat already, but I reckon he 'll be 'round 'gain after a while. You all just help yerselves."

We endeavored to talk as we sampled the meal, directing our conversation into safe channels, both obsessed with a feeling that whatever we said would be overheard. The woman vanished into the dark passage leading toward the kitchen, but no sound of labor reached us from that direction, which made me suspicious that she lingered not far from where we sat. I caught Mrs. Henley's eyes occasionally straying in that direction uneasily. Yet she managed to keep up a sprightly conversation, largely relating to the country we had traveled over. Neither of us ate heartily, merely toying with the rather unpalatable food, and, as soon as we dared, pushed back our chairs. It was a relief to get out of the room, but as we stood a moment in the front doorway, breathing in the fresh air, I noticed a giant form approaching the house through the weeds.

"Coombs is coming already for his interview," I said hastily. "As it may be stormy perhaps you had better retreat upstairs."

She glanced in the direction of his approach, and drew slightly back into the shadow of the hall. There was a flush on her cheeks, and her eyes met mine almost defiantly.

"I will go," she said quickly, "but I shall not leave this house while you remain."



CHAPTER XVI

COMPELLING SPEECH

She was gone before I could speak, before I could even grasp the full purport of her decision. I followed the flutter of her skirt up the stairs, half tempted to rush after, yet as instantly comprehended the uselessness of any attempt at influencing her. Even the short space of our acquaintance had served to convince me that she was a woman of resource, of character, and determination. If she felt it right to remain no argument would be effective, or have the slightest weight. Perhaps another night would change her mood, but now, in the sunshine, her courage would hold steadfast. Even as these considerations flashed across my mind, I heard the thud of Coombs' feet upon the steps of the veranda. That he had been drinking I realized at a glance, and it was equally evident that he planned to overawe me by brutal domineering. In spite of every effort to control my expression I could not restrain a smile at the manifest bluster of his approach.

"So yer 've got through eatin', hey," he began coarsely. "Whar 's the female? Thought I saw her here."

"You did," I returned coldly, "but Mrs. Henley has returned to her room."

"Mrs. Henley, huh! Think yer kin pull thet bluff over me!"

"What bluff?"

"Aw, this Henley racket you sprung last night—'bout yer being young Phil Henley come back."

"Did I say that?"

"Yer shure did," eyeing me in some surprise. "I reckon my ears heard all right. Why, what are yer this morning?"

"If I ever made any such claim as that, Coombs, it was merely to assure our admittance. You were not overly-cordial, you know, and I did n't propose having the lady walk back to town. It's different this morning, and I am going to be just as frank with you as you are with me. Is that square?"

"I reckon," uneasily, not yet able to gauge my purpose, and feeling his bluff a failure. "I ain't got nothin' ter lie about so fur as I know. Let's go inside, whar we kin have it out quiet like."

I followed him into the front room, and he kicked out a chair so as to bring my face to the windows. As I sank into it I noticed a dusty mirror opposite which gave me a dim reflection of the entire room. Coombs shut the door leading to the back of the house, and sat down facing me, his big hands on his knees. His effort to look pleasant only made him appear uglier than usual.

"Wal, go on!" he said gruffly.

I crossed my legs comfortably, and leaned back in the chair, quite conscious of thus adding to his irritation. If I could only anger the fellow sufficiently he might blurt out something of value. Anyhow, my best card was cool indifference.

"There is not much to say," I replied deliberately. "I 'll answer your questions so far as I think best, and then I 'll ask a few of you. The lady upstairs is Viola Henley, the wife of Philip Henley. She has come down here to take legal possession of this property. That is the situation in a nutshell. I am merely accompanying her to make sure that she gets a square deal."

His jaw sagged, and his eyes wandered.

"Oh, hell," he managed to articulate. "What is your real game?"

"Exactly as I have stated it, Coombs. To the best of my knowledge Philip Henley is dead—at least he has disappeared—and his widow is the rightful heir to this estate."

"Wal, I reckon he ain't dead—not by a jugful."

I felt the hot blood pump in my veins. Did the man know this to be true, or was he merely making the claim for effect?

"That, of course, remains to be proven," I returned smilingly.

"Oh, does it, now! So does this yer wife business, to my thinkin'. Wal, it won't take long ter settle the matter, believe me. Who are you enyhow?"

"My name is Craig—Gordon Craig."

"A lawyer?"

"Not guilty."

