ed such
sensibilities as they had. The figure of the man before them, strangely
altered and moved, with the scornful bitterness they had learned to
regard as his characteristic gone from his face, struck into their dull
minds as something akin to a rebuke for their indifference to Ailleen's
repeated requests for them to carry out a dying man's wish. The man was
dead now, and Slaughter's words "too late" made them wince.

"It's a bad business," some one mumbled. "It's a bad business--for
Yaller-head," he added, by way of diverting the suspicion of personal
shortcomings.

"We'll see her through," Marmot said. "We'll----"

He stopped abruptly as he met Slaughter's glance; and the others looked
from one to the other--from Marmot, disconcerted and uneasy, to
Slaughter, whose face was set and hard in an expression that conveyed
even to the men of Birralong the fact that they were in the presence of
something which over-ruled them and subjugated them into a state of
mental inferiority. The verbose Marmot, wordless; the listless
Slaughter, dominant. It was a psychological crisis that humbled and
abashed them.

They could only stand silent and expectant for the new development. The
return of Slaughter to the cottage, this time with slow steps and bowed
head, did not appeal to them as a development, and with that obtuse
folly which is the birthright of the stolid, they straggled up the path
after him. They were able to see into the room without going on to the
verandah, and as each one glanced into it, he saw enough to rebuke him
and make him turn back and walk sedately and quietly to the roadway.

When Slaughter reached the cottage the second time and looked into the
room, Ailleen was on her knees crouched down beside the low bed on which
lay the still form of her dead father. She held in both her hands one of
his, and her head was resting on them, the wealth of golden hair, broken
loose from its restraint, welling round and over them. Slaughter, as he
came to the doorway, took the old felt hat from his head, and tried to
walk on tip-toe lest his heavy boots should make too much noise.

With bowed head and averted glance he slowly walked from the door across
the room, and round to the side of the bed where the girl was kneeling.
She, hearing his footsteps, looked up for a moment, and then hid her
face again. But he did not notice it. He walked on, with his eyes cast
down, till he was beside her, when he sank on to his knee