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Title: The Master Revenge
Author: Cody, Hiram Alfred (1872-1948)
Date of first publication: 1924 [U.S. copyright date]
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York: George H. Doran
   (apparently the first edition)
Date first posted: 29 May 2009
Date last updated: 29 May 2009
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #324

This ebook was produced by: Al Haines




THE

MASTER REVENGE


BY

H.A.CODY




NEW YORK

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY




COPYRIGHT, 1924,

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


THE MASTER REVENGE

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




  _FOR YOU_

  Who have eyes that see,
  Who have souls that understand,
  Who have hearts that pardon,

  _This book is written._




  By H. A. CODY

  THE MASTER REVENGE
  THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN
  THE KING'S ARROW
  JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL
  GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH
  THE TOUCH OF ABNER
  THE UNKNOWN WRESTLER
  UNDER SEALED ORDERS
  IF ANY MAN SIN
  THE CHIEF OF THE RANGERS
  THE FOURTH WATCH
  THE LONG PATROL
  ROD OF THE LONE PATROL
  THE FRONTIERSMAN




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

   1  Silent Expression
   2  Mutual Need
   3  An Accident
   4  Comrades in Distress
   5  Repairing the Fence
   6  A Broken Shaft
   7  Through the Window
   8  A Startling Confession
   9  The Struggle
  10  The Fugitive
  11  Restitution
  12  The Flight
  13  Behind Prison Bars
  14  Stern Terms
  15  A Helping Hand
  16  Stricken Down
  17  A Star and a Toad
  18  Inspiration
  19  The Night Visitor
  20  A Desperate Attempt
  21  Repairing Things
  22  When the Bell Rang
  23  Destruction
  24  Where Flows the Brook
  25  For the Sake of a Child
  26  The Vision
  27  What the World Needs
  28  Face to Face
  29  As a Man Soweth
  30  The Completed Revenge
  31  After Long Years




  "There is no revenge so complete
        as forgiveness."--_H. W. Shaw_

  "Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye
  for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth:
  But I say unto you, That ye revenge not evil."
        --_The Master_




THE MASTER REVENGE


CHAPTER 1

Silent Expression

The warm June day was drawing to a close, and the sun was hanging low
over the far-off western horizon.  Not a breath of wind stirred the
quivering air, and the mirror-like river reflected the trees along the
shore.  The birds chirped and twittered, and the drowsy hum of insects
sounded on all sides.  There was a restful peace on water and land.
Nature was in her gentlest mood, and harmony reigned supreme.

A man standing beneath the wide-spreading branches of a great
patriarchal oak surveyed the entrancing scene with kindling eyes.  He
was a powerfully-built man, clad in rough work-a-day clothes.  He
presented a striking appearance as he stood there, his flowing beard
and mass of iron-gray hair enhancing the effect.  He leaned slightly
upon an axe with which he had been chopping, while at his feet lay a
newly cut piece of ground-ash.  But his mind had wandered from his
work, and, like a thirsty man, he was drinking into his soul the beauty
surrounding him.

"And for twelve years I missed all that," he at length murmured.
"Twelve years!"

His right hand clutched hard the butt of his axe handle, and an angry
expression crept into his eyes.  For a few seconds the memory of the
past had blotted out the joy of the present.  He believed that he had
steeled his heart to forget forever the degrading bondage of those
twelve years.  But now he knew that he had not fully succeeded.  The
iron had gone too far into his soul to be healed by a few months of
freedom.

The sound of children's voices aroused him, and turning quickly around
toward the river, he saw a small boat coming upstream quite close to
the shore.  A woman was rowing, and seated astern were two small
children.  Not wishing to be seen, the man stepped aside into a thicket
of bushes to wait until the boat should pass.  This did not take long,
and as it cut through the water just abreast of the big oak, the hidden
man gave a great start, and only with difficulty suppressed an
exclamation of astonishment.  He had caught sight of the woman's face,
and heard her speak to the children.

"We must go back now," she was saying.  "We have come quite a distance,
so must get home before dark."

"Let us go ashore near that big tree," one of the children suggested.
"It's such a nice-looking place."

"No, dear, not now," the woman replied.  "We can come another day and
have our supper here.  How would you like that?"

"Oh, great!"  This from both children.  "And will daddy come, too?"

"Perhaps so."

The woman swung the boat around, and began to row downstream with long
steady strokes.  The man among the bushes watched her until she could
no longer be seen.  He was trembling with excitement, and the
perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead.  At length his tense
body relaxed, and he sank down upon a fallen tree by his side.  His
eyes still stared after the receding boat and remained in that
direction long after it had disappeared from view.  At last he rose to
his feet, picked up the ash stick, threw it over his left shoulder, and
with axe in hand, walked slowly away from the shore.  Reaching a path,
he followed this until he came to a clearing, and in view of a small
house beyond.  Not once did he look at the steadily-increasing glory of
the western sky, and the beauties of nature appealed to him no longer.
Something of far greater importance filled his mind and soul, making
him oblivious of all else.

The house toward which he was slowly moving nestled on a gentle
elevation commanding a good view of the river.  It was partly
surrounded by tall fir and spruce trees, thus forming an excellent
protection from the severe winds of winter.  As a rule the man always
gazed with admiration upon the building which was the work of his own
hands.  Sometimes he would pause for a few minutes to note its neat
proportions, and the snug verandah where it was his custom to sit on
warm evenings.  But now he did not notice the house as he walked up the
path, opened the door and entered.  The air inside seemed exceptionally
close, so he hurried outside again, and paced rapidly up and down the
gravel walk in front of the building.  This he did until darkness
enshrouded the land.  He then went back into the house, lighted a lamp
and sat down before a small table containing several books,
writing-paper, pen and ink.  Here he remained for a while in deep
thought.  At length he seized the pen, and with feverish haste began to
write:

"I am strangely stirred to-night, so must give expression to the
thoughts which agitate my mind and soul.  There is no one to whom I can
speak, and none would understand if I did.  To put my feelings upon
paper may give me some relief--it is the only thing I can do.

"I saw Helen to-night after twelve long years.  She had no idea that I
was watching her as she sat in the boat with her two little ones.  Most
likely she has forgotten me, and long ago ceased to care whether I am
dead or alive.  But I have never forgotten her, and during my years of
bondage she was ever before me.  She does not seem to have changed much
in that time, judging by the glimpse I had of her this evening.  She
bore herself with that same regal grace as when I knew her, and her
voice was as musical as ever.  But how I long to look into her eyes,
and see if the same old expression is there such as I remember that
last night I was with her, and left her standing among the flowers at
the gate of her home."

The man ceased writing, and gazed off into space.  He then laid down
the pen, rose to his feet, and paced up and down the small room.  After
a while he resumed his seat, and continued:

"I never committed the crime with which I was charged.  God knows I had
no knowledge of it whatsoever.  But a strange combination of
circumstances placed the blame upon me, and I was convicted.  I did the
best I could for the Trust Company where I was employed, and was making
rapid progress.  I enjoyed my work, and looked eagerly forward to the
time when I could ask Helen to become my wife.  I believe that she
loved me, and would have been glad to share life's lot with me.  But
when the money was missing, and a large amount it was, I was at once
suspected.  I had gone to Standridge for a brief holiday.  It was there
I was arrested the day after my arrival, and several of the missing
bonds were found in one of my grips.  How they got there I never knew,
and perhaps never will.  But I am going to try to find out, and do all
that I can to solve the mystery and clear my name.  The evidence was
strong against me, and I could say nothing in my own defence except my
past good record.  The sentence was a stiff one, but the judge who
pronounced it was a hard man, and showed no mercy.  This was strange,
as Ned Preston, his own son, worked with me, and we were roommates.
And it was Ned who married Helen!  I knew that he wanted her, but he
had no chance, so I believed, against me.  She told me over and over
again that she did not care for the fellow, and I was not surprised at
that.  He was the most conceited man I ever met, and hard to endure for
any length of time.  He was a boaster and a great spendthrift, and his
father often had to send him money.  He led a fast life, and when I
once warned him, he told me to mind my own business and he would mind
his.  Anyway, he has succeeded, and is now a leading man in the city,
and Helen is his wife, while I am a jail-bird!  He has everything to
live for, the respect of all, and a home with loved ones there.  And
what have I, who tried to do my duty and live an honest life?  Nothing
but a few acres of land, and a house where I eat and sleep, but which
never resounds with voices of happy children, and where no one awaits
my coming home.  Oh, it is hard!  And yet I am used to hardness.  I
have steeled my heart to endure until my aim in life is accomplished
and I clear myself from the black stigma that rests upon me.

