somebody else
who needs me, and who needs ye more than Masie needs us, and that's yer
wife. How do ye know her heart is not breakin' for somebody to say a
kind word to her? Are ye goin' home and leave her like this? That's not
like ye, and I don't want to hear ye say it. Do you mean that if she is
put away up the river, ye won't stay here and--"

"What for, to sit for five years waiting for her to come out? And what
then? Have you ever seen one reform?"

"And if she gets off, and wanders around the streets?"

"Father Cruse must answer that question."

"But ye came all these miles to New York to pull her out of the mess she
had got into with that man who's ruined yer home, and ye out in the cold
without a cent--and ye forgave her for that--and now that she's locked
up with only herself to suffer, ye turn yer back on her and leave her to
fight it out alone."

"I did not forgive HER, Mrs. Cleary," he said in deliberate tones. "I
forgave her childish nature, remembering the way she had been educated;
remembering, too, that I was twice her age. Nor did I forget the poverty
I had brought upon her."

"And why not forgive her this?" She could hardly restrain a sob as she
spoke.

His lips straightened and his brows narrowed. "This is not due to
her nature," he answered coldly, "nor to her bringing up. She has now
committed a crime and is beyond reclaim. Once a thief, always a thief. I
must stop somewhere."

"But why not hear her story from her own lips?" she pleaded, her voice
choking. "YOU hear it--not Father Cruse, nor me, nor anybody but YOU,
who have loved her!"

Felix shook his head. "It is kinder for me to stay away. The very sight
of me would kill her." His answer was final.

Kitty squared herself. "I don't believe it," she cried, the tears now
coursing down her cheeks. "Oh, for the blessed God's sake don't say
it--take it back! Listen to me, Mr. O'Day. If she ever wanted a friend
it's now. I'd go meself but I'd do no good--nor nothin' I'd tell her
would do her any good. It's a man she wants to lean on, not a woman. I
can almost lift my John off his feet with one hand, but when I get into
trouble I'm just so much putty, runnin' to him like a baby, weak as a
rag, and he pattin' my cheek same as if I was a three-year-old. Go and
get yer arms around her and tell her ye don't believe a word of it, and
that ye'll stand by her to the end, and ye'll make a good woman of her.
Turn yer back on her, and they'll have he