me good advice, sir. One night you told me that only a
woman can listen with perfect sympathy and comfort a man's troubles
surely."

Converse came close, put his hands on the young man's shoulders and
studied him with intent regard. "My boy," he said, "go along--and God go
with you!"

Bristol tore his hand from the lawyer's clasp and hurried away.

But at the Trelawny he did not find the Kilgours' name on the directory
board. The elevator man, the janitor, the manager, told him the
same story with the same indifference. The Kilgours had sold their
possessions and had removed--they had left no address.

Bristol walked the streets and cursed the stilted folly that had made
his farewell to her a parting in which he had pledged nothing, had
promised nothing, had left no hopes for the future. He was not consoled
by the thought that his farewell to her had been for her own sake, as
he had viewed his situation. In the depths of his despair, when he
had released her hand at the little gate, he had grimly sacrificed
himself--had resolved to save her from himself by final and complete
separation.

And thinking of that parting at the little gate, hardly realizing where
his wanderings led him, he went down to the great mills which were dark
and silent under the shadows of the evening.

Old Etienne had brought a lamp from Mother Maillet's kitchen and had
set it on the stoop. He was whittling, and a little boy snuggled close,
fixing intent regard on the work.

The evening was bland after a balmy day of Indian summer.

Bristol stopped at the fence and called greeting.

The old man peered anxiously, shielding his eyes from the light of the
lamp.

"M'sieu'! M'sieu'!" He stammered, brokenly, gasping as he spoke the
words. His wrinkled face worked as if he were trying to keep back the
tears. His voice choked.

"You are surprised to see me back here, Etienne--is that it?"

"I am not surprised, m'sieu'. I knew you would come back. I am
glad--that's why the tear come up in my eye. I cannot help that."

"You are working late, Uncle Etienne."

"_Oui_, the odders are gone home. But this leetle boy--I take care till
his modder come from the shop. But you shall come in here, m'sieu'."

"I cannot stop, Etienne. I am--" He could not finish the sentence. He
turned to go.

"I say you shall come in. You must come queeck!" The old man spoke in
a shrill whisper. He put aside his knife and stick and hurried to the
fence. He reached