, hardly to be heard.

"Five hundred dollars, Sympathy."

I thought there was a gasp from the corner, suppressed. I caught the
sound of a drawer pulled open and the vague rustling of skirts as the
woman moved about. Her voice was as even as death itself.

"Here it is, Will. It brings us to the end, Will. God knows where it
will come from next time."

"It--it--you mean--" An indefinable horror ran though the minister's
voice, and I could see the cords shining on the hands which gripped the
chair-arms. "Next time--next year--" His eyes were fixed on the child at
his feet. "God knows where it will come from. Perhaps--before another
time--something will happen. Dear little Hope--little girl!"

The child's eyes turned with a preoccupied wonder as the man's hand
touched her hair; then went back to the alluring pattern of the matches.

Sympathy Gibbs spoke once more.

"I've found out who holds the mortgage, Will. Mr. Dow told me."

His hand slid from Hope's hair and hung in the air. During the momentary
hush his head, half-turned, seemed to wait in a praying suspense.

"It's Mate Snow," the voice went on. The man covered his face.

"Thank God!" he said. I thought he shivered. "Then it's all--all right,"
he sighed after a moment. "I was afraid it might be somebody who
would--who might make trouble." He took out a handkerchief and touched
his forehead with it. "Thank--God!"

"Why do you thank God?" A weariness, like anger, touched her words.

"Why? Why do I thank God?" He faced her, wondering. "Because he has
given me a strong man to be my friend and stand behind me. Because Mate
Snow, who might have hated me, has--"

"Has sucked the life out of you!" It came out of the corner like a
blade. "Yes, yes, he has sucked the life out of you in his hate, and
thrown the dry shell of you to me; and that makes him feel good on his
hill there. No, no, no; I'm going to say it now. Has he ever tried to
find out what was wrong with us? No. He didn't need to. Why? Because no
matter what it was, we were given over into his hands, body and soul.
And now it's Mate Snow who is the big man of this island, and it's the
minister that eats the crumbs that fall from his table, and folks pity
you and honor him because he's so good to you, and--"

_And this was Urkey village, and night, and Yen Sin was dying._

"And he's down to the Chinaman's _now_!" I screamed, walking out of my
dream. "An' the Chinaman's dyin' an' wants the minister, a