"Although my life at the Penitentiary was hard, yet there were
compensations.  At first Helen wrote to me quite often.  She believed
that I was innocent, and that was a great comfort.  Then her letters
suddenly ceased.  I can never forget the agony of those days of waiting
for her messages which never came.  I cannot fully describe the
loneliness of my cell when for hours I would lie awake and think, until
at times I was almost like a madman.  Often I beat with my fists
against my cell door.  Why I did so I do not know, but those who have
experienced what I have will understand the terrible insane feeling
which comes over one locked for hours in a silent cell, with none to
speak to, and his own despairing thoughts for company.

"At that time there were two things which kept me from either going
stark mad or developing into a caged beast.  One was the letters I
received from my parents.  They believed in me, and until they died
they wrote me noble words of encouragement.  May God bless them!  The
other, was my work.  I learned the carpenter trade, and became quite
efficient.  I always liked to work with wood, even when a child.  I
hold firmly to the opinion that it is one of the noblest of the trades.
Was not the Great Master Himself a carpenter and worked in His father's
shop?  A carpenter is not only a builder but a repairer, and Christ was
both, as His wonderful life of teaching and service shows.  It was some
comfort to me to feel that the Great Carpenter suffered, who was much
more innocent than myself.  I often thought of all this as I worked at
the bench and tried hard to follow His example of noble patience and
forgiveness.  But I am afraid that I often came far short of the ideal.
And I feel so now after years of struggle, especially so since I looked
upon Helen's face to-night, and old memories came flooding through my
mind with the realization of what I have lost in life.

"And all the time I thought of Helen.  I tried to believe that she had
not forgotten, that she had written, but her letters had gone astray.
It is wonderful how a desperate man will cling to the slightest hope.
But it was all I had, so cling I did until I received word that she was
married.  The newspaper account of the wedding was sent to me in an
envelope, but who sent it I never knew.  I cannot think it was Helen,
for such cruelty was not in her make-up.  It must have been an enemy
who wished to add to my bitterness.  The wedding account was a long
one, and told in detail about the bride, and how beautiful she looked
as she stood at the altar rail.  I did not need the paper to tell me
that, for it was impossible for Helen to look anything else but
beautiful.  The description of the groom was most flattering.  He was
Judge Preston's only son, a young man who occupied a prominent position
in the business world, and a great favorite in social circles.

"I do not remember much what happened during the weeks that followed
the reception of this news.  I was like a man dazed, beyond all power
of thought.  But gradually my mind cleared, and a new feeling possessed
me.  The uncertainty was ended, and Helen could never be mine.  And yet
there was some comfort in the thought that although she had married Ned
Preston she did not really belong to him but to me.  I dreamed of her
at night, and through the day she was with me more than ever.  I have
never been able to understand why this was so although I have meditated
upon it a great deal.  Perhaps Helen was thinking of me as I was
thinking of her, and in some mysterious way our souls were in sweet
communion.  Anyway, I received much consolation which helped me to
endure my tedious bondage.

"About this time I turned my attention to earnest reading and study.  I
had always been fond of books, but in my solitude I found in them a
great source of light and inspiration such as I had never experienced
before.  There was a fairly good library in the Penitentiary, and I,
like the other prisoners, was allowed to have one book at a time in my
cell.  Sundays, which hitherto had been almost unbearable, now became a
pleasure, and I read to my heart's content.  Numerous books I read, but
my chief delight was in the Bible, and I wondered why I had so long
neglected that marvellous volume.  It was there that I first learned of
God's wonderful dealings with man, the final triumph of the just and
the overthrow of the wicked.  As a boy I had often been advised to read
and study the Bible, but had always scoffed at the idea.  To me it was
a most uninteresting Book, of no practical use in life.  Now I see
where I was wrong, although it took years of suffering to open my eyes
to the light.  It is my daily joy and companion now, and I bless my
imprisonment for that.

"And next to the Bible came Emerson's Essays.  When I first read them I
called myself a fool for having overlooked them for so long.  There are
several I know almost by heart, such as 'Self Reliance,'
'Compensation,' and 'Courage.'  How they braced my moral fibre I cannot
fully describe.

"I also read the 'Life' of Dante, and some of his works.  What appealed
to me most of all was his great love for Beatrice.  His case was
similar to my own.  He loved her, and yet he lost her, for she married
another.  How well I remember these words of his:


'When I had lost the first delight of my soul I remained so pierced
with sadness that no comforts availed me anything, yet after some time
my mind sought to return to the method by which other disconsolate ones
had sought consolation, and I set myself to read that little known book
of Boetius in which he consoled himself when a prisoner and an exile.'


"Thus I found in Dante a soul akin to my own.  He plummed
[Transcriber's note: plumbed?] all the depths of misery, and yet his
great love for his lost Beatrice was like a burning and a shining
light, as my love for Helen has been to me.

"At last the day came when I was given my freedom.  To me life in the
bustling city was abhorrent.  My mind craved the quietness of the
country.  With a little money which had been lying for years in a bank,
I bought this place by the river.  I had a special reason for settling
here, for about two miles away the Prestons have their summer home.
Thus from time to time I might be able to see Helen.  My beard, which I
have allowed to grow, makes a good disguise, and as John Stone, the
carpenter, she would never recognize me as Nathan Strong, the man she
once knew, and, I think, loved.  The people here are friendly and kind,
so I have plenty of work to do.  If they knew that I am a jail-bird it
might make a difference.  But that is a secret which I shall keep until
the time when the mystery of those stolen bonds is cleared up, if ever
that shall be.  When I have made some money I hope to begin the task,
but just how I shall go about it I do not know.  But I am determined to
do all in my power to clear my name and bring the guilty ones to
justice.  Anyway, I am near Helen at last.  I did not know until this
evening that she was in the neighborhood.  I must see her again, but
when and where?  I can hardly contain myself.  I want to look closer at
her, to behold her face and those wonderful eyes of hers.  If I should
unexpectedly meet her, I wonder how I should act.  But I must control
myself, and never let her know that John Stone is anything more to her
than a humble carpenter."

The writing suddenly ceased, and the man rose abruptly from his chair.
A smile overspread his face as he gazed down upon the sheets of paper
lying upon the table.

"There, I have unburdened my soul," he commented with a sigh.  "Perhaps
it was foolish, but it seemed as if I were speaking to someone.  It is
done, anyway, so that is the end of it."

He reached out, seized the sheets in his right hand, crushed them
together, and tossed them into a box near the table.  He then went out
upon the verandah, and drank in great draughts of the fresh night air.
The sky was cloudless, and silence lay upon river and land.  He looked
to the right in the direction of the Preston house, and his sole
thought was of her, who, though near, was yet so far away.




CHAPTER 2

Mutual Need

Adjoining his house Nathan Strong had built his workshop, and here he
spent most of his time when at home.  It was a cosy place and he liked
to be here.  The people of the neighborhood were glad to have a skilled
carpenter in their midst, and supplied him with plenty of work.  There
were many things to make and repair, from axe handles and whiffle-trees
to doors, windows, cupboards and lockers.  Even broken woodboxes were
sent to him, and occasionally a baby's crib or high chair.  He enjoyed
doing such work, and as his prices were always moderate, the people
were satisfied.

The morning after his silent confession he entered his shop later than
usual.  He had not slept well during the night, he felt somewhat tired.
A peculiar indifference possessed him, and he did not care whether he
worked or idled.  Life seemed unusually barren to him this morning, and
the tide of hope flowed low.  He was feeling the reaction from his
excitement of the previous evening.  He missed the imperative prison
urge which for years had driven him forward to his daily tasks.  Now he
could do just as he wished, and his wish this morning was to do
nothing.  What reason was there for him to work except to earn enough
for his daily wants?  He had only himself to consider, and no one was
depending upon him.  What did it matter, anyway, whether he lived or
died?

