Carington stood a moment, looking after the boy. Then he readjusted the straps of the knapsack, which he had taken again when Jack had loaded himself with the bearskin, and went rapidly down through the more open forest.

At first he had meant to look quietly about the cabin, hoping to find the place where the children were buried. On reflection, he changed his mind, and determined to go at once to the Colketts’s, for which he had a ready excuse. There was still enough of light, but he had not as yet the least idea where the little graveyard lay. Better, perhaps, he thought, to ask Dorothy, and to return at mid-morning, when Joe would be away. That there was the least peril in his search he did not think, despite Lyndsay’s warning. It had interested him, and he meant to be guided by it so far as to have some other guide than Joe in September. That was all.

At the edge of the clearing he climbed over the snake-fence, and walked at once to the well, being hot and thirsty. Mrs. Colkett, seeing him, came out of the cabin, and met him as he began to lower the bucket. He turned as she came.

371“Good evening, Mrs. Colkett. Is Joe about? I have a job for him.”

“He’s ’round somewhere. Joe!” she called, in a high-pitched voice; “Joe!”

The man came from the cow-shed, and joined them at the well.

“Was you wantin’ me, sir?”

“Yes, Joe. I mean to build a cabin on the island this fall. Remson will do it. I saw him yesterday. He wants you to get out a lot of squared lumber. Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

“I will give you the measurements before I leave. It will be a pretty good job for you. Mind you pick out good stuff.”

“I will; no fear of that. Want some water, sir?”

“Yes.”

Joe let down the bucket, and brought it up brimming. He set it on the rim of the well. Meanwhile Carington sat on the ledge, and, tilting the bucket, wetted his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

“That’s jolly good. By George, but I am warm! I have had a hard tramp.” As he completed this brief refreshing of the outer man, he looked up, and for a moment considered the scaffold of big bones on which time and care had left Susan Colkett but a minimum amount of flesh.

He took no more deliberate notice than do most people of the features, which gave him, however, in their general effect, a sense of strangeness and of vague discomfort. The eyes were too big, and, like the cheek-bones, too red, the features large. Beside 372her the stout husband, muscular and not unkindly of look, presented an odd contrast. There did not seem much harm in him, and how miserably poor they must be!

“Come over soon,” said Carington; “I will tell you then more precisely what I want.”

“He’ll come,” said the woman.

“Very good.”

“Would you mind, sir, to give Joe a little in advance? I’ll see he comes.”

“Why not? Certainly!”

“The fact is, Joe he’d never think to ask it; he’s that modest.”

Carington, who had been looking at her husband’s face, was of opinion that he was pretty full of whisky, and just now dulled with drink. Still, he was a good workman, and the misery in which they lived was but too obvious. He might have found a more certain agent, but then he would have lacked excuses for the interviews which his present purpose required.

“I will tell you just what we want when you come over, and, as to pay, I shall be glad to give you now a moderate advance.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Joe.

“He’ll come to-morrow, sure. Fact is,” she went on, “we ain’t a dollar, and there’s no work, and this house, there’s a man in Mackenzie’s got a mortgage on it, and the pork’s about out.”

“Will you have to go?”

“That’s what we’ll have to do.”

“Rather hard, that.”

373“I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t to leave them dead children, sir, and no man to care for their graves. ’T ain’t like as if we was rich.”

“Are they buried here, Mrs. Colkett?”

“Yes, they’re put away, back in the woods. You might call that buried. We are just clean broke, Mr. Carington, and that’s all there is to say.”

“I am sorry for you.” And he was, despite all he knew, being a man pitiful of what led to crime or to want. “I shall be very glad to give you help now.”

“The lawyer man he’s coming to-morrow, pretty early. If we ain’t got twenty dollars, the cow must go.”

“Can he take it? I don’t understand that.”

“He says so. I don’t rightly know. We poor folk can’t ever tell. We most always get the worst of it.”

She played her part and told her lie well, looking down as she spoke, and at last wiping her eyes, while Joe uneasily shifted from one foot to another as he stood.

Carington put his hand in his pocket, and took out the roll of notes. As he unfolded them, the woman’s eyes considered them with a quick look of ferocious greed. He counted out twenty-five dollars, and gave the money into her hand, replacing the roll in his pocket as she thanked him. After this he took the bucket, tilted out of it half the water, and, raising it, drank. As he buried his head in its rim, Susan caught Joe by the arm, and pointed to the thirsty man, whose back was toward them. She looked 374around in haste, took a step toward a broken ax-helve, which lay near by, and then stood still, as Carington set down the bucket. He had been nearer death than he ever knew.

As he turned, the woman’s face again struck him. It was deeply flushed; the large, sensual lower lip was drawn down, so as to uncover a row of large yellow teeth, and the face was stern.

