e into the study, Ellie, Mr.
Dingley wants to ask you a question."

It was all so unexpected and so startling to be called into the study
where only men went and only business was talked about; and to hear it
was Mr. Dingley, not father, who wished to ask me a question, that I
wanted to shrink away and escape from the very facts I had been so
anxious to know a few minutes before. But father held me by the hand,
and I had to drag my feet down the long dark passage that leads to the
study, hearing Mr. Dingley striding at my heels.

It was a small room, full of a great litter of papers, and smelling
faintly of tobacco and Russia leather. I sat down in the leather
armchair that was drawn up to the table. Just opposite me was a window
looking directly into the green branches of a weeping willow; and at
intervals the wind blew the leaves against the glass with a sound like
"Hush!" Up to that moment I had had no memory connected with that
room--only the general sense of awe it had given me as a child. But as
soon as I was in that chair, facing that window, hearing the "Hush,
hush," of the weeping leaves, in a quick distinct flash I saw myself, a
naughty child, sitting up in that chair, in anguish of mind over a
stolen jam pot, and my mother's face pulled to great gravity, no doubt
to keep from laughing at the sight of me. I seemed to hear her voice
again, "The truth, Ellie, remember nothing but good ever comes of the
truth."

It flitted through my mind as a little, sweet memory, having nothing to
do with what was happening at the moment, for the thought in my mind
was all, "What has become of the man with the revolver?"

Father had sat down opposite me on a corner of the table, but Mr.
Dingley walked to the fireplace, turned his back to it, put his hands
behind his coat-tails, buried his big chin deep in his collar, and in
just the same cheerful voice he used when he asked me how many hearts I
had broken, "Now, Miss Ellie," he said, "what makes you think that the
man who came second out of that door had a revolver in his hand?"

I looked at him in astonishment, his question seemed so silly. "Why,
because I saw it."

He gave his head a brisk shake. "Yes, but what makes you know you saw
it?"

"Because I heard it strike the ground." I was growing more and more
bewildered.

"You heard it strike the ground," Mr. Dingley repeated slowly, "but"--
Then with a sudden pouncing forward motion of his head and shoulders,