"A damn detective?"

"Same plea."

I thought he gave a grunt of relief; anyhow there was more assurance in his manner, a fresh assumption of bullying in his voice.

"All right, then; I reckon I got yer number, Craig. Yer after a little easy money. Somehow yer caught onto the mix-up down yere, an' framed up a scheme to cop the coin. Might hav' worked too if I had n't been on the job, an' posted. Damn nice-lookin' girl yer picked up—"

"Drop that, Coombs!" I interrupted sharply, leaning forward and staring him in the eyes. "Let loose all you care to about me, but cut out the woman!"

"Oh, too nice, hey!"

"Yes, too nice for you to befoul even with your tongue. If you mention her name again except in terms of respect there is going to be trouble."

He laughed, opening and closing his big hands.

"I mean it," I went on soberly. "Don't think I am afraid of you, you big slob. No, you keep your hands where they are. If it comes to a draw you 'll find me quick enough to block your game. Now listen."

Had I been less in earnest, or less puzzled as to the real situation, I would have laughed at the expression upon the man's face. With hat pulled over his eyes, he sat stiff, staring at me, his fingers twitching nervously, unable to determine just the species confronting him. I made no display of a weapon; he could not be sure that I was armed, yet my right hand was hidden in the side pocket of my coat. I could read the doubt, the indecision in his mind, as plainly as though expressed in words. The brute and the coward struggled for mastery.

"I 've told you the truth about who we are, and our purpose in coming here," I went on slowly and clearly, "because I have decided to fight in the open. Now I want to know who you are? What authority you have on the Henley plantation? Speak up!"

The reply came reluctantly, but there must have been a sternness in my face which compelled an answer.

"I told yer—I 'm the overseer."

"A fine specimen, from the looks of the place; what was you ordered to grow—weeds?"

"Thet 's none o' your business."

"It 's the business of the lady upstairs, Coombs, and I am representing her at present. It will be just as well for you to be civil. Who appointed you to this position—the administrators?"

"I reckon not."

"Ever hear of a man named Neale, P. B. Neale?"

"No."

"Or Justus C. Vail?"

He shook his head.

"No one sent you any word then that we were coming? or gave you any orders to look after us?"

The blank expression of his face was sufficient answer. I waited a moment, thinking, endeavoring to determine my next move. This knowledge made one thing clear—we were playing a lone hand. As well planned as was the scheme of those two conspirators they had reckoned without sufficient knowledge of the existing conditions here. But was this true? Would villains as shrewd as they be guilty of such neglect? Besides, they had assured me that the overseer would be notified of our coming. Suddenly there flashed back to my memory a picture of that murdered man in the rear room. Could he be the connecting link? the overseer sent by Neale? If this horrible suspicion was correct it only proved the desperate character of those against whom I contended. And if true only the harshest measure would compel Coombs to acknowledge the truth. I drew in my breath, every nerve braced for action. Then I jerked the revolver from my pocket, and held it, glimmering ominously in the light, across my knee.

"You probably have some reason for lying to me," I said coldly, "and now I am going to give you an equally good reason for telling the truth. What do you know about the administrators of this estate?"

He was breathing hard, his eyes on the shining barrel.

"There is one named Neale, is n't there?"

"I—I reckon so."

"How do you know?"

"Wal," feeling it useless to struggle against the argument presented by the blue steel barrel, "Hell, all I know is a fellow com' 'long yere a while back with a paper signed Neale, thinkin' ter take my job."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, he just nat'ally got kicked out inter the road, an' I reckon he 's a running yet. He was a miserable Yankee runt, an' I did n't hurt the cuss none to speak of. What yer askin' all this fer enyhow," he questioned anxiously, "an' a drawin' that gun on me?"

"It seemed to be the only available method for extracting information. Pardon my insistence, Coombs, but was n't that dead man up there the fellow Neale sent?"

"Not by a damn sight," and I could see the perspiration break out on his forehead. "Why, there wan't none enyhow. That guy skipped out North agin."

"All right; we'll let it go this time. Now one more question and I am done. Under whose orders are you in charge here?"

He was so long in answering, his eyes glaring ugly under heavy brows, that I elevated my weapon, half believing he meditated an attack.

"You 've got to answer, Coombs," I said sternly, "or take the consequences. I 'm in dead earnest."

