t just yet."

"Oh, I'm all right." He took his handkerchief out and wiped his face.
I saw that his hands were shaking.

"Come back and have a cup of tea, and a slice of home-made bread."

He hesitated and looked at his watch. "I'll do it, Mrs. Pitman," he
said. "I suppose I'd better throw a little fuel into this engine of
mine. It's been going hard for several days."

He ate like a wolf. I cut half a loaf into slices for him, and he
drank the rest of the tea. Mr. Reynolds creaked up to bed and left him
still eating, and me still cutting and spreading. Now that I had a
chance to see him, I was shocked. The rims of his eyes were red, his
collar was black, and his hair hung over his forehead. But when he
finally sat back and looked at me, his color was better.

"So they've canned him!" he said.

"Time enough, too," said I.

He leaned forward and put both his elbows on the table. "Mrs. Pitman,"
he said earnestly, "I don't like him any more than you do. But he
never killed that woman."

"Somebody killed her."

"How do you know? How do you know she is dead?"

Well, I didn't, of course--I only felt it.

"The police haven't even proved a crime. They can't hold a man for a
supposititious murder."

"Perhaps they can't but they're doing it," I retorted. "If the woman's
alive, she won't let him hang."

"I'm not so sure of that," he said heavily, and got up. He looked in
the little mirror over the sideboard, and brushed back his hair. "I
look bad enough," he said, "but I feel worse. Well, you've saved my
life, Mrs. Pitman. Thank you."

"How is my--how is Miss Harvey?" I asked, as we started out. He turned
and smiled at me in his boyish way.

"The best ever!" he said. "I haven't seen her for days, and it seems
like centuries. She--she is the only girl in the world for me, Mrs.
Pitman, although I--" He stopped and drew a long breath. "She is
beautiful, isn't she?"

"Very beautiful," I answered. "Her mother was always--"

"Her mother!" He looked at me curiously.

"I knew her mother years ago," I said, putting the best face on my
mistake that I could.

"Then I'll remember you to her, if she ever allows me to see her
again. Just now I'm _persona non grata_."

"If you'll do the kindly thing, Mr. Howell," I said, "you'll _forget_
me to her."

He looked into my eyes and then thrust out his hand.

"All right," he said. "I'll not ask any questions. I guess there are
some curious stories hidden in these old houses