heard Mr. Bentley say, "I don't know
how."

"I scrubs 'em, sah," said Sam. "Yassah, I washes 'em like chilluns."

He found himself, at Mr. Bentley's request, asking grace, the old darky
with reverently bent head standing behind his master; sitting down at
a mahogany table that reflected like a mirror the few pieces of old
silver, to a supper of beaten biscuits that burned one's fingers, of
'broiled chicken and coffee, and sliced peaches and cream. Mr. Bentley
was talking of other days--not so long gone by when the great city had
been a village, or scarcely more. The furniture, it seemed, had come
from his own house in what was called the Wilderness Road, not far from
the river banks, over the site of which limited trains now rolled on
their way eastward toward the northernmost of the city's bridges. He
mentioned many names, some remembered, some forgotten, like his own;
dwelt on pleasures and customs gone by forever.

"A little while after I moved in here, I found that one old man could
not fill the whole of this house, so I let the upper floors," he
explained, smilingly. "Some day I must introduce you to my tenants, Mr.
Hodder."

By degrees, as Hodder listened, he became calm. Like a child, he found
himself distracted, talking, asking questions: and the intervals grew
longer between the recurrent surges of fear when the memory rose before
him of the events of the day,--of the woman, the child, and the man:
of Eldon Parr and this deed he had done; hinting, as it did, of closed
chambers of other deeds yet to be opened, of countless, hidden miseries
still to be revealed: when he heard once more the tortured voice of
the banker, and the question: "How would you like to live in this
house--alone?" In contrast, now he beheld the peace in the face of the
man whose worldly goods Eldon Parr had taken, and whom he had driven out
of the church. Surely, this man had found a solution!... What was it?

Hodder thought of the child, of the verdict of Dr. Jarvis, but he
lingered on, loth to leave,--if the truth be told--afraid to leave;
drawing strength from his host's calm, wondering as to the source of it,
as to the life which was its expression; longing, yet not presuming, to
question. The twilight deepened, and the old darky lit a lamp and led
the way back to the library.

"Sam," said Mr. Bentley, "draw up the armchair for Mr. Hodder beside the
window. It is cooler there."

"I ought to go," Hodder said. "I ought to see how