ng up, and turning her
face to the congregation. "Liot Borson found it easy to lie at his
wife's coffin-side, but when it came to his own death-hour he did
not dare to die without telling the truth. Ask his son David."

"David Borson," said the minister, "at your father's death-hour did
he indeed confess to the slaying of Bele Trenby?"

Then David stood up. All fear had gone, he knew not where. He
looked even taller than his wont. And the light of God's presence
was so close to him that his large, fair face really had a kind
of luminosity.

"Minister," he answered with a solemn confidence, "minister and
friends, my father at his death-hour expressly said that _he did
not slay Bele Trenby_. He said that he laid no finger on him, that
he fell into his own snare. This is what happened: He met my father
on the moss, and said, 'Good evening, Liot.' And my father said,
'It is dark,' and spoke no more. You know--all of you know--they
were ill friends and rivals; so, then, silence was the best. And
if Bele had been content to be silent and tread slowly in my
father's steps he had reached his ship in safety. But he must talk
and he must hurry; and the first was not wanted, and the second was
dangerous. And after a little my father's shoe-strings came undone,
and he stooped to tie them--who wouldn't, where a false step or a
fall might be death? And Bele went on, and called back to him, 'Is
this the crossing?' And father had not finished fastening his
shoes, and did not answer. So then Bele called again, and it is
likely father would not be hurried by him, and he did not answer
that time, either. And Bele said he was in the devil's temper, and
went on at his own risk. And the next moment there was a cry, and
my father lifted his head hastily, and the man had walked into the
moss, and then who _could_ help him? But well I know, if help had
been possible, my father would have given his own life to save
life, even though the man was ten times his enemy. Over and over I
have seen Liot Borson bring from the sea men who hated him, and whom
no one else would venture life for. Never mortal man walked closer
with God than Liot Borson. I, who have lived alone with him for
twenty years, I know this; and I will dare to say that in the
matter of Bele Trenby he did no worse, and perhaps a great deal
better, than any other man would have done. Why was Bele on the moss?
He was a sailor and a stranger. A man must have life-knowledge of
the mo