“Thank you, sir,” she said again, quick to notice his look of scrutiny.

“You are welcome. Come, Joe. I want to talk over the lumber.”

As Joe went by her, Susan caught his arm with so fierce a grip that he exclaimed aloud.

“What is it?” said Carington, pausing.

“I hurt my foot last week, and I just stumped my toes—that’s all.”

They walked on and reached the house. Here she passed them and went in. While they stood a moment in talk, she moved to the far corner, and took from its rack Joe’s old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifle. She knew that, as usual, it was loaded. Then she hesitated, set it down against the table, and fetched a bowl of milk to the door.

“You might like a drink of milk?” she said. “Come in. It’s good. Dory fetched it; our cow’s run dry. Hers was better anyway. It’s right rich.”

Carington might have thought of Jael as Mrs. Colkett faced him. “She brought him butter in a lordly dish.” His thoughts, however, were far away.

“No, thank you,” he replied, absently.

“Won’t you rest a bit, sir?”

375“No, I must go.”

Profoundly disappointed, she went in, sat down, took hold of the rifle, and then set it aside, as she listened.

“I am not over sure of the way, Joe.” He knew it well enough. “Come with me a bit.”

“Yes, sir.” They went around the cabin and struck off into a forest road. At the brook, which crossed it some fifty yards from the house, Carington turned off the road. He had brought Joe thus far with the indistinct intention of sounding him about the lost tombstone. Suddenly, however, Joe said:

“I wouldn’t go down the trail by the stream, sir.”

“Why not?”

“It’s shorter, but it’s awful muddy.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.”

“You’d lose your way, sure.”

“Nonsense.”

The man’s manner was so uneasy that Carington at once concluded that the trail might lead near to the object of his search.

“Good night,” he said, abandoning his intention to question Joe. “I shall take the brook trail. Don’t come with me. I see you are very lame.”

“Don’t you try that way, sir. You—you—I got stuck in that swamp last fall. It’s real bad.”

Carington was now still more certain of the cause of the lumberman’s persistent warnings. “I’ll risk it,” he said and set off. “Good night.”

“Good night. Keep the left side, if you will take the trail.”

“All right, Joe.”

376He crossed the rivulet, and kept to the right bank. Joe stood a moment looking after him. The brook-path would bring Carington full in sight of the tombstone, and the shadows were not yet deep enough to hide it. A great fear came upon him of a sudden. He turned, and ran limping back to the house.

“What is it?” she cried, as he stumbled in. “Is he dead? Have you done it?”

“No, no! I couldn’t stop him! He’s gone down the brook. Oh, Lord, he’ll see it, and I’m done for! He’s a-goin right for it.”

She broke out, “Here!” and thrust the rifle into his hand. “Now is your chance! It’s a heap of money. Go! go! You are ruined, anyway. Ruined! He’ll see it. He’ll see it, sure. Make it safe. Quick!”

The man stood still. “I can’t! I just can’t!” He was shaking as with ague.

“Coward! Fool! Give it to me.” And she tore the rifle from his hand.

“Susie! Susie! It’s murder.”

He caught her arm, and her gown, which tore in his grasp. She thrust him aside with a blow of her open hand on the chest. He fell over a chair, and got up, limping, unsteady, in extreme pain from his hurt foot. She was gone.

“I will kill you if you follow me,” he heard, as she passed the open window.

He believed her. He was afraid. He went to the door, limped back, and, falling into a chair, stuffed fingers into his ears, while sweat of terror ran down his cheeks. A moment passed, then another, and, despite 377his childlike precaution, he heard his rifle ring through the forest stillness, and upon this he burst into tears, and cried aloud, “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord God!”

As he spoke, he rose up, and stood in agony of expectation. The woman came in.

“Where’s your powder and ball?”

“I ain’t none. Last charge,” he gasped. “Did you miss him?”

“Miss! No. Take an ax, and go and make sure. He ain’t to be feared now. I hit him sure. Go and get the money. Haven’t you that much pluck, you sot?”

“I dassen’t.”

“He’s got his gun, Joe, and I had a notion he might be just crippled, and I’d come and get a load and make certain.”

As she spoke, he stood by her, swaying on his feet, dazed.

“Great God, are you a man!” she cried.

“Not that sort,” he said, slowly. “Did you say you done it, Susie?”

“Did I? You fool! Go and get the money. He won’t hinder you none.”

“I couldn’t, Susie.”

She looked about her, in no wise intimidated or hurried. An ax stood in the corner.

“What! What! You mustn’t!” he cried.

“Go and get a spade,” she said. “I’ll fetch the money.” And, seizing the ax, she thrust him aside as he stood in the doorw............