-Sandy's last bequest--the moving lips that doubtless spoke words
of affection to the only one who could hear them. Together they had
played their pranks, had trod the common path; together they
went--Farwell paused, then returned Ledyard's sneering gaze
defiantly,--"To God who alone can understand and judge!" This was
flung out boldly, recklessly.

With ceremony and the sound of sobbing, the empty graves were refilled,
and the strange company turned away.

Then, alone and spent, Farwell returned to his cottage with a sure sense
that before he slept he would know his fate, for he acknowledged that his
fate lay largely, now, in the hands of the man who no longer had any
doubt of his identity.

It was half-past eight when the buggy passed Farwell's window bound for
the Hill Place. Young Travers was driving and the seat beside him was
empty! Nine o'clock struck; the lights went out in the village, but
Farwell rose and trimmed his lamp carefully. Ten o'clock--all Kenmore,
excepting Mary McAdam, slept. Still Farwell waited while his clock ticked
out the palpitating seconds. The moonlight flooded the Green. Where was
he, that waiting man who was to come and give the blow?

It was nearly eleven when Farwell saw him advancing across the Green. He
had been down by the water, probably hiding in some anchored boat until
he was sure that he would not be seen. As he reached the door of
Farwell's house a clear voice called to him:

"Will you come in, or would you prefer to have me come out?"

This took Ledyard rather at a disadvantage. He could hardly have told
what he expected, but he certainly did not look for this calm acceptance
of him and his errand.

"I'll come in. I see you have a light. Thank you"--for Farwell had
offered a chair near the table--"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

The irony of this was apparently lost upon Farwell. He sat opposite
Ledyard, his arms folded on the table, waiting.

"So you're alive!"

"So it seems--at least partly so." Farwell parried the blows as one does
even when he sees failure at hand.

"Perhaps you know your death was reported some years ago? There was a
full account. You were escaping into Canada. The _La Belle_ was the name
of the boat. It went down near here?"

"Off Bleak Head," Farwell broke in.

"Thanks. There was even a picture of you in the papers," Ledyard said.

"A very poor one, I recall." Now that he was on the dissecting table,
Farwell found himself strangely cal