He thought of these things as he turned mechanically toward a
partly-finished cupboard.  He was making it for his neighbors, the
Martins up the road, as payment for farm produce he had obtained from
them.  They had been exceptionally good to him, so he wished to make as
fine a cupboard as possible.  He had never made such a thing before,
but he was fashioning this according to one he well remembered in his
old home.  The recollection of the past swept upon him as he thought of
how his mother had always kept her pies, cakes and frosted doughnuts
stored away in that old cupboard.  What a wonderful and mysterious
place that always was to him, especially at Christmas.  How happy all
were in the dear old home, and never did he then dream of the trouble
that lay ahead.  He thought of his parents, and how their hearts were
broken through his imprisonment, although he was sure that they
believed him to be innocent.  His right hand clutched hard upon the
hammer he was holding, and a scornful expression appeared upon his
face.  Where was the justice of which men boasted? he asked himself.
Why should an innocent man be punished for the guilt of others, and
saintly people, such as his parents, have their gray heads bowed with
sorrow?  He knew that in his old home village his name was a byword of
scorn, and that parents held him up as a warning to their children.
And his father and mother had silently endured that for years!  But he
would clear his name.  He would unravel the mystery and prove to the
world that he had been wrongly treated.  Yes, that was something to
live for.  The good old name of Strong, which hitherto had been the
watch-word of honor, would again be vindicated.

This resolve aroused him from his lethargy to a brisk activity, and he
set earnestly to work upon the cupboard.  Every nail he drove home, and
every swish of the plane spoke of his intense energy.  He was a new man
now, with his indifference of an hour before gone.

It was about the middle of the forenoon when Nathan heard a peculiar
sound outside, which resembled children's voices, mingled with a
strange grating noise.  Stepping to the door, he saw a boy leading a
little girl with one hand while with the other he was pulling a small
waggon.  The two rear wheels were gone, thus causing the tail end of
the vehicle to drag upon the ground.  The girl was whimpering, and the
boy was doing his best to comfort her.  He was hot and tired, but bore
up bravely against his difficulties.

"Don't cry, Doris," he was saying.  "I can't haul you in the waggon.
Don't you see it is broken?  The carpenter will fix it up for us, and
then I can haul you home."

Seeing Nathan standing in the doorway, his face brightened, and he
hurried forward.

"Hello! had an accident?" Nathan asked.

"Yep.  Bust two wheels.  Will you fix 'em?"

"Where are they?"

"In there," and the boy motioned to the waggon.  "Mum said she guessed
you can fix anything, so that's why we're here."

Nathan at once examined the waggon with critical eyes.

"Ah, I see," he remarked.  "The axle is broken; that's the trouble."

"Can you fix it?" the boy eagerly inquired.

"Oh, I think so, though it will take me quite a while.  Suppose I patch
it up now, and you can come again in the morning when I shall have more
time.  I must get a couple of bolts at the store."

"Will it cost much?"

"No, I guess not."

"Will five cents do?  That's all I've got."

"Yes, that will be plenty, perhaps too much."

Nathan meant what he said.  He loved children, and he longed to have
them always about him.  But hitherto not one had ever come to his
house, although he had often talked with them when he met them on the
road, and they all knew him as their friend.  But now a start had been
made, and this little lad had come to him for assistance.  It was the
day for which he had been eagerly waiting, and he was determined to
make the most of it.  He believed that children should be treated in
the right manner, and that it was wrong to deal with them in the spirit
of superior condescension.  He had seen too much of that at the
Penitentiary.  He knew how galling it was to listen to the remarks of
well-intentioned but mistaken people as they talked to the prisoners
who were at their mercy.  And he believed that children's resentment
was just as keen.  He often recalled his own humiliation when a child
at people who smiled good-naturedly at his words, and patted his head.
He had resented their superior airs, and was certain that they did not
know much.  This lad was now before him.  He had approached him in a
straight-forward, business-like way, and so deserved every
consideration.  He offered to pay all that he was able, and could
anyone do more?  When Nathan said that perhaps five cents was too much
he was in earnest.  How willing he would have been to pay for the
privilege of having children come to him in their time of need.  His
soul called out for them.  Their talk was the sweetest of music in his
ears, and their graceful and unstudied movements appealed to his
artistic nature.

In a few minutes the little girl's tears were dried, and she was upon
the floor of the workshop lost in the wonders of the shavings and
several pieces of the sawn-off ends of boards.  With these she played
to her heart's content, and ere long her brother joined her.  Seeing
how delighted they were with such things, Nathan sawed for them a heap
of blocks, and cleared a space on the floor where they could build
houses and wonderful structures of all kinds.  He then turned his
attention to the broken axle.  He was in no hurry to mend this, as he
wished to keep the children with him as long as possible.  It was
midday when at last it was finished, and reluctantly he told the boy
that it would serve for a while.

"Perhaps you had better go now," he said.  "Your mother will be anxious
about you.  But come again in the morning and I shall have a new axle
ready."

At once the boy rose to his feet, fumbled in his trousers' pocket, and
brought forth a five-cent piece.  This he handed forth.

"Will the new axle cost more'n that?" he asked.  "If it will, Mum will
let me have some more."

"No, no, this will be plenty," Nathan assured.

"But you have to get the bolts at the store."

"This will be enough, so do not worry."

Nathan took the coin, and as his hand closed over it, a peculiar
feeling swept through his being.  He longed to give it back, but
decided to keep it.  He wanted that coin very much.  To him it was
almost a sacred thing, of more value than many dollars.  It was to him
the outward symbol of the innocent trust and simplicity of a little
lad.  He was determined never to part with that money, the first he had
ever received from a child.

After the children had gone, with their waggon well-filled with blocks,
and Doris perched on top, Nathan stood for some time at the door of his
shop holding the five-cent piece in his hand.  At length he turned,
went into the house, and brought down a small box from a shelf above
the kitchen table.  This he opened and dropped in the coin among a few
trinkets he had always preserved as precious mementoes of the past.
After that, he prepared and ate his dinner.  At times he glanced up at
the box, and a tender light shone in his eyes.  Thus in a most
unexpected manner he had found something real to live for, and his
heart was happier than it had been years.

Nathan did some work that afternoon upon the cupboard, but part of the
time he was busy making a new axle for the waggon.  He knew the exact
measurements, and he chose a well-seasoned piece of wood for his
purpose.  Only the best must be used, and he shaped and carved it with
the greatest care.  He smoothed out every uneven spot with the
spoke-shave, and then sandpapered the wood until it was as smooth as
velvet.  He fitted on the wheels, and tested them most critically to
make sure that they revolved true.  He spent much more than time, labor
and skill upon that little axle.  He put into it his heart; the best
that was in him, and, perhaps, for no one but a little child would
Nathan, the carpenter, have done such a thing.

That evening he went to the store, and bought two bolts.  But his
purchase did not end there, for he bought also a pound of the choicest
chocolates he could obtain.  The storekeeper eyed him curiously as he
wrapped up the box.

"Getting a sweet tooth all of a sudden, Mr. Stone?" he asked.

Nathan pretended not to hear as he seized the package, left the
building, and hurried down the road.  He was really embarrassed, and
his heart beat fast.  But there was compensation in the thought of the
joy that would come in the morning when two little ones would again
visit him.

He sat for some time that night upon the verandah, smoking, and gazing
thoughtfully out upon the river.  He was in a happy frame of mind.  A
vision of two small curly heads was ever before him, and childish
voices sounded in his ears.  They needed him, the jail-bird, and they
had come to him for assistance.  He was of some use in the world, after
all.  The thought thrilled his soul.  As a carpenter, his neighbors
naturally needed him, but not in the same sense as did those little
ones.  They gave him something which he valued far more than anything
else.

Before going to bed that night, Nathan rescued the crumpled sheets of
paper from the box where he had carelessly tossed them.  He smoothed
them out with considerable care, and read the words he had written the
previous evening.  As he finished, he picked up his pen.

"I have at last found something real to live for," he wrote.  "Children
have sought me out.  They need me, and I need them.  To-day I mended a
little broken waggon and in doing so I myself have been greatly helped."

This time Nathan did not crumple up the sheets of paper, but left them
in full view upon the table.




CHAPTER 3

An Accident

Nathan was at work early the next morning.  His step was brisk, and his
every movement spoke of alertness.  He even whistled softly as he gave
the finishing touches to the cupboard.  This was something unusual for
him.  But his heart was light, for were not the children coming to see
him again?  The package of chocolates was lying on the window-sill just
back of the work-bench, that it might be handy when needed.  When a
couple of hours had passed and the children had not arrived, he
wondered what could be keeping them.  He listened intently to every
sound, and several times went to the door and looked out.  Once he left
the shop and stood watching up the road, expecting to see them appear
at any minute.  But when no sign of them could be seen, he walked
slowly and thoughtfully back.  Perhaps they would not come at all, he
mused.  Something else might have attracted their attention, or their
mother might have decided that the waggon would do as it was without a
new axle.  He knew Mrs. Watters, a widow, by sight, and that Tom and
Doris were her only children.

