enced to be hung, or sent to
the penitentiary for life."

From the yard came the sound of Pierre Delarue's voice speaking to the
crowd. She took Mead's hands in hers and swung a little away from him,
looking into his face.

"I know that you didn't kill Will Whittaker!"

"How do you know it?" he answered, looking at her in loving surprise.

"Because he was shot in the back!"

She felt herself swept into the sudden storm of a masterful embrace,
and with soft laughter yielded to his rapturous caresses. "And all
this time," came to her ear in a whisper, "I've cared about it only
because I thought you would believe me guilty even if I was cleared!

"But I've no proof of my innocence," he added presently, "and I can't
ask your father's consent, or allow your name to be mentioned with
mine in the town's gossip until my own is clear. I've no right even to
ask you for another kiss until--"

She closed his lips with the kiss he would not ask for, and said:

"I would just as lief go out there now and say to all that crowd that
I love you and know that you are innocent--"

"No, no!" he broke in upon her passionate protestation. "No one shall
couple your name with mine and pity you while they are doing it! The
penitentiary may be my fate, for the rest of my life, but its shadow
shall not touch yours. If I can clear myself of this charge I will
come and ask you to be my wife, and openly ask your father's consent.
If I can't--" He turned and looked out of the window, but instead of
the trees and flowers that were there, he saw a big, grim building
with a high stone wall all around it and armed guards on the bastions.
Outside they heard the crowd calling for him. She understood his
feeling, and taking his face between her palms she kissed his lips,
whispering, "We will wait," and hurried from the room.

The crowd massed itself around the house, squatting on the sidewalk,
perching on the fence, and filling the waiting vehicles, until Pierre
came out and announced that the physician said little Paul would
recover and would probably be none the worse for his experience.
Everybody shouted "hurrah!" and somebody yelled, "three cheers for
Frenchy!" The cheers were given, and Pierre stepped out on the
sidewalk and began thanking them all for the kindness and sympathy
they had shown and for their willing efforts to help him in his
trouble. Then he launched into rhetorical praises of the country, the
climate and the community, and f