pounds, shillings, and pence, I think I'd be a real murderer!"

The mother took her daughter's hand. She found it cold.

"My dear," she said, clasping it gently, "you never saw him but three
times, and I've never seen him but twice except in the distance; but I
would do anything in my power to help him, if I could, for I like him.
The thing for us to do--"

"Yes, I know--sit here, twist our thumbs, and do nothing!"

"What more could we do if we went to Dublin, except listen to gossip,
read the papers and be jarred every moment? My dear, our best place is
here. If the spending of money could be of any use to him, I'd spend it
--indeed I would; but since it can't be of any use, we must stay in our
own home. Of one thing I'm sure--if Dyck Calhoun killed Erris Boyne,
Boyne deserved it. Of one thing I'm certain beyond all else--it was no
murder. Mr. Calhoun wasn't a man to murder any one. I don't believe"--
her voice became passionate--"he murdered, and I don't believe he will be
hanged."

The girl looked at her mother with surprise. "Oh, dearest, dearest!"
she said. "I believe you do care for him. Is it because he has no
mother, and you have no son."

"It may be so, beloved."

Sheila swept her arms around her mother's neck and drew the fine head to
her breast.