When midday arrived and the little ones had not come, Nathan was
certain that he would not see them that day, and he was greatly
disappointed.  He longed to know the reason, and as he ate his dinner,
he was partly tempted to go to Mrs. Watters' house, take the axle he
had made, and place it on the waggon there.  He would have a good
excuse for doing so, he reasoned, and surely the widow could not
object.  He would thus find out, at any rate, why the children had not
come back.

He had just returned to his workshop, when the patter of bare feet was
heard outside, and the next minute Tom stood in the doorway.  He was
panting heavily, and his eyes were big and red.  Instantly Nathan knew
that something was wrong, and the plane he was holding in his hand
dropped upon the workbench.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"D-doris is hurt!" the boy gasped.  "Broke her leg!"

"Broke her leg!" Nathan exclaimed.  "How?"

"Gettin' over the fence.  A pole rolled on top of her."

"Where is she now?"

"Home.  Mum phoned fer the doctor, an' he's comin' as fast as he can."

"But why did you come for me?"

"'Cause Doris wants you.  She says you can do anything, an' can mend
her leg as ye did the waggon."

"Oh, I see."  Nathan looked keenly at the lad, and his eyes shone with
the light of sympathy.  So the little girl wanted him!  She had more
faith in him than she did in the doctor.  His heart thrilled at the
thought, and his eyes became somewhat misty.

"Will y' go to see her?" the boy asked.

"Certainly," Nathan replied, rousing from his reverie.  "I shall go
with you at once."

He was about to close the door of his shop, when he noticed the package
of chocolates upon the windowsill.  This he seized, pulled the door to
after him, and accompanied the boy out upon the road.

"I knew y'd come," Tom remarked after they had gone a short distance.

"Why?"

"'Cause you was so good to us yesterday.  Doris talked a lot about you,
an' she played with her blocks until bedtime.  Too bad, isn't it, that
she's hurt?"

"It is.  But the doctor will soon make her all right again."

"Yep, maybe so, but it'll cost a lot," and the boy sighed.  "I just
don't know how Mum'll pay him.  It's as much as she can do now to make
both ends meet, so she says.  Oh, I wish I was a man."

Nathan glanced down at the little fellow trudging bravely along at his
side.  He noted the clenched sunburned hands, and the look of
determination upon his face.

"How old are you, lad?" he asked.

"Six last August.  When I'm seven I can do a lot.  I'm goin' to pick
blueberries when they get ripe.  We have a fine patch out in our
pasture.  But I'll miss Doris a lot, fer she always went with me."

"How old is Doris?"

"She's four.  But she's great company out there among the bushes.  I
never feel one bit afraid when she's along."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, I dunno, 'cept that it makes me brave to feel that I have to take
care of her, an' would have to fight fer her if any bears came along.
But here we are right at our gate."

Mrs. Watters was bending over Doris as they entered the house, and Tom
went at once to his sister's side.

"I've got him, Doris," he announced.  "He came with me, an' he's here."

A faint expression of pleasure appeared in the girl's blue eyes as she
turned them wistfully upon the visitor.  Nathan was unused to a
situation such as this, and he did not know what to say.  For a few
seconds he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.  He then stepped
quickly forward and held out the package he was holding in his hand.

"You like chocolates, don't you?" he asked.  "These are all for you."

"Oh!"  It was all that the child said as she seized the treasure and
hugged it close to her breast.  Her suffering was too great for her to
attempt to do more.  Nathan then turned to Mrs. Watters who was
standing silently by.

"I am very sorry that Doris has met with this accident," he began.  "I
suppose the doctor will be here soon."

"I am expecting him at any minute," was the quiet reply.  "But Doris
wanted to see you first, and it is so good of you to come.  She and Tom
had a most pleasant time at your place yesterday, and Doris was looking
forward to going again this morning, but, poor child, I am afraid it
will be many weeks before she can do that."

"Is there anything that I can do for her?" Nathan inquired.

"Nothing, except to come to see her as often as you can.  But there's
the doctor now.  His car is at the door."

With a word to Doris, telling her to be brave and that he would be back
again soon, Nathan hurried out of the house, passing the doctor on the
way.  He walked rapidly down the road, his thoughts in a whirl.  He
felt that he should have stayed to assist the doctor, if necessary.
But he could not stand to see the suffering of a little child.  In the
case of a man it would have been different.

There was something, however, that he felt he could do.  When he
reached home he set earnestly to work, and began to carve out a doll
from a piece of dry cedar.  He knew exactly how to do this, for his
training at the Penitentiary had made him most efficient.  But he
worked now with a care and interest such as he had never exhibited
before.  It was really a wonderful head and face he made, and he was
quite satisfied when he was through and held it at arm's length for a
final inspection.  That evening by the light on the kitchen table he
dressed the doll, and he was very busy at this when his neighbor, Peter
Martin, called.  The latter's eyes expressed surprise as he limped
toward the chair Nathan offered.

"Well!  Well!" he exclaimed, as he placed his old felt hat upon the
floor by his side, "I never knew before that ye could do sich work as
that."

"How does it look?" Nathan asked, holding up the doll.

"Great!  An' ye've got her all dressed up, too, jist like a
fashion-plate.  It's fer some wee gal, I s'pose."

"Yes, I'm making it for Mrs. Watters' little child.  No doubt you have
heard about the accident."

"Indeed I have.  It's too bad.  Poor Widder Watters is havin' a hard
time of it, an' this'll make it worse fer her.  She's got two nice
children, an' she looks after 'em well, stays at home an' minds her own
business, which is more'n many do."

"Doris is a sweet child, Mr. Martin, and I am very fond of her.  I
believe she will like this doll, though I wish I had some better
material for the dress.  I couldn't find anything that would do except
a couple of colored handkerchiefs."

"Ye've done well, though," Peter complimented.  "Martha could let ye
have some suitable stuff, fer she's plenty of odds an' ends about the
house.  In fact, that's about all we've got these days.  I s'pose ye
wouldn't mind makin' a doll like that fer my little lass?  She'd go
almost daft over it."

"Why, I shall be delighted to make her one," Nathan replied.  "But I'm
afraid I won't have time for several days, as I expect to be very busy."

"Oh, that reminds me why I came over here," and Peter shuffled somewhat
impatiently on his chair as he spoke.  "It's a message from Ned
Preston.  I was comin' by his place this afternoon, when he saw me, an'
asked me to tell ye to go down an' fix his fence which was broken last
winter."

Nathan glanced up quickly from his work, and looked keenly at his
visitor.

"When did the Prestons move from the city?" he asked as calmly as
possible.

"Jist a few days ago.  They're earlier than usual this year."

"How did Mr. Preston know about me?"

"He didn't until I told him.  He wanted me to go an' fix his fence,
jist think of that!  I tell ye, I felt like givin' him a piece of my
mind.  But I kept cool an' told him I'd speak to you about doin' the
job."

"Why did you feel like giving Mr. Preston a piece of your mind?  Do you
not care for him?"

"Care fer him!"  Peter almost roared the words.  "I guess if ye knew
what he did to me, ye'd know how much I care fer him.  Look at that,
now," and he touched his right knee with his hand.  That's what I got
by workin' fer Ned Preston."

"Why, what did he have to do with your lameness?"

"Didn't I ever tell ye?"

"You never did.  I often wondered, but as it was none of my business I
did not care to ask you."

"Well, I'd soon told ye if ye had.  It was due to Ned Preston, let me
tell ye that.  Five winters ago I lumbered fer him, an' cut the finest
logs on me place.  He agreed to give me fifteen dollars a thousand fer
'em rafted.  I had several men choppin' all winter, an' fed 'em, too.
It cost me a big sum, but I reckoned I'd clear up about two thousand
dollars on the work.  I hauled the logs to the brow myself, an'
attended to the drive an' brought down every stick.  But the last day I
slipped an' a log jammed my knee.  It laid me up fer almost a year, an'
I've been lame ever since.  That's what it did."

"But how was Preston to blame for that?" Nathan questioned, as Peter
paused and searched in his pockets for his pipe.

