the man lay with his face turned towards him, the
ruddy firelight shedding a brighter glow upon the unkempt hair and
beard, and making the gleam of the eyes more vivid.

"I'll tell you the yarn like a story-book," the man began. "Once upon a
time, there was a woman and two men."

Tony, sitting on the other side of the fire, leaned forward to reach a
burning ember with which to light his pipe, and carelessly puffed at it,
while the man stopped talking, and watched him with a look that was
fiendish in its expression of hate.

"There's no damned interest about this yarn for you, I suppose," he said
harshly, raising his head slightly from the rolled coat, which did duty
for a pillow, and letting it fall again as his mouth contracted with the
pain the movement caused him. "Well, the woman's your mother. Now go on
smoking," he added, with savage emphasis.

Tony looked round quickly.

"Yes; you're waking up now," the man sneered. "I reckon you'll be
interested now."

"How--what do you know----"

"You'll learn what I know when I've told you. Hold your jaw and keep
your ears open. I've not much time to tell you, and I'd be sorry to go
without finishing."

"Go on," Tony said quietly; "I shall not interrupt you."

The gleam in the eyes satisfied him that it was only delirium in the
man's mind; there was only a coincidence in the fact that he spoke of
what Nuggan had hinted at, and what lay nearest to Tony's heart--the
question of his parentage and the dissimilarity between himself and the
other members of the Taylor family.

"I knew you in a moment, knew you by the likeness," the man went on.
"She don't know where you are, but she thinks of me still--me, the man
who----but that ain't part of _this_ yarn. The woman--your mother--was
married, but she's separated from her husband for many years. Separated,
I said, sonny. Separated's good, though you don't know it;" and he
laughed unmusically as he watched the set face Tony had turned towards
him.

"There were two men and one woman, and the woman was married to one of
them, but they both were mad with love for her and mad with hate for
each other. Do you know what hate means, you white-faced boy? Do you
know what it is to hate a man so that you'd go through hell to grip him
by the throat and feel him choking under your hands; so that you'd tear
your own heart out twenty times a day to grind his infernal life into
grey damnation? Do you know what it's like to hate, wakin