ght it was Raymer, and for
your sake and his I could have stepped aside; I did try to step aside.
That is the one decent thing I have done in all this devilish business.
Are you listening?"

She had stopped struggling, and was hiding her face on his shoulder. He
felt her quick little nod and went on.

"Since you know the one decent thing, you must know all the horrible
things, too. A dozen times I have been a murderer in heart, and once ...
you know: I meant to let Galbraith die, that night."

She looked up quickly.

"No, boy, I'll never believe that--never! If you had stayed awake until
the time came, you couldn't have done it. And, besides, I am to blame. I
planned it--planned it purposely: I didn't even hope to find a nurse
when we were supposed to be looking for one. I knew how you felt, and I
wanted to make you show yourself that you didn't really hate him bad
enough to let him die. But I don't care; it doesn't matter--nothing
matters, now."

"Wait," he said. "There was murder in my heart that night, and it was
there again this evening--just a little while ago. Miss Farnham and
Galbraith were not the only ones I had to fear; there was another; the
teller who got here from New Orleans on the seven-forty-five train. You
didn't know about him, did you? He came, and an old newspaper friend of
mine was with him. I stumbled upon them on the sidewalk in front of the
Winnebago House; and Broffin was there, too. We were introduced, the
teller and I, and Broffin was so sure he had me that he got his
handcuffs out and was opening them."

Margery shuddered and hid her face again. "And I--I didn't know!" she
gasped.

"Luck was with me again," he continued. "Johnson didn't remember me;
refused to do so even when Broffin stopped him and tried to tell him who
I was. I had a pistol in my pocket, and it was aimed at Broffin. If he
had made a move to take me, I should certainly have killed him."

She sat up suddenly.

"Give me that pistol, Kenneth--give it to me _now_!"

"I can't," he confessed, shamefacedly. "When it was all over, I smashed
the pistol with a stone and threw it away."

She drew a long breath, "Is that all?" she asked.

"All but one thing; the worst of them all ... that day in the bank
vault----"

The daughter of men buried her face on his shoulder again at that.
"Don't!" she begged. "You couldn't help it, boy; I made you do
it--meaning to. There! and I said that wild horses should never drag it
out