"Would he have told you if he had thought you would give him away?"

"I reckon not--why, no."

"Then he considers you in sympathy with his murderous plans."

"I don't know, but I want you to keep out of his way. You must--oh,
Mr. Westerfelt, you must go! Don't stand here; they are coming down
the Hawkbill road directly. You could ride off towards Dartsmouth and
easily get away, if you will hurry."

"I see," he answered, with a steady stare of condemnation; "you want to
keep him from committing another crime--a more serious one."

She looked at him an instant as if puzzled, and then said:

"I want to keep him from killing you."

"Do you think he would take advantage of a helpless man?"

"I know it, Mr. Westerfelt; oh, I know he would!"

"Then you acknowledge he is a coward, and yet you--my God, what sort of
a creature _are_ you?"

She continued to stare at him wonderingly, as if half afraid. She
moved suddenly into a moonbeam that streamed through a broken shingle
in the roof. Her face was like white marble. In its terrified lines
and angles he read nothing but the imprint of past weakness where he