told Jo the story of the Notary, the woman, and the child.

Jo made no comment. They relapsed into silence. Arriving at the house,
they entered. Jo lighted his pipe, and smoked steadily for a time
without speaking. Buried in thought, Charley stood in the doorway
looking down at the village. At last he turned.

"Where have you been these weeks past, Jo?"

"To Quebec first, M'sieu'."

Charley looked curiously at Jo, for there was meaning in his tone. "And
where last?"

"To Montreal."

Charley's face became paler, his hands suddenly clinched, for he read
the look in Jo's eyes. He knew that Jo had been looking at people and
places once so familiar; that he had seen--Kathleen.

"Go on. Tell me all," he said heavily.

Portugais spoke in English. The foreign language seemed to make the
truth less naked and staring to himself. He had a hard story to tell.

"It is not to say why I go to Montreal," he began. "But I go. I have my
ears open; my eyes, she is not close. No one knows me--I am no account
of. Every one is forgot the man, Joseph Nadeau, who was try for
his life. Perhaps it is every one is forget the lawyer who save his
neck--perhaps? So I stand by the streetside. I say to a man as I look
up at sign-boards,' 'Where is that writing "M'sieu' Charles Steele," and
all the res'?' 'He is dead long ago,' say the man to me. 'A good thing
too, for he was the very devil.' 'I not understan',' I say. 'I tink that
M'sieu' Steele is a dam smart man back time.' 'He was the smartes' man
in the country, that Beauty Steele,' the man say. 'He bamboozle the jury
hevery time. He cut up bad though.'"

Charley raised his hand with a nervous gesture of misery and impatience.

"'Where have you been,' that man say--'where have you been all these
times not to know 'bout Charley Steele, hein?' 'In the backwoods,' I
say. 'What bring you here now?' he ask. 'I have a case,' I say. 'What
is it?' he ask. 'It is a case of a man who is punish for another man,' I
say. 'That's the thing for Charley Steele,' he laugh. 'He was great man
to root things out. Can't fool Charley Steele, we use to say here. But
he die a bad death.' 'What was the matter with him?' I say. 'He drink
too much, he spend too much, he run after a girl at Cote Dorion, and
the river-drivers do for him one night. They say it was acciden', but is
there any green on my eye? But he die trump--jus' like him. He have no
fear of devil or man,' so the man say. 'But fear of God?' I ask.