Suddenly I became aware that his glance was not directly upon me, and I lifted my own eyes to the surface of the tarnished mirror behind where he sat. It reflected the large portrait of the late Judge Henley hanging on the opposite wall, and—by all the gods!—I thought I saw it move, settle back into position! I was upon my feet instantly, swinging aside into a better situation for defense. Perhaps that seeming movement, swift and elusive, might be a figment of imagination, a mere trembling of the glass. But I was taking no chances. The very conception of some hidden peril threatening me from behind awoke the savage in me instantly. Before Coombs could realize what had occurred I had the gun muzzle at the side of his head.

"Now answer," I commanded sharply. "Whose orders put you here?"

He choked, shrinking back helpless in the chair.

"By God! you won't always have the drop on me—"

"Well, I have now. Speak up; who is the man?"

His eyes ranged along the wall, an expression in them like that of a whipped cur.

"Philip Henley," he whispered, so low I scarcely caught the name.

"What!"

"Wal, I told yer," he growled resentfully. "Yer kin believe er not just as you please, but, so help me, that's the truth. I reckon I know."

As I stared at him, half believing, half incredulous, I became conscious that she stood in the hall doorway. Coombs lifted his head, glad of any respite, and I glanced aside also, dropping the revolver back into my coat pocket.

"You—you were quarreling?" she asked, coming into the room, "you were so long I became anxious, and came down."

"Nothing serious," I assured her, smilingly. "Coombs here was a little reluctant to impart information, and I was compelled to resort to primitive methods. The result has been quite satisfactory."

"Kin I go now?" he asked uneasily.

"Yes, by way of the front door."

I watched his great hulking figure until he disappeared along the path leading around the house. I had no fear that he would ever face me openly; all I needed to guard against was treachery. Then I turned and looked into the questioning eyes of the woman.

"What did you learn? What did he say?"

"Only one thing of real importance," I answered in subdued tone, "and I dragged that out of him by threat. He was not employed by Neale, and the fellow who was sent down here to assist us was disposed of in some way."

"Killed, you mean?"

"I suspect as much, but Coombs claims he was kicked off the place, and returned North."

For a moment she stood silent, breathing heavily, her eyes on my face. In the pause I saw again the picture of the old Judge, and remembered.

"Why is he here then? What authority has he?"

"Come outside into the garden, and I will tell you the whole story. Somehow I feel here as though we were being watched every minute. Never mind a hat; we will find shade somewhere."



CHAPTER XVII

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

In front of the veranda, and to the right of the brick walk, the latticework of a small summerhouse could be discerned through a maze of shrubbery and weeds. No path led toward it, yet we made the difficult passage, by pressing aside the foliage, and discovered a rustic seat within, where we were completely screened from observation. I felt the slight trembling of the woman's form from suppressed excitement, but the adventure with Coombs had only served to stiffen my nerves. With flushed cheeks, and eyes bright and questioning, she could scarcely wait for me to begin.

"Now tell me; surely we are out of sight and hearing."

"I do not think I shall ever be entirely assured as to that until I know more of our exact situation," I replied, speaking cautiously. "We may have been seen coming here, and those weeds would easily conceal an eavesdropper. The truth is, I have gained very little information of value, and am as mystified as ever. If that fellow told the truth it is beyond my understanding."

"But you are sure he knows nothing of those men who sent you here?"

"Yes, he had never heard of Vail, and all he knew about Neale was that name was signed to the orders of the new overseer."

"Under what authority is the man acting?"

I hesitated, not venturing to look at her, conscious of a personal feeling which I must conceal.

"Do you not wish to tell me?"

"It is not that," I hastened to explain, but finding the words hard to speak. "I think he lied, and yet cannot be sure. He claims to be working under the orders of Philip Henley."

"What! Impossible!"

"So I felt, and consequently hesitated to tell you, but now that I have been compelled to do so, I will explain in full. He said this under the menace of a revolver, a condition which often inspires men to speak the truth. I can scarcely imagine his making up such a story, for he is a dull-witted fellow, and even before he had threatened to test your claims to be Henley's wife."

"You told him, then?"

"Everything, except the original cause of our being here. I determined this morning to fight in the open, under my own name. That is the right way, is it not?"

"Yes, I think so," and she lifted her eyes to mine.

"I like you better for that."

