have its due reward. Something for nothing was not the motto of
Sebastian Dolores; and he confidently looked forward to having a home at
"The Red Eagle" and a banker in its landlord. He was no longer certain
that he could rely on help from Jean Jacques, to whom he already owed so
much. That was why he wanted to make Rocque Valescure his debtor. It
was not his way to perjure his soul for nothing. He had done so in
Spain--yet not for nothing either. He had saved his head, which was now
doing useful work for himself and for a needy fellow-creature. No one
could doubt that he had helped a neighbour in great need, and had done
it at some expense to his own nerve and brain. None but an expert could
have lied as he had done in the witness-box. Also he had upheld his lies
with a striking narrative of circumstantiality. He made things fit
in "like mortised blocks" as the Clerk of the Court said to Judge
Carcasson, when they discussed the infamy afterwards with clear
conviction that it was perjury of a shameless kind; for one who would
perjure himself to save a man from jail, would also swear a man into the
gallows-rope. But Judge Carcasson had not been able to charge the
jury in that sense, for there was no effective evidence to rebut the
untruthful attestation of the Spaniard. It had to be taken for what it
was worth, since the prosecuting attorney could not shake it; and yet to
the Court itself it was manifestly false witness.

Sebastian Dolores was too wise to throw himself into the arms of his
released tavern-keeper here immediately after the trial, or to allow
Rocque Valescure a like indiscretion and luxury; for there was a strong
law against perjury, and right well Sebastian Dolores knew that old
Judge Carcasson would have little mercy on him, in spite of the fact
that he was the grandfather of Zoe Barbille. The Judge would probably
think that safe custody for his wayward character would be the kindest
thing he could do for Zoe. Therefore it was that Sebastian Dolores
paid no attention to the progress of the released landlord of "The Red
Eagle," though, by a glance out of the corner of his eyes, he made sure
that the footsteps of liberated guilt were marching at a tangent from
where he was--even to the nearest tavern.

It was enough for Dolores that he should watch the result of his good
deed from the isolated area where he now was, in the company of two
virtuous representatives of domesticity. His time with liberated gui