it a murder? At best some crime, perhaps, which had sent him to
the penitentiary. Or--and church taught Kitty shuddered as a vague
remembrance of the "unpardonable sin" rose before her like an actual
horror. Whatever it was, it stood between herself and him, keeping
them apart for ever.

"Irretrievable?" she said. It was only curiosity, she knew, but her
voice sounded oddly far off to herself, the room was hazy, her whole
body seemed to shrink together.

"What can it matter to you? You belong to another man, Miss Vogdes."
She lifted herself erect. Doctor McCall was speaking more loudly than
usual and looking keenly into her face.

"I know: I shall be Mr. Muller's wife. Of course, I recollect. But
you--this Hugh Guinness is my father's son," stammered Kitty, her face
very white. "I had some interest in him."

"Yes, that's true. He is, as you say, in some sort a brother of
yours." He took her hand for the first time, looking down at her face
with some meaning in his own, inexplicable, very likely, to himself,
though the thoughts in Kitty's shallow brain were clear enough to him.
"You are tired of standing," seating her gently in Peter's chair. A
thick lock of hair had fallen over her face: he put out his hand
to remove it, but drew back quickly. "We have talked too long, Miss
Vogdes," in a brisk, cheerful tone. "Some other time, perhaps, we can
return to this question of Hugh Guinness. That is," with a certain
significance of manner, "if it be one in which Mr. Muller wishes you
to take an interest." Nodding good-humoredly to her, he buttoned on
his oilskin cape and went out into the rain without another word. He
pulled off his cap outside to let the rain and wind reach his head,
drawing a long breath as if to get rid of some foul air and heat.

CHAPTER X.

Of all that wet August the next morning was the freshest and
cheerfulest. Doctor McCall had packed his valise, carried it to the
station, and was now walking up the street, his hands clasped behind
him and his head down, after the leisurely fashion of Delaware and
Jersey farmers. People nodded an approving good-morning to him.
Busy Berrytown had passed verdict on him as a man who was idle for a
purpose, who permitted his brain to lie fallow, and who "loafed
and invited his soul" during these two weeks for the best spiritual
hygienic reasons.

"Too much brain-work, my friend Doctor Maria Muller tells me," said
the lawyer, De Camp, to a group of men at