them almost a blow, and a blow
before which the blind woman shrank.

"It's a lie!" she muttered. "It's a lie!"

"It _was_ a lie," he thundered. "It _was_ a lie that ruined one life and
nearly blasted another, and now--now I've found you, after years of
longing and waiting, found you as the mother of a scoundrel who sought
to ruin the daughter of the woman you wronged."

"It's a lie!" she repeated. "My boy is brave; he would wrong no one."

"Where is he now?" Slaughter went on, in a voice that was loud and
angry. "Where was he last night?"

"He is out at the fire," she said. "He is a brave boy and a good boy.
Blame me as you like, but you shall not blame him."

Ailleen, watching the two, fascinated by the development which was as
inexplicable to her as it was unexpected, felt a touch of pity as she
saw the expression of pride come over the blind woman's face--pride for
the absent Willy!

"The close companion of Barber," Slaughter said; and Mrs. Dickson,
clasping her hands together, sank into her chair again.

"No," she said, "no. He promised me he would not touch the boy. He
promised he would not lead him astray."

"Then Barber has been here?" Slaughter cried.

The blind woman nodded.

"When?" Slaughter demanded.

"More than a month ago," she said in a subdued voice, as she shuddered.
"Ask Ailleen. She will tell you when. It was the day the rail broke."

"Why, that was Tony--Tony Taylor," Ailleen exclaimed, glad of any chance
of interposing between the two.

Slaughter looked at her wonderingly, and as he looked there came a
curious expression into his eyes.

"I must have been blind, I take it," he said, more as though he were
speaking to himself. "I must have been blind--up to now."

"And Willy was with Tony last night?" Ailleen asked.

Slaughter started as he heard her voice.

"With Tony? No; he was with Barber, the most evil scoundrel,
the--the--well, that woman's husband;" and he broke off as he swung
round again towards Mrs. Dickson. "The man she married and left for
another fool, who----"

"Don't!" the blind woman exclaimed. "Don't speak of him. Blame me--blame
even Willy, but not him. _I loved him._"

Slaughter laughed in his mirthless, satirical manner again.

"Till yet another came," he said. "Till you met Dickson, and----"

"He _was_ Dickson," she interrupted. "It was the name he took. It
was----"

"And you profane his memory by saying that he was the father of that
cowardly slab?"