"I think I like myself better also," I said with a laugh. "I confess I did n't care much at first. The whole affair merely represented a lark, an adventure with me. But after what you said the night of our arrival I began to view the thing in a new light, and to despise my part in It. Yet even then I felt bound to carry out my agreement. It was only when you told me your identity, that I felt free to decide otherwise."

"Why should that make such a difference? If I had not been the one, then it would have been some other woman defrauded."

"True, but a mere unknown, a shadow. Besides, I had no reason previously to know that a fraud was contemplated—those rascals told a most plausible story, leaving me to believe I served the real heirs. Now I comprehend their true purpose and—and, well, knowing you it has become personal."

"I do not altogether understand."

"Why, it is simply this," I went on desperately, "I want to serve you, and I want you to respect me. Down in your heart you have n't really been assured that I was not one of that gang of conspirators. You came down here to watch me. Now I am going to stand up as Gordon Craig, and fight it out for you."

There was a knot of blue ribbon at her throat, and I reached out and unpinned it before she had time to protest.

"See, there are your colors, and I do battle under them. Whatever the final results you are never going to doubt me any more—are you?"

Her eyes were veiled by long lashes, and I could see the heaving of her breasts.

"No—no. I scarcely think I ever did doubt you, only it was all very strange. Nothing seemed real; it was more like a stage-play in which I acted a part—our first meeting, our being thrown together on this quest. I have not known what to think, even of myself."

"We are both getting our heads above the mist now," I interrupted gently, "and deep as the mystery appears, when finally solved it will likely prove a very sordid, commonplace affair. The main thing is for us to thoroughly understand and trust each other."

"You need not doubt me."

"I have already learned that. It is more important that you fully trust me."

"I do," and both her hands were impulsively extended. "I have from the very first. I did not come here to watch, but because I believed in you. Truly this was my motive rather than any thought of the property. Indeed I hardly realized at the start that this was my affair; I merely had a feeling that you needed me. That—that morning on the bench," she paused, her voice choking in her throat, her eyes misted, "why, I—I was scarcely rational; my mind could not even grasp clearly what you endeavored to tell. I was so far from being myself that I failed to recognize my own name. Perhaps that was not strange as I always lived under another. So it was not that, not any selfish motive, which impelled me to accompany you. I came because—because I knew you needed me. I had an intuition that you were going into danger, into some trap. I cannot explain, no woman can, how such knowledge lays hold upon her. I merely acted instinctively. It was not until that afternoon that I realized clearly what this all meant to me personally. I seemed to wake up as from a dream. Then I sat down in the rest room of one of those big department stores, and thought it all out. At first I determined to tell you everything, but I did—did not know you at all. I trusted you, I believed in you; you had impressed me as being a real man. But this was merely a woman's intuition. There were circumstances that made me doubt, that compelled caution. I—I had to test you, Gordon Craig."

"My only wonder is that you retained any confidence."

"Oh, but I did," she insisted warmly. "That alone brought me here. I thought of appealing to a lawyer, to the police, and then your face rose up before me, and my decision was made. I came back to you that night because—because I believed you to be a gentleman."

"And now? henceforth?"

Her eyes never wavered, although there was a high color in her cheeks as my hands clasped her own more closely.

"I am convinced I chose aright. You are the man I thought you to be. I am glad I came."

For an instant the hot blood coursed through my veins; I seemed to see only the beauty of her flesh. Wild words leaped to my lips, only to be choked back unspoken, although I scarcely knew what strength combined to win the swift struggle. Impulse, made with sudden revelation of love, swept me perilously near to outburst, yet reason held sufficiently firm to restrain; the flood of passion. I knew I must refrain; I read it in the calm depths of those eyes fronting me in frank friendship. A word, a single, mad, ill-considered word, would sever the bond between us as though cleft by a sword. With any other I might have dared all, but not with her. Reckless as my nature had grown in the hard school of life, I shrank from this test, dreading to see her face change, her attitude harden. And it would; there had already been sufficient revealment of her character to make me aware of how firm a line she drew between right and wrong. It was not in her nature to compromise. She trusted, me—yes! But as a "gentleman." Should I fail in that test of her faith I could never again hope to regain my place in her esteem. I have wondered since how I ever won that swift, deadly battle; how I ever crushed back the wild passion, the mad impulse to clasp her In my arms. Yet, under God's mercy I did, my voice emotionless, my face white from restraint, my lips dry as with fever. The one thing I was sure about just then was that we must break away from this personal conversation; flesh and blood could stand the strain no longer.