of self-pity.

"Marshall!"

The judge spoke in protest of his words. Marshall turned abruptly from
him and crossed the room. The spirit of his fierce resentment was dying
within him, for, after all, what did it signify how his father learned
his secret!

From the parlor there still came the strains of light music; these and
Marshall's echoing tread as he strode to and fro, filled in the ghastly
silence that succeeded. Then at length he paused before his father, and
once more they looked deep into each other's eyes, and the little space
between was for both as an open grave filled with dead things--hopes,
ambitions, future days and months and years--days and months and years
when they should be for ever mindful of his crime! For henceforth they
were to dwell in the chill of this direful shadow that would tower above
all the concerns of life whether great or small; that would add despair
to every sorrow, and take the very soul and substance from every joy.

The judge dropped into his chair, but his wavering glance still searched
his son's face for some sign that should tell him, not what he already
knew but what he hoped might be,--that Marshall was either drunk or
crazed; but he only saw there the reflection of his own terror. He
buried his head in his hands and bitter age-worn sobs shook his bent
shoulders. After a moment of sullen waiting for him to recover, Marshall
approached and touched him on the arm.

"Father--" he whispered gently.

The judge glanced up.

"It's a lie, Marshall!"

But Marshall only stared at him until the judge again covered his face
with his hands.

When he glanced up a few moments later, he found himself alone. Marshall
had stolen from the room.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHRIMPLIN TO THE RESCUE

Beyond the flats and the railroad tracks and over across the new high,
iron bridge, was a low-lying region much affected by the drivers of
dump-carts, whose activity was visibly attested by the cinders, the
ashes, the tin cans, the staved-in barrels and the lidless boxes that
everywhere met the eye.

On the verge of this waste, which civilization had builded and shaped
with its discarded odds and ends, were the meager beginnings of a poor
suburb. Here an enterprising landlord had erected a solitary row of
slab-sided dwellings of a uniform ugliness; and had given to each a
single coat of yellow paint of such exceeding thinness, that it was
possible to determine by the whiter daubs of p