hen we got word he'd been killed in a railway
accident out West. I was glad. A man like that has no right to live."

"You and Aunt Tillie have had a pretty hard time----" he mused.

"Yes. She's an angel--and I love her. Why is it that good people have
nothin' but trouble? She had an uncle who went bad too--he was younger
than she was--my great-uncle--Jack Bray--he forged a check--or somethin'
up in Newark--and went to the penitentiary."

"And is he dead too?"

"No--not at last accounts. He's out--somewhere. When I was little he
used to come to Aunt Tillie for money--a tall, lantern-jawed man. I saw
him once three years ago. He was here. Aunt Tillie tried to keep me out
of the kitchen. But I thought he was up to some funny business and
stayed. He took a fancy to me. He said he was camera man in the movies.
He wanted me to go with him--thought I could be as good as Mary
Pickford. I'm glad I didn't go--from what I know now. He was a bad man.
Aunt Tillie was scared of him. Poor soul! She gave him all she had--most
of what was left from the old farm, I guess."

"Do you think----" began Peter, then paused. And as she glanced at him
inquiringly, "Did you notice that your Aunt Tillie seemed--er--frightened
last night?" he asked at last.

"I thought so for a while, but she said she was only sick. She never
lies to me."

"She seemed very much disturbed."

"Her nerve's not what it used to be--especially since Mr. McGuire's
taken to seein' things----"

"You don't believe then that she could have seen John Bray--that he had
come back again last night?"

"Why, no," said Beth, turning in surprise. "I never thought of it--and
yet," she paused, "yes,--it might have been----"

She became more thoughtful but didn't go on. Peter was on the trail of a
clew to the mystery, but she had already told him so much that further
questions seemed like personal intrusion. And so,

"I'd like to tell you, Beth," he said, "that I'm your friend and Mrs.
Bergen's. If anything should turn up to make you unhappy or to make your
aunt unhappy and I can help you, won't you let me know?"

"Why--do you think anything is goin' to happen?" she asked.

His reply was noncommittal.

"I just wanted you to know you could count on me----" he said soberly.
"I think you've had trouble enough."

"But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray," she said with a shrug, "even if Aunt
Tillie is. He can't do anything to me. He can't _make_ me go to New York
if I don't want