ar?" the man went on. He was
leaning on his stick, and Ellen noticed that he trembled slightly, as
though with weakness. He breathed hard. The veinous hands folded on
top of the stick were almost as white as his ears.

"My name is Ellen Dix," she said.

"Dix--Dix?" repeated the man. "Why, I know that name, certainly, of
course! You must be the daughter of Cephas Dix. Odd name, Cephas,
eh?"

Ellen nodded, her eyes still busy with the details of the stranger's
appearance. She was sure she had never seen him before, yet he knew
her father's name.

"My father has been dead a long time," she said; "ever since I was a
little girl."

The man appeared singularly disquieted by this intelligence. "I
hadn't heard that," he said. "Dead--a long time? Well!"

He scowled, flourishing his stick as if to pass on; then settled to
his former posture, his pale hands folded on its handsome gold top.

"Cephas Dix wasn't an old man," he muttered, as if talking to
himself. "Not old. He should be hale and hearty, living in this good
country air. Wonderful air this, my dear."

And he drew a deep breath, his wandering gaze returning swiftly to
the girl's face.

"I was just walking out," he said, nodding briskly. "Great treat to
be able to walk out. I shall walk out whenever I like. Don't care for
automobiles--get you over the road too fast. No, no; I won't go out
in the automobile, unless I feel like it! No, I won't; and there's an
end of it!"

He brought his stick down heavily in the dust, as if emphasizing this
statement.

"Guess your father left you pretty well off, eh, my dear?" he went on
presently. "Glad to see you looking so fresh and neat. Always like to
see a pretty girl well dressed."

The man's eyes, extraordinarily bright and keen, roved nimbly over
her face and figure.

"No, he did not," replied Ellen. "My father used to be rich," she
went on. "I've heard mother tell about it hundreds of times. We had
horses and a carriage and plenty of money; but when the bank went to
pieces my father lost everything. Then he died."

The man was peering at her from under his shaggy gray brows.

"But not because the bank failed? Surely not because he lost his
money? That sort of thing doesn't kill a man, my dear. No, no!"

"It did," declared Ellen firmly.

The man at once seemed to grow smaller; to huddle together in his
clothes. He muttered something unintelligible, then turned squarely
about, so that Ellen could see only his