ght they
became engaged.

"It is a good voice-that. I see her face, for there is a candle on
the piano. I come close and closter to the house. There is big
maple-trees--I am well hid. A man is beside her. He lean hover her an'
put his hand on her shoulder. 'Sing it again, Kat'leen,' he say. 'I
cannot to get enough.'"

"Stop!" said Charley, in a strained, harsh voice. "Not yet, M'sieu',"
said Portugais. "It is good for you to hear what I say."

"'Come, Kat'leen!' the man say, an' he blow hout the candle. I hear them
walk away, an' the door shut behin' them. Then I hear anudder voice--ah,
that is a baby--very young baby!"

Charley quickly got to his feet. "Not another word!" he said.

"Yes, yes, but there is one word more, M'sieu'," said Jo, standing up
and facing him firmly. "You must go back. You are not a thief. The woman
is yours. You throw your life away. What is the man to you--or the man's
brat of a child? It is all waiting for you. You mus' go back. You not
steal the money, but that Billy--it is that Billy, I know. You can
forgive your wife, and take her back, or you can say to both, Go! You
can put heverything right and begin again."

Anger, wild words, seemed about to break from Charley's lips, but he
conquered himself.

The old life had been brought back to him with painful acuteness and
vividness. The streets of the town, the people in the street, Billy, the
mean scoundrel, who could not leave him alone in the grave of obscurity,
Kathleen--Fairing. The voice of the child--with her voice--was in his
ears. A child! If he had had a child, perhaps----He stopped short in
his thinking, his face all at once flooding with colour. For a moment he
stood looking out of the window down towards the village. He could see
the post-office like a toy house among toy houses. At last he turned to
Jo.

"Never again while I live, speak of this to me: of the past, of going
back, or of--of anything else," he said. "I cannot go back. I am dead
and shamed. Let the dust of forgetfulness come and cover the past. I've
begun life again here, and here I stay, and see it out. I shall work out
the problem here." He dropped a hand on the other's shoulder. "Jo," said
he, "we are both shipwrecks. Let us see how long we can float."

"M'sieu', is it worth it?" said Portugais, remembering his confession to
the Abbe, and seeing the end of it all to himself.

"I don't know, Jo. Let us wait and see how Fate will play us."

"Or God, M'si