"Oh, he wasn't to blame fer that, but the way he served me afterwards.
My men rafted the logs, the tug came fer 'em an' took 'em to the city.
But would Preston pay me the fifteen dollars he agreed to?  Not a bit
of it.  He denied that he had ever offered me that amount, so all he
would give me was seven dollars a thousand."

"It was only a verbal agreement, then?"

"That was all.  I didn't have the scratch of a pen."

"You made a big mistake."

"I sure did, an' paid fer it, too.  I sued Preston, an' lost.  He had
money an' false witnesses on his side, so what could I do?  I lost not
only the two thousand dollars comin' to me, but I had to sell a fine
timber tract to pay the lawyers, an' square up a number of bills on my
winter's work.  I was lucky to save me place."

"Preston made well out of those logs, I suppose."

"I should say he did.  He makes money on everything he touches.  If he
can't git it one way, he will another.  That man will stop at nuthin'.
I could tell ye of some other mean, contemptible tricks he has served
upon people.  But I must git along now.  Martha wants me to fix the
kitchen stove while the fire is out.  I shouldn't be here now, but
thought I'd better run over with that message from Preston.  I called
early this afternoon, but ye wasn't home."

"When does Preston want me to go?" Nathan asked.

"As soon as ye can.  He always wants people to hop when he speaks."

"Well, I'm not going to hop, anyway.  I shall think it over, and if I
decide to go, it will not be for a day or two.  I have some work to do
to-morrow for Mr. Sanderson."

"Very well, suit yerself," and Peter rose slowly to his feet.  "I
really wouldn't have brought that message but fer Mrs. Preston.  She
was standin' by her husband's side when he spoke to me, an' she looked
at me with them wonderful eyes of hers in sich a way that I couldn't
very well refuse.  So when I promise to do a thing, I try to do it."

"The influence of women, eh?"

"It was the influence of Mrs. Preston, an' not her husband, that's one
thing sure.  Why, everybody loves her as much as they hate him.  It's
been a problem to me how she ever came to marry a thing like that.
She's beautiful, an' as innocent as a child; ye can tell that at the
first glance, while he's--oh, well, I guess I'd better not say all I
know about him.  He's a stranger to you, so maybe I shouldn't have told
ye what I have.  But I couldn't help it to-night.  The Parson is always
tellin' us what the Bible says about fergivin' our enemies, an' no
doubt he's right, an' we should fergive if we expect to be fergiven.
But when I see a man like Ned Preston struttin' around, doin' dirty
things, an' gittin' off with 'em, makin' money hand over fist, and
called a prominent citizen, it's mighty hard to keep still.  I want to
do what is right, live an' let live, but my religion is often strained
to the breaking point."

Peter picked up his hat and limped slowly to the door.  He paused at
the threshold and looked back.

"Ye won't fergit to make that doll fer my little lass, will ye?" he
asked.  "I'll pay ye well fer it."

"No, I won't forget, Mr. Martin.  Your daughter shall have it as soon
as possible."

Nathan sat for a long time that evening, lost in thought.  So Ned
Preston wanted him to fix his fence!  But why should he do such a
thing?  He did not have to go, and yet there was a longing to look upon
the face of the man he had not seen for years.  And he might see Helen,
too.  He was certain that she would not recognize him in his disguise.
But could he remain calm and natural in her presence, just as if she
meant nothing to him?  Yes, for her sake he would go.  He wanted to
meet her, so it might as well be now as later.

He mused also upon Preston's career.  It had been a most unenviable
one, and yet he had prospered while others who had done no wrong were
forced to suffer.  Was there any justice in that?  There suddenly
flashed into his mind certain words over which he had often pondered,
and going into the next room he brought out his well-worn Bible.  This
he opened at the thirty-seventh Psalm, and began to read:


"Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against
the workers of iniquity.  For they shall soon be cut down like the
grass, and wither as the green herb.  Trust in the Lord, and do good;
so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed."


He thus read verse after verse wherein the promise of reward is set
forth to them that do right, but severe punishment to them that do
wrong.  He paused at the thirty-sixth verse, and then read with intense
interest, and as he read, a new light and meaning flooded his mind.


"I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a
green bay tree.  Yet he passed away; yea I sought him, but he could not
be found.  Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of
that man is peace."


"Great words," Nathan commented, as he reverently closed the Book.  "No
doubt they are very true, and that all things will come out right at
last.  But my faith, like Peter's, is strained at times almost to the
breaking point.  Anyway, I am not going to give up altogether until I
see if those words are applicable to the career of Ned Preston."




CHAPTER 4

Comrades in Distress

When Nathan called at Mrs. Watters' house the next morning on his way
to work, he had with him the doll carefully wrapped up in paper.  The
widow met him at the door, and gave him a bright smile of welcome.

"Doris is resting quite comfortably," she informed him in response to
his question concerning the child.  "She has been asking for you, and
is eagerly awaiting your coming."

She then conducted him into the room where the little one was lying.
The latter's eyes brightened when she saw the visitor, and a flush of
pleasure mantled her cheeks.

"Feeling better?" Nathan asked as he sat down by her side.

"Some," was the shy reply.  "Tandy was dood."

"Was it?  I'm glad to know that.  Have you eaten it all?"

"Not all.  Mum an' Tom eat some."

"Have you a doll, Doris?"

"I had one time, but it's gone now."

Carefully and slowly Nathan unwrapped the parcel, and then held up the
doll before the child's big staring eyes.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as her hands reached out and clutched the treasure.

"For me?" she murmured.

"Yes, for you.  It is to be your very own."

"Did oo make it?"

"I did, and dressed it, too.  But you can make a nicer dress if you
like."

"I like dis dress, oh, so much," and the girl hugged the doll close to
her breast.

Nathan was satisfied, and as he left the house after Mrs. Watters had
thanked him for his kindness, life seemed very pleasant.  In fact, all
through the day as he worked at Mr. Sanderson's barn there was joy in
his heart.  His deed of kindness to a little suffering child had
transformed the world to him.  And as he walked home after supper the
sky appeared brighter, and the wild flowers along the way more
beautiful than ever.  His step was lighter, and he held his head very
erect.

From this region of enchantment he was suddenly brought back to earth
when he reached Bill Tooke's house.  It was a ramshackle abode close to
the highway, the ground surrounding it being littered with refuse, from
rags to battered tin cans.  Bill himself was a useless creature, a
menace to the community.  He did a few odd jobs now and again, fished a
little, hunted and trapped in season and out.  His two acres of starved
land produced a meagre supply of hay for his one slab-sided cow, and a
few vegetables for his family.  He stole anything upon which he could
lay his hands, and the neighbors knew it.  But they were afraid of him,
fearful lest he set fire to their barns and houses should they take
action against him.  Some, therefore, secured their barns and sheds
with strong padlocks, while others kept watch dogs.  Bill was a fluent
talker, and justified his manner of living by referring to others who
had made their money in questionable ways.

"Look at them big fellers," he would sometimes say.  "They don't work
with their hands, but jist use their brains to rob others.  They git
off with it, merchants, contractors, an' politicians alike.  They all
do it, an' call it 'high finance' or some other name.  They have their
fine houses, big cars, an' are looked up to as leadin' citizens.
That's the way Ned Preston made his money, even though he is a judge's
son.  The world owes me a livin' jist as much as it does them suckers."

But notwithstanding this course of reasoning, Bill was not able to
produce much except a brood of half-naked and half-starved children.
Several of these were in front of the house as Nathan drew near.  They
were deeply interested in some special object, so he stopped to learn
what was attracting their attention.  He found that it was a red
squirrel they had captured, and had it confined in a little wooden box.
The poor creature was panting with fear, and as Nathan looked upon it
through the wire bars, he thought of his own unjust imprisonment.  It
stirred within him a deep sympathy for the caged animal, so he asked
the boys to let it out.  But they only grinned, and one lad poked the
squirrel with a stick which made it jump to one side of the cage in
fright.  Nathan was upon the point of taking possession by main force
and liberating the animal.  But upon second thought, he decided not to
do so.  Instead, he thrust his hand into a pocket and brought forth a
fifty-cent piece.  This he held out to the boys.

"I will give you this for the squirrel," he told them.

Eagerly the urchins agreed, and in another minute Nathan was hurrying
down the road, carrying the box in his hands.  He did not once look
back.  But had he done so, he would have seen the Tooke boys in earnest
conversation, and had he heard what they were saying, he would have
been much disturbed.  This incident drove the pleasant thoughts out of
his mind, and stirred his heart with indignation.  What the boys had
done to that squirrel men had done to him.  Why were such things
permitted? he asked himself.  Why should the innocent be forced to
suffer?  Such thoughts burned in his soul as he sped on his way,
heeding no longer the beauty of the flowers, nor the peace upon river
and land.

