lously--"he was
slender--not half your size, and--"

"Yes--I don't blame you. I am a good deal heavier; may be too a beard
makes some change in a man's face. But you don't really doubt me, do
you? Have you forgotten the bills that man Gadgem brought in?--the five
hundred dollars due Slater, and the horse Hampson sold me--the one I
shot?" and one of his old musical laughs rose to his lips.

Pawson sprang forward and seized the intruder's hand. He would recognize
that laugh among a thousand:

"Yes--I know you now! It's all come back to me," he cried joyously.
"But you gave me a terrible start, Mr. Rutter. I thought you had come to
clear up what was left. Oh!--but I AM glad you are back. Your uncle--you
always called him so, I remember--your uncle has had an awful hard time
of it--had to sell most of his things--terrible--terrible! And then,
too, he has grieved so over you--asking me, sometimes two or three times
a day, for letters from you--asking me questions and worrying over your
not coming and not answering. Oh, this is fine. Now may be we can save
the situation. You don't mind my shaking your hand again, do you? It's
so good to know there is somebody who can help. I have been all alone so
far except Gadgem--who has been a treasure. You remember him. Why didn't
you let Mr. Temple know you were coming?"

"I couldn't. I have been up in the mountains of Brazil, and coming home
went ashore--got wrecked. These clothes I bought from a sailor," and he
opened his rough jacket the wider.

"Yes--that's exactly what I heard him say--that's what he thought--that
is, that you were where you couldn't write, although I never heard him
say anything about shipwreck. I remember his telling Mr. Willits and
Miss Seymour that same thing the morning he left--that you couldn't
write. They came to see him off."

Harry edged his chair nearer the fireplace and propped one shoe on the
fender as if to dry it, although the night was fair. The mention of
Kate's and her suitor's names had sent the blood to his head and he was
using the subterfuge in the effort to regain control of himself before
Pawson should read all his secrets.

Shifting his body he rested his head on his hand, the light of the lamp
bringing into clearer relief his fresh, healthy skin, finely modelled
nose, and wide brow, the brown hair, clipped close to his head, still
holding its glossy sheen. For some seconds he did not speak: the low
song of the fire seemed to absorb