uck those whom he
heard insulting him. He could not kill the thousand tongued brood of
scandal-mongers. Slowly, slowly--the process took years--the smith
himself began to suffer from everything that hurt the boy. Oftener and
oftener his gaze rested on Cain's face and form, while new thoughts
stirred within him; Did he not look like Maria, as she was, long ago,
when he used to run miles to see her? Good Lord, how he had loved the
girl! And he was just like Maria--was Cain!

Stephen showed no trace of what was going on within him. His rough
manner did not change, for it had become a second nature to him. But in
this strange and shut-in nature, something that was like a flame awoke;
this was the love of his dead wife, the love that he had had for her
long ago in the days of their courtship. But this love was not for the
dead--although he perhaps did not know it himself--he began to love his
wife in her son, in Cain, the brand of shame upon his house.

Chapter VI

Moritz Hallheimer, the horse trader, stopped with his wagon at the
smithy. He was still in the habit of pausing, when he passed that way,
and he thought a great deal of Stephen Fausch, because he was a skilful
workman as well as a strange sort of man. The horse and wagon, as well
as Hallheimer himself bore the traces of a long journey. After the
trader had greeted Fausch, who was working with Cain in the shop, he
leaned against the grimy doorpost and followed with his eyes the
movements of the two smiths. Fausch's work was like the heavy downward
blow of a weight, Cain's like the swift flight of a feather. Their
conversation took place between the blows of the hammer, and often they
almost had to scream, to make their voices heard above the ringing of
the metal.

"I know where there is a good business for you, Fausch," said
Hallheimer.

"Is that so?" answered the smith curtly and scarcely seeming to listen.

The trader laughed. "Of course, you were brought up here, and you are
contented here. You wouldn't think of leaving. Besides you are saving
up many an honest penny where you are."

Fausch made no answer. He hammered away at the tire on which he was
working. Only when the trader spoke of going did he let his hammer rest
a moment, as if he were listening and considering the question.

"But it is a good business all the same," continued the talkative
trader, stroking his thin pointed beard. "May be a better place than
you h