h and followed her. As he turned the
corner where Mrs. Dickson was sitting he started back with a cry.

"Kate Blair, by the living God!" he shouted, his face turning livid
under the fury of rage that swept over him as he saw and recognized the
woman who had ruined his life.

The sound of his voice and the name that was uttered made Mrs. Dickson
start to her feet, her sightless eyes staring straight at the face of
the man before her, her face pale to the lips, and her hands, quivering
with excitement, held out in front of her.

"Who are you?" she gasped. "Who are you to speak like that?"

"Who am I?" Slaughter answered, speaking in a low, strained tone that
was even more penetrating than his former shout. "Who am I?"

"Yes, yes," she exclaimed nervously. "Who are you? What right have you
here? I don't know you, man."

A laugh, mirthless, cold, and full of devilish satire, came from his
lips.

"You look me in the face and ask that question?" he said. "You----"

Ailleen, looking from one to the other in wondering surprise, caught at
Slaughter's words.

"She's blind," she said hurriedly. "You must be mistaken. Mrs. Dickson
is quite blind."

"Begging your pardon, miss," he said, as he turned towards her, "I
forgot you were there for the moment; but maybe it's as well that you
are. There's no mistake on my part."

He spoke with a calm self-possession that was in great contrast to the
fury of his first exclamation, and in great contrast to the agitation of
the blind woman.

"I don't know you--I don't know you," she went on repeating. "Go away.
You have no right here."

"Then if you don't know me, maybe it'll be as well if I just say who you
are to this young lady here," he said, with unmoved demeanour. "It may
interest her to know, and you'll maybe place me when you hear all I
know."

"It is nothing but a pack of lies--a lot of wretched lies. It is all
untrue; everything is untrue," Mrs. Dickson exclaimed.

"Even before it is said," Slaughter remarked dryly. "Miss," he added,
with a return of the angry vigour to his voice, "I told you my story
once, the story of what made me a lonely man, the story of a lie a woman
told to the woman I loved and who loved me. That woman--the woman I
loved--was your mother. The other is there."

His tone had grown harder with every word, his eyes brighter, and his
face more pale and set. As he spoke the last words there was an energy
in voice and manner which seemed to make