ear the cottage he saw Ruth kneeling by Sam's grave. It was
one of the girl's daily duties of love to bring fresh flowers and cover
the mound with the bloom. Glad enough was Andy to see her alone, and in
this quiet spot. He went more rapidly; the sight of Ruth gave him new
strength. He had no intention of frightening her, he made no attempt to
walk quietly, but indeed a look at his haggard face would have caused
alarm in any case.

"Ruth!" The girl looked up, stared, but made no cry. She rubbed her
eyes feebly as if awakening from sleep, then she grew deadly pale.

"Andy McNeal!" she whispered. "Whatever has happened?"

"I will tell you." He sank down wearily, and took the cap from his head.

"My heart has been filled with horror," Ruth went on, giving Andy time
to catch his breath. "I dared not tell any one what really happened.
They think you merely went as guide. I never expected to see you alive
again. I am not sure that I do now!" She smiled pitifully, and came near
Andy to chafe his cold hands.

"I'm alive," the boy faltered. "But, oh! Ruth, I have lived years." Then
brokenly, and with aching heart, he told the story of the past hours.
Ruth never took her eyes from his face, but her color came and went as
she listened. The tale was ended at last, ended with all the tragic
detail and the showing of the scraps of paper. Then Ruth stood up.

"Andy," she said, in her prompt fashion, "the house is empty. Mother has
gone to your home, father will be away until to-morrow. The children
are easily managed. Now I want you to go in the upper room after you
have eaten. I want you to rest all day and then--then I have something
to tell you and--there is more to do."

"Yes; these," sighed Andy, looking at the papers. "I should start at
once with these."

"'Twould be folly. There are awful doings afoot, Andy McNeal. It is no
time for a mid-day walk to Harlem Heights. You must do as I say. Come in
now; you are starved and utterly spent."

Andy followed gladly. It was the course, the only course, of wisdom.

He ate ravenously, and drank a quart of rich milk. Ruth was busied in
the room above, and when the meal was finished Andy joined her.

"Now," she smiled, "everything is ready." He found a pail of hot water,
and some of the minister's clothing lay on a chair. "They'll have to do,
Andy, until I can wash and dry yours," said Ruth.

"What matters?" answered Andy. "If I sleep I shall not mind the rest."

"I know. You