adversary still rankled in his heart. It was possible, he thought, that
such a construction might be put upon his affection for the child,
which at best was foolish and Quixotic. Besides, had she not voluntarily
abnegated his authority and affection? And what had everybody else said
about her? Why should he alone combat the opinion of all, and be at last
obliged tacitly to confess the truth of all they predicted? And he had
been a participant in a low barroom fight with a common boor, and risked
his life, to prove what? What had he proved? Nothing? What would the
people say? What would his friends say? What would McSnagley say?

In his self-accusation the last person he should have wished to meet was
Mliss. He entered the door, and going up to his desk, told the child, in
a few cold words, that he was busy, and wished to be alone. As she
rose he took her vacant seat, and, sitting down, buried his head in his
hands. When he looked up again she was still standing there. She was
looking at his face with an anxious expression.

"Did you kill him?" she asked.

"No!" said the master.

"That's what I gave you the knife for!" said the child, quickly.

"Gave me the knife?" repeated the master, in bewilderment.

"Yes, gave you the knife. I was there under the bar. Saw you hit him.
Saw you both fall. He dropped his old knife. I gave it to you. Why
didn't you stick him?" said Mliss rapidly, with an expressive twinkle of
the black eyes and a gesture of the little red hand.