." And for the first time in her life Priscilla wondered. Before, the
man had been but part of her life; now she wondered about him, with the
woman-mind that had come so suddenly and tragically to her.

"No, Master Farwell, why?"

"Because--well, because Kenmore is my grave--must always be my grave. I'm
dead. Good people, just people said I was dead. I am dead. Alive, I would
be a menace, a curse. Dead, I am safe. I've paid my debt, and you, you,
the people of my grave, since you do not know, have given me a chance,
and I've been a friend among friends! Why, I've even come to a
consciousness that--perhaps it is best for me to be dead, for back there,
back among the living, the thing I once was might assert itself again."

The bitterness, the pitiful truthfulness, of Farwell's voice and words
sank deep into Priscilla's heart. Out of them she instantly accepted one
great, vital fact: he was in Kenmore as a refugee; he had been--had
done--wrong! With the acceptance of this, a strange thing happened.
Curiosity, even interest, departed. For no reason that she could have
classified, Priscilla Glenn fiercely desired to--keep Farwell! If she
knew what he seemed bent upon telling, he might take away her faith--her
only support. She would keep and hold to what she believed him, what he
had been since he came to the In-Place. It was childish, blind perhaps,
but her words were those of a determined woman.

"Master Farwell, I will not listen to you. If you are dead, and are
safe, dead, I will not look into the grave. All my life you have been
good to me, been my only friend; you shall not take yourself from me! And
I--please let me do this one little thing for you--let me prove that I
can love and honour you without--explanation!"

Farwell's face twitched. He struggled to speak, and finally said
unsteadily:

"I have been--good, as you say, because I had to be. At any moment
I might have been what I once was. Why, girl, without knowing it,
Kenmore--all of you--had it in your power to fling me to the dogs had
you known, so you see----"

But Priscilla shook her head.

"You did not have to risk your life as you did for the McAdam boys.
Perhaps you do not know how you have--grown in your grave, Master
Farwell. Trust and liking come hard to us in Kenmore, yet not one of us
doubts you. No, no, lie quiet. I do not want to see you as you remember
yourself; you are better as you are. I will not hear; I will not have it
in my thought