At length he reached his own house, and at the door he placed the box
gently upon the ground, and peered in at the trembling captive.

"You poor little creature," he began.  "It is no wonder that you are
frightened.  But you are safe with me, and you shall have your freedom.
Surely the world is big enough for us all, so why should we interfere
with one another?"

He then opened the door, but the squirrel shrank back.

"Come forth, little comrade," Nathan encouraged, "and enjoy life to the
full.  You were made for the great open spaces, and not for a cramped
box like this."

As if it understood these words, the squirrel crept cautiously to the
opening, peered for an instant outside, and then with a rush bounded
from its prison, sped across the open space, and scurried nimbly up the
nearest tree.  It reached a high branch, and there it sat for a few
minutes looking keenly down upon the watching man below.  Then it
opened its mouth and poured forth such a torrent of jargon that Nathan
was compelled to laugh outright.

"Hi, there, you little beggar," he cried.  "What are you saying,
anyway?  You may be thanking me, but it sounds like the biggest
scolding I ever got.  Keep it up, old fellow, if it will do you any
good."

He turned to go into the house, but noticing the cage at his feet, he
gave it a savage kick, which smashed it to pieces.

"I wish I could do the same with all such things," he vehemently
declared.  "And I am going to do what I can."

That night he again picked up his pen and added the following to the
partly-filled sheet of paper lying upon his writing-table:

"This has been an eventful day to me.  I made a little girl happy this
morning, and this evening I rescued a squirrel from its captors and set
it free.  In doing these two simple deeds I have been wonderfully
rewarded, and to-night my heart is filled with a blessed peace.
Perhaps my imprisonment has made me very sympathetic for all who are in
distress, especially God's helpless little creatures.  What greater
happiness can I now find in life than continuing such work?  There may
be many, I feel sure, right around me who need my assistance.  My world
which I thought was so small, is becoming larger, and my interest in
all living things is increasing in a wonderful manner.  I can now look
forward to each day as a new adventure with many possibilities for
doing good.  I can thus serve, if I can do nothing else."

Nathan slept well that night, and awoke the next morning fresh and
eager for the new duties awaiting him.  He had a plow handle to make
for Mr. Sanderson, so that would take part of the forenoon.  He worked
with a hearty goodwill, at times whistling or humming an old familiar
tune.  He was almost through with his task, and was vigorously applying
the sandpaper, when three of the Tooke boys suddenly appeared at the
door.  Each carried a box containing a frightened squirrel.  Nathan
looked at the three grinning lads for a few seconds, and then the
meaning of their visit flashed into his mind.

"Why have you brought those squirrels here?" he demanded.

"Fer you t'buy," one of the boys explained.  "Ye like squirrels, I
guess, so ye kin have these three fer fifty cents a piece."

"I don't want them," Nathan quietly replied.  "The one I bought from
you last night I let go.  Suppose you do the same with these.  Let the
poor things out."

"Not on yer life, Mister.  We want money.  If ye won't give us any,
we'll kill the squirrels.  They're a nuisance."

"In what way are they a nuisance?"

"Oh, they steal things, an' run all over the house, so Ma says."

"Well, then, suppose you let them go here.  I don't mind how much they
steal from me.  I like to have the little fellows around.  They can run
over my house all they want to."

"Naw, ye can't have 'em.  We'll take 'em home an' kill 'em.  Their
skins make good ear-tabs fer our caps in winter.  But we'd rather sell
'em an' git the money."

Nathan realised that it was useless to argue with these boys any
longer.  Roughness was the only thing they understood, as they had been
accustomed to it all their lives.

"Put those boxes down upon the ground," he sternly ordered.

Seeing that the man was in earnest, the boys shrank back, and were
about to run away, when Nathan stepped quickly forward, seized the
boxes from their hands, and tore open the doors.  The next instant the
squirrels were free and scampering off among the trees.  With cries of
rage, the three boys faced the liberator.

"You'll git paid fer this," one of them yelled.  "Jist wait till dad
gits after ye.  He'll fix ye a'right."

"Your dad can come whenever he wants to," Nathan retorted, as he seized
a hammer from the bench and smashed the boxes to pieces.  "Now, clear
out, and don't let me ever hear of you catching squirrels again."

So stern were the words, and so fierce was the carpenter's appearance,
that the boys fled rapidly toward the road.  There they stopped,
shouted back words of defiance, and threw stones at the house, one of
which broke a pane of glass.  The crash frightened the lads, so they
hurried away as fast as their legs could carry them.

Nathan stood for a while in the doorway, gazing in the direction the
boys had gone.  His eyes glowed with the fire of indignation, and his
body trembled from the vehemence of his emotion.  He was in no mood for
work, so after he had prepared and eaten his dinner, he sat upon the
verandah and smoked for some time.

"I forgot one very important thing," he at length mused aloud.  "In my
ideal for doing good I overlooked the perversity of human nature.  I
must expect opposition.  I have stirred up the Tooke nest, and no doubt
the brood will try to come back at me in some underhanded way.  But I
am not afraid of them, even though their neighbors are.  I have only
myself to consider, and if Tooke senior goes too far he might find out
his mistake.  It would be for the good of the community if the entire
bunch could be rooted out."

That afternoon Nathan went up the road to deliver the plow handle to
Mr. Sanderson.  As he passed the Tooke house he noticed the two little
windows facing the highway filled with dirty faces, although no one
appeared outside.  But as he returned an hour later, Bill Tooke was
sitting on a stone by the side of the road.  Nathan suspected that the
man was waiting for him, and he braced himself for the interview.  As
he approached, and was about to pass with the customary "good-day,"
Bill slouched forward and confronted him.

"What about them squirrels an' cages?" he demanded.

"Well, what about them?" Nathan asked.

"Oh, you know, a'right, what ye did to 'em."

"Yes, I do, and I shall do the same to all others that I can get my
hands on."

"Is that so?  But before ye go any furder, I want ye to pay fer the
boxes ye smashed this mornin', an' fer the squirrels, too.  I want jist
five dollars.  That'll settle any difference between you an' me."

"H'm, you'll have to be satisfied with wanting, for not a cent will I
pay.  Your boys broke a window in my house, so I might very well demand
payment for that."

"An' ye'll have more winders broken if ye don't hustle an' hand out
that money."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I guess you know, a'right, what I mean.  If ye don't want me to smash
that mug of yours, ye'd better git a move on."

"Perhaps two can play at that game.  But look here, Mr. Tooke, what's
the use of our fighting?  Let us settle this matter peaceably."

"Only when ye pay me five dollars will there be peace."

"But suppose I won't pay?"

"Then ye'll have to take the consequences."

"Well, I won't pay, so that's the end of it."

"No, it isn't, by a long chalk," Bill replied with an oath, aiming at
the same time a savage blow at Nathan's head.

Although taken by surprise, the latter with a quick movement warded the
blow, and in return sent a smashing upper-cut to his assailant's jaw.
Bill went down like a log, and lay on the road for a few seconds.  He
then slowly lifted himself on all fours, and rose unsteadily to his
feet.  He glared at his opponent, but made no effort to resume the
fight.

"Do you want some more of that?" Nathan asked.  "If you do, come right
along.  I'm just getting warmed up."

"Naw, I don't," Bill sullenly replied, as he rubbed his jaw.  "I didn't
expect ye'd hit like that, h-- if I did."

"You thought I would stand here and let you thump me without defending
myself, did you?  Well, then, you were mistaken, for I am not built
that way.  You attacked me on the King's highway, and I could have you
arrested.  But I am not going to do so if you behave yourself.  Let us
shake hands and be friends."

Nathan held out his right hand, but Bill refused to take it.  He
slouched off the road and made his way slowly to his house.  As he
reached the door, he paused, turned around and shook his fist at his
enemy.

"Ye got the better of me this time," he roared.  "But I'll git ye some
day, an' when I do, I'll fix ye."

Nathan made no reply.  He had already started down the road, and until
he was out of hearing his ears were assailed with oaths, whoops, and
yells of defiance from the Tooke brood.




