night when Mary and Molly aroused Martin from his sleep
as they came in about midnight. Martin had supposed them upstairs long
before. He had come in at nine o'clock from the shed where he had
wrestled with his craving and, by the help of God, had come out
victorious once again. He had fallen asleep soon after and a vivid and
strange dream had held him captive by its power. Sandy had come to him
clearly, and comfortingly; had sat close to him and laid his hand in
his. They had talked familiarly, and then suddenly the boy had asked:

"Dad, how about Molly? She belongs to us-all, you said. I've been
thinking about Molly; where is she?"

Just then the dream faded; the man on the hard settle pulled himself
up, looked dazedly at the almost dead fire and--listened! Some one was
fumbling at the door; some one was coming in! Martin's heart stood
still for, with the dream fresh in his mind, he thought it was Sandy,
and even through his sick longing for the boy a fear seized him. But
Mary came into the dim room with Molly clinging to her. They tiptoed
across the floor toward the stairway and had almost reached it when
Martin flung a log of wood on the fire, and in the quick flash of light
that followed stood up and asked in a clear, forceful voice:

"Whar you-all been?"

The strangeness and surprise took Mary off her guard, and she faltered:

"What's that to you, Mart Morley?"

Martin threw another log on the fire, as if by so doing he could
illuminate more than the cold black room.

"What yo-all been doing? Molly, come here."

Frightened and trembling the girl came forward. She looked far older
than her years. Her bold, coarse beauty had developed amazingly during
the past few months, and the expression on her face now roused all the
dormant manhood in Morley's nature. Ignoring the woman by the
stairway, he gripped Molly by the shoulders, and holding her so that
the lurid light of the flaming logs fell upon her, he drove his
questions into the girl's consciousness and brought alarmed truth forth
before a lie could master it.

"Whar yo' been, Molly?"

"Up to--to Teale's."

"What--doing?"

"Dancing for 'em."

Martin's eyes flashed. It was quite plain to him now--the hideous,
drunken orgy, and this little girl fanning ugly passions into fire by
her youth and beauty!

"You----" Morley rarely swore, but the eloquent pause was more
thrilling than the word he might have spoken. While he clutched Moll