Like a sheer mechanical thing, actuated by some external force, he went down the steps and on to the lawn. Standing near the front gate, he saw Rowland coming down the road, and stepped aside to avoid meeting him. He was in no mood for mere passing platitudes such as the old man often dealt with. Charles crept around the house on the dewy grass, and found himself in the vicinity of the barn. Suddenly, despite his own depression, he felt a surge of pity pass over him at the thought of the plight of the two boys. They were her brothers, and on that account he loved them. He wondered if they were asleep already. Presently, while he stood looking at the dark, sloping roof of the barn, he saw a figure steal out from the kitchen door and move across the sward toward the barn. It was Mary. She passed close to him, but made no sign of having seen him. Again his fears of having offended her womanhood besieged him. She had said that she understood him, but she could not know how vast and grave his obligations were. Was there any way by which he could make them known and still be true to his vow? He could see none, and to suffer under her displeasure might only be another burden to bear. He walked back to the front of the house. He saw Rowland ascending the stairs with a candle in his hand on his way to his room. Twenty minutes passed and then he saw Mary returning. How it was that he had the boldness to advance toward her he could not have explained, for, despite her open admissions in regard to himself, he still felt that he was only what he appeared to the outer world to be—a hired man of no social standing.

"I was hoping that I\'d see you again to-night," she began, in an even tone. "I\'ve just been to see my poor boys. Martin has a cold and I am giving him some medicine for it. I wanted to make a confession to you before I went to sleep to-night. I took the liberty of telling them something which you may not want them to know."

"About you and Frazier?" he ventured.

"No, no!" she answered, with a near approach to the sweet tone which she had used on the veranda. "Have you held that thought all by yourself here on the lawn? Was it that which made you stand like a post as I passed just now? No, I did not mention his name. They don\'t like him. They don\'t want me to—to—I sha\'n\'t use the word. I think that is why you are so gloomy to-night—I mean because I said I was still at his mercy. This is what I told the boys. I could not help it. I could not keep it back. They won\'t tell, anyway. They promised, and do you know they would not displease you for anything; they admire you intensely. I told them who it was that sent Tobe Keith that money. I was partly guessing, but I told them that you sent it, too, by the friend who came here to see you and caused them such a fright."

Charles could find no words with which to answer; he heard her laugh softly as she stepped close to him and put her hand to his lapel and held it as she might have done were she pinning a flower upon it.

"Your good deeds tie your tongue," she said, "but you can\'t lie. You would lie out of this if you could. You tried to hide that act of goodness by what really was a sly trick, but I saw through it. I saw through it because I wanted it to be that way."

He caught her hand and held it, telling himself that it was a brief offense surely when he had made up his mind to give her up forever. But, oh, how it throbbed and pleaded in his clasp! Each little finger seemed to have a soul of its own. He dared not look into her eyes. Their drooping lashes seemed breakable bars between him and a life of eternal bliss.

"Are you angry because I told them?" she asked.

"Not if it pleased you," he said, passionately. "That is all I live for—to please you."

"Do you mean it? Do you mean it, Charlie?" and she pressed his fingers—his calloused fingers—in her soft ones. She raised her face to his. "Oh, I know you do, but I am dying to hear you say so."

He nodded. He took a deep, quivering breath and slowly exhaled it; she felt him trembling; his face was grim and pale.

"I have no right," he said, "to talk to you this way—to allow you to—to talk to me in a way that would be impossible if you knew my whole history." He was speaking now as a man might just before the black cap was placed over his face. "I ought not to have come here to your father\'s house without—without telling him and you the full truth. I am a fugitive from the law. I can say that much without breaking my word to others. At any moment I may be caught and imprisoned. In that case your family would be mentioned as harboring me, and I had no right to let you unsuspectingly run that risk."

"You—you a fugitive from the law?" Mary cried. "You!"

He released her hand and mutely nodded. He kept his eyes now on the ground.

With a motion as swift as the flight of a hummingbird she caught his hand. She held it against her breast and forced his eyes to rise to hers. "I won\'t believe it! I won\'t! I won\'t! I won\'t! God will not let that be true, Charlie. You\'ve come into my tormented life like a sweet dream of everything that is good and noble. You can\'t make me believe it. You have reasons for deceiving me. What they are I don\'t know, but wh............