CHAPTER 5

Repairing the Fence

The Preston house was a large one, surrounded by spacious, well-kept
grounds.  It was a beautiful spot, the admiration of all who beheld it.
There were large trees in abundance, and smaller ones recently planted.
A picket fence divided this place from the adjoining lot, which had
been seriously damaged by storms the previous winter.  The fence had
not been properly made at first, and this Nathan at once noted as he
began to repair it early Monday morning.

He had looked forward to this work with considerable misgivings.  He
felt sure that he would meet Helen, and would be forced to speak to
her.  His beard would disguise his face, but his voice might betray
him.  That morning as he looked into his small mirror a sudden idea
flashed into his mind.  He would disguise his voice by affecting a
nasal twang, and he would also "murder" the English language.  If he
did this he was quite certain that Helen would not recognize in John
Stone, the carpenter, Nathan Strong, the man who once had meant so much
to her.

He had been at work for about an hour when he saw Helen come out of the
house with her two children.  She looked more charming than on Sunday,
so Nathan thought, as his eyes gave her a fleeting glance.  Clad in a
simple white dress, she seemed almost youthful in appearance.  Would
she come his way? he wondered, as he bent his head, and with an
unsteady hand drove in a nail.  He was not left long in doubt, however,
for as soon as the children saw him, they gave a shout of delight and
hurried toward him.  The mother followed slowly after, stopping on the
way to pick a lilac from a bush along the gravel walk.  She was
inhaling the perfume when she came near to where Nathan was standing.
The latter pretended not to see her as he bent to fit a picket into its
place.  The children were watching him with wide-open eyes.  They
inherited their mother's beauty in face, eyes and hair.  The boy was
about six and the girl four.  Mrs. Preston smiled upon them, and placed
an arm lovingly about her son.

"I am going to be a carpenter when I am a man," the boy declared.

"You might do worse," was the quiet reply.  "Don't you think so, Mr.
Stone?"

Nathan thus accosted, straightened himself slowly up, and looked into
the woman's eyes.

"It's an honest trade, madam," he drawled, "an', as ye say, the boy
might do worse."

For a fleeting instant a peculiar expression appeared in the woman's
eyes, and a perceptible color mounted to her cheeks.  She then smiled,
as if at what the carpenter had said, but in reality at the foolish
notion that had come into her mind.

"I am glad to get this fence fixed," she said.  "It has been an
eye-sore to me ever since we arrived.  I hope you had no trouble in
finding the pickets.  Mr. Preston is away from home, else he would have
shown you where they were."

"Oh, I had no trouble, madam.  The gal there in the kitchen showed me
where to find 'em.  She's some lass, that."

Nathan again bent and nailed on the picket.  It brought back old
memories to hear Helen talk, and her voice sounded as sweet as ever.
His heart was beating so fast that he believed she could hear it.  He
longed for her to stay, and yet he wanted her to go away.  He could not
feel sure of himself in her presence, and his tongue might betray him
if he said too much.

"When you get through with this fence I wish you would do some work for
me in the house," Mrs. Preston remarked.  "Several pantry shelves need
repairing, and while you are here it is a good opportunity to get the
work done.  I hope you will have time."

"Time is nuthin' to me, madam, when it comes to repairin' things.
That's my work.  I'm allus on the lookout fer a job, watchin' the bend
in the road, as the parson said in his sermon."

"So you were in church yesterday, were you?"

"Sure.  I allus go.  Me an' the parson are good friends.  He allus says
somethin' worth listenin' to."

"He certainly does, Mr. Stone.  That sermon appealed to me very much.
I suppose we are all watching the bend in the road, always expecting
the golden van to appear, as Mr. Westmore said."

"Seems to me that your golden van has already come round the bend,"
Nathan replied, as he stooped for another picket.  "With sich a fine
place as this, another in the city, an' with two sich beautiful little
children as these, what more could any woman want?  Now, with me it's
different.  I ain't got wife nor chick, nuthin' 'cept a small bit of
land, an' a poor house."

"But you have a big heart, Mr. Stone.  Why, we have all heard of the
wonderful doll you made for little Doris Watters, and how you rescued
the squirrels from the Tooke boys."

"So ye heard about that!"  Nathan nearly forgot his drawl in his
astonishment.

"Oh, yes.  Mattie, our kitchen girl, has been telling Donnie and Ruth
all about it.  They have made her tell it to them over and over again.
That is why they are so interested in you, and look upon you as a hero.
When they heard that you were coming to repair this fence, they were
delighted.  You notice how they are watching your every movement."

"Ye heard also about my scrap with Bill Tooke, I s'pose?" Nathan
queried.

"We did, and I hope it will teach him a lesson.  But he is an
evil-minded man, so may try to seek revenge in some underhanded manner.
But, there, I have kept you from your work.  It is past breakfast time,
and everything will be cold.  Come, dears," and she turned to the
children, "you may come again and watch Mr. Stone."

As the three walked away toward the house, Nathan bent to his task with
renewed energy.  He was deeply stirred by this unexpected conversation
with the woman he loved, and her concern on his behalf.  But it was
just like Helen, he well knew.  She had not changed in her simplicity
of manner and interest in the welfare of those around her.  She had
always done so since he had first known her.  She was always more ready
to converse with the humblest rough-clad toilers than with those of
wealth and position.  Her friends had often bantered her about her
fondness for such people.

"I like them," she had always replied.  "To me they are all so genuine,
different from many I meet in the so-called superior class."

Nathan ate his dinner in the kitchen, and Mattie waited upon him with
special attention.  He had seen the girl before, as her home was up the
road.  She was a good and faithful worker, but her fondness for gossip
was well known.  Not a thing happened in the neighborhood that Mattie
did not know of it, and she spread the news as fast as possible.  Her
likes and dislikes were intense, so knowing her as they did, most
people endeavored to keep in her good graces.

"I'm going to give you a special dinner to-day," she declared, as
Nathan took his seat at the table.

"I'm glad to hear that," was the smiling reply.  "But why?  What have I
done to make you give me a special dinner?"

"Because of what you did to Bill Tooke.  I hope you broke his jaw when
you knocked him down.  My! how I wish I had been there when the thing
flopped upon the road."

"You evidently don't like Bill."

"Like him!  Like that snake?  I guess not.  I don't know anybody who
does.  But you must be careful, Mr. Stone.  He's a snake, all right,
and he'll wait to get back at you.  Oh, I know him."

"This is not a lawless country, remember," Nathan replied.  "Most
likely Bill will think twice before he tries to injure me.  But if he
does, I am well able to take care of myself."

"Maybe so," and the girl doubtfully shook her head.  "Anyway, I advise
you to be on your guard."

It took Nathan the whole of the afternoon to repair the fence.  It was
tedious work, for in some places he had to set in new pieces of
scantling.  The only time he lost was when he paused to saw some little
blocks for Donnie and Ruth.  They were delighted with these, and in
their eyes the carpenter was a greater man than ever.  This was during
the early part of the afternoon.  The mother had at length called them,
and they went away with her down across the field toward the river.

Nathan had the fence almost finished when they returned.  It was nearly
six o'clock, and he wished to have supper in his own house.  Mrs.
Preston stopped to admire the fence, and congratulated Nathan upon his
work.

"You will come to-morrow to repair those shelves, will you not?" she
asked.

"Yes, madam, I'll be on hand if nuthin' stops me, sich as Bill Tooke,
fer instance.  One kin never tell jist what's round the bend in the
road."

"That's quite true, Mr. Stone.  The unexpected always lies ahead.  I
have been thinking very much about that sermon to-day, and--"

She ceased abruptly as the sound of an approaching auto was heard.

"It's daddy!" Donnie cried.  "Come, Ruth, let's go and meet him."

Nathan turned and looked at the car which was now coming up the
driveway.  He then shot a swift glance at Helen, and noted that the
bright, smiling expression had vanished from her face, and in its stead
was a look of serious concern.  She walked slowly away, and reached the
car just as her husband alighted.  He spoke to her rather sharply, so
Nathan thought, although he could not understand what he said.  He paid
no attention to the children, but started at once toward Nathan.  The
latter stooped and began to pick up his tools.  His heart was stirred
with anger at what he had just beheld.  What would not he give could he
go home and find Helen awaiting him with two such charming little ones?
But Preston seemed to think nothing of them.  He was more interested in
the fence than he was in his family.

"Got the fence done?"

Nathan straightened himself up at this question, turned and looked at
Preston's coarse, flabby face.

"Yaas, guess she'll do fer a while," he drawled.  "She was purty badly
busted.  Would ye like fer me to give her a coat of paint?"

