ndle placed upon a chair threw its feeble
light upon the squalid abode, the white-washed walls, the primitive
bedstead in the corner made up of deal planks and covered with a
paillasse and a thin blanket. From beneath that same blanket came the
gentle and fretful moanings of the old cripple.

But Stoutenburg was far too deeply engrossed in his own affairs to take
much note of his surroundings; as soon as the girl had closed the door
behind her, he called her roughly to him and she--frightened and
obedient--came forward without a word, standing now before him, with
hanging arms and bowed head, whilst a slight shiver shook her girlish
form from time to time.

He dragged a chair out to the middle of the room and sat himself astride
upon it, his arms resting across the back, his booted and spurred feet
thrust out in front of him, whilst his hollow, purple-rimmed eyes with
their feverish glow of ever-present inward excitement were fixed upon
the girl.

"I must tell thee, wench," he began abruptly, "that I mean to be thy
friend. No harm shall come to thee if thou wilt answer truthfully
certain questions which I would ask of thee."

Then as she appeared too frightened to reply and only cast a furtive,
timorous glance on him, he continued after a slight pause:

"The man who protected thee against the rabble the other night, and who
gave thee shelter afterwards, the man in whose bed thy crippled father
lies at this moment--he is thy sweetheart, is he not?"

"What is that to you?" she retorted sullenly.

"Nothing in itself," he said quietly. "I merely spoke of it to show thee
how much I know. Let me tell thee at once that I was in the tavern with
him on New Year's Eve when his boon-companions told the tale of how he
had protected thee against a crowd; and that I was in this very street
not twenty paces away when in response to thy appeal he gave up his room
and his bed to thee, and for thy sake paced the streets for several
hours in the middle of the night and in weather that must have frozen
the marrow in his bones."

"Well? What of that?" said the girl simply. "He is kind and good, and
hath that pity for the poor and homeless which would grace many a noble
gentleman."

"No doubt," he retorted dryly, "but a man will not do all that for a
wench, save in expectation of adequate payment for his trouble and
discomfort."

"What is that to you?" she reiterated, with the same sullen earnestness.

"Thou art in love with th