ed--"Why should he tell you a lie?"

"Does he lodge with you?"

"Yes."

Arbroath paused a moment, his little brown eyes sparkling vindictively.

"Well, you had better be careful he does not rob you!" he said. "For I
can prove that he seemed to be very good friends with that notorious
rascal Tom o' the Gleam who murdered a nobleman at Blue Anchor last
summer, and who would have hung for his crime if he had not fortunately
saved the expense of a rope by dying."

Helmsley, bending over his basket-weaving, suddenly straightened himself
and looked the clergyman full in the face.

"I never knew Tom o' the Gleam till that night on which you saw me at
'The Trusty Man,'" he said--"But I know he had terrible provocation for
the murder he committed. I saw that murder done!"

"You saw it done!" exclaimed Arbroath--"And you are here?"

"Why should I not be here?" demanded Helmsley--"Would you have expected
me to stay _there_? I was only one of many witnesses to that terrible
deed of vengeance--but, as God lives, it was a just vengeance!"

"Just? You call murder just!" and Arbroath gave a gesture of scorn and
horror--"And you,"--he continued, turning to Mary indignantly--"can
allow a ruffian like this to live in your house?"

"He is no ruffian,"--said Mary steadily,--"Nor was Tom o' the Gleam a
ruffian either. He was well-known in these parts for many and many a
deed of kindness. The real ruffian was the man who killed his little
child. Indeed I think he was the chief murderer."

"Oh, you do, do you?" and Mr. Arbroath frowned heavily--"And you call
yourself a respectable woman?"

Mary smiled, and resuming her seat, bent her head intently over her lace
work.

Arbroath stood irresolute, gazing at her. He was a sensual man, and her
physical beauty annoyed him. He would have liked to sit down alone with
her and take her hand in his own and talk to her about her "soul" while
gloating over her body. But in the "old tramp's" presence there was
nothing to be done. So he assumed a high moral tone.

"Accidents will happen,"--he said, sententiously--"If a child gets into
the way of a motor going at full speed, it is bound to be
unfortunate--for the child. But Lord Wrotham was a rich man--and no
doubt he would have paid a handsome sum down in compensation----"

"Compensation!" And Helmsley suddenly stood up, drawing his frail thin
figure erect--"Compensation! Money! Money for a child's life--money for
a child's love! Are you a