"That man does his duty, if anybody does," remarked Paynter. "We must
pardon his--shall I say manners or manner?"

"Oh, I bear him no malice," replied Ashe good-humoredly, "But I'm
glad he's gone, because--well, because I don't want him to know
how jolly right he is." And he leaned back in his chair and stared
up at the roof of green leaves.

"You are sure," said Paynter, looking at the table,
"that Squire Vane is dead?"

"More than that," said Ashe, still staring at the leaves.
"I'm sure of how he died."

"Ah!" said the American, with an intake of breath, and they remained
for a moment, one gazing at the tree and the other at the table.

"Sure is perhaps too strong a word," continued Ashe. "But my conviction
will want some shaking. I don't envy the counsel for the defense."

"The counsel for the defense," repeated Paynter, and looked up
quickly at his companion. He was struck again by the man's
Napoleonic chin and jaw, as he had been when they first talked
of the legend of St. Securis.

"Then," he began, "you don't think the trees--"

"The trees be damned!" snorted the lawyer. "The tree had two legs
on that evening. What our friend the poet," he added, with a sneer,
"would call a walking tree. Apropos of our friend the poet,