Preston, however, made no response.  He stood staring as if he had seen
a ghost.  His eyes bulged, and his face twitched.  He then emitted a
hollow, mirthless laugh, and turned to his wife who was standing by his
side.

"Did you hear what this fellow said?" he asked.  "He wants to give her
a coat of paint," and he motioned to the fence.  "I never knew what sex
a fence is before.  Come on, let's go into the house.  I'm almost
starved."

Nathan at once picked up his tools and started for home.  He knew that
Preston had recognized him, and that his laugh and reference to the
fence were merely a weak attempt to cover up his confusion.  Nathan was
deeply annoyed.  He felt that the secret would soon be known throughout
the entire parish, and he would be placed in a very awkward position.




CHAPTER 6

A Broken Shaft

Nathan was late getting to sleep that night, as his mind was greatly
agitated by the events of the day.  He felt certain that Helen was
unhappy, and he could not forget how the expression upon her face had
suddenly changed upon the arrival of her husband.  What was the meaning
of it? he asked himself.  Was Preston cruel to her?  He well knew that
the fellow was bad, but he could hardly imagine that he would treat
such a woman as his wife in a cruel manner.  He knew that Ned had
recognized him as Nathan Strong, and he wondered what would be the
outcome of it all.  Would he tell his wife?  And if he did, would her
heart be stirred with any tender memories of bygone days?

He was awakened toward morning by the heavy roll of thunder.  A storm
was sweeping up from the west, and in a few minutes it was directly
overhead.  It was the heaviest of the season.  The crashes were
appalling, and the lightning incessant.  It was awe-inspiring, but
Nathan was not afraid.  In fact, he enjoyed the wild tumult that was
going on around him.  He thought of Preston, and wondered how it was
affecting him.  He recalled how years before he had seen him tremble
violently and his face turn white as death during a thunderstorm in the
city.  If he had been frightened then, would he not be much more so
now?  The storm infused into Nathan's soul a feeling of strength such
as he had never experienced before.  There was a mighty power back of
that thunder and lightning, and upon it he could rely.  Surely the One
who controlled the heavens would see that justice was meted out to men
upon earth.  He might delay long, but in the end right would be
enthroned.  Nathan mused over all this while the thunder crashed, the
lightning gleamed, and the rain beat against the window of his room.
At length the storm rolled eastward, the rain ceased, and Nathan slept.

When he again awoke the sky was clear, and the bright sun was shining
into his room.  As he opened the door and stepped outside, a fairy
world of beauty and wonder met his eyes.  The air was fresh, with every
leaf and blade of grass, wet by the rain of night, sparkling beneath
the sun's friendly rays.  How good to be alive on such a morning,
Nathan thought as he stood and looked out upon the river, from which
long wisps of mist were slowly rising and disappearing.

It did not take him long to prepare and eat his breakfast.  Then when
he had washed his few dishes and tidied up the kitchen, he went into
his workshop for his kit of tools.  He did not like the idea of
repairing those shelves since his meeting with Preston the evening
before.  But he had promised Helen that he would do the work, so he
determined to be true to his word.

He had just reached the main highway when an auto sped rapidly up the
road, and slowed down close to where he was standing.  The driver
tossed a letter toward him, and without a word continued on his way.
Nathan recognized the car as Preston's and the man as his chauffeur.
He picked up the letter from the ground where it had fallen, tore it
open and discovered therein a two-dollar bill.  It also contained a
slip of paper, signed by Preston, notifying him that his services would
be no longer required.  That was all, and not one word of explanation.
But Nathan needed none.  He understood the reason, and he knew, too,
that the entire parish would soon be acquainted with the story of his
career.  A feeling of intense anger welled up in his heart as he again
read the letter and looked at the bill.  The latter was not the full
payment for his day's work; there should have been fifty cents more.
But it was just like Ned, and he knew that to collect the balance would
cost more than it was worth.  That was evidently the way the fellow had
worked with small amounts as well as with large.  Nathan at first was
tempted to tear the bill to pieces, but upon second thought he realised
that this would be foolish and childish.  The money was his, and if
Preston did not wish to pay him the rest, he could keep it.

Slowly he walked back to his workshop and placed the kit of tools upon
the bench.  He decided not to leave home that day, and as action was
necessary, he did some work about the house, such as washing clothes
and mopping up the kitchen floor.  It was noon by the time he had
finished, and after dinner he rested for a while upon the verandah.
The mysterious sense of strength which had come to him during the
thunderstorm still possessed his soul.  And with it there was the
feeling of calmness.  His every movement during the morning spoke of
self-control, and although Preston had been much in his mind he thought
of him in a new light.  What could the fellow do to harm him?  The
neighbors had common sense, and would not be easily influenced.  Should
they learn, as they undoubtedly would, that he was a jail-bird, he had
surely been long enough in their midst to have won their confidence and
respect.

That afternoon he made the doll for Peter Martin's little girl, as he
had promised.  But he did not stop with one, for he made several, of
different shapes and sizes.  These he dressed with bright material he
had purchased the week before at the store.  When they were finished,
he placed them in a row upon the window-sill back of his work-bench.
That evening he went down to the shore and sat upon a log, where he
gazed thoughtfully out over the water.  He hoped that Helen would take
it into her mind to come there again with her little ones.  If so, he
was determined to speak to her and tell her who he really was,
providing that her husband had not done so already.  He had thought
much about this during the afternoon.  She would learn in time, anyway,
so what was the use of keeping up the deception any longer?  He felt
that he could talk to her better freed from his disguise, and perhaps
she might unburden her soul to him.

Although he remained on the shore until it was almost dark, Helen did
not make her appearance, so slowly he wended his way back to the house.
Then it was that he met with his first surprise.  It was merely a brief
note pinned to the back door informing him that Sam Dobson did not need
him to shingle his roof.  While Nathan was reading this, a team stopped
out upon the road, and a man's voice hailed him.

"Jim Turner says he doesn't want ye to build that woodshed of his," was
the message.  "He asked me to drop ye word in passin'.  Fine evenin',
this."

Nathan made no reply, and as the waggon rattled along the road, he
gazed after it as immovable as the trees around him.  So it had come,
but sooner than he had expected.  Preston had wasted no time in
spreading the report, and poisoning the minds of his neighbors against
him.  Others, no doubt, would soon follow the example of the two from
whom he had already received word.  Preston would like to starve him
out, and thus force him to leave the place.  But why?  Was it because
of his love for Helen?  What other reason could the fellow have?  Helen
was Ned's wife, so why should he fear anyone else, no matter how fond
the woman might have been of him in the past?

As Nathan brooded over these things while he sat alone that night, he
thought of Preston's white, frightened face, and his peculiar manner
the previous evening.  Then there crept into his mind an idea which had
come to him several times before, but which he had always banished as
too ridiculous to be entertained for a minute.  Was Preston the guilty
one in connection with the theft of those bonds?  He chided himself for
the suspicion, but the more he considered it now, the more likely did
it appear.  He lighted his pipe and paced rapidly up and down the
verandah.  He was more agitated than he had been for a long time.  Was
the guilty one within reach?  What could have given Ned so much concern
last night but the thought of those stolen bonds, and unexpectedly
meeting the man who had been charged with the deed, and who had
suffered imprisonment?  It did look reasonable, and the more Nathan
thought over it, the more certain he became that his suspicion was
correct.  Then the bitterness of the situation dawned upon him.  Who
would believe him?  Ned Preston was the son of a noted judge, and who
would care to listen to the story of a common carpenter, and an
ex-convict at that?  Where could he get any proof that Preston was the
guilty one?  Years had passed, and most people had forgotten all about
the affair.  What chance would he have after such a length of time to
prove his case?  The idea of a judge's son being guilty of such an
offense would be looked upon as the height of folly by all.  Anyway, it
gave Nathan considerable satisfaction that he himself had at last
arrived at the conclusion as to the guilty one in connection with those
stolen bonds.  He had something now upon which he could work, so he
determined to keep his eyes and ears open as never before.

That Preston had not been slow in spreading the report abroad about
Nathan was apparent during the following days.  Several people who had
asked him to do some work sent word that they did not want him.  This
placed him in an awkward position.  Unless he had something to do he
could not live.  As it was, he had very little money, for he had spent
nearly all he had in buying his land, building and furnishing his
house.  It did not cost him much to live, but the little money he had
on hand would not kept him long.  Then there would be the slack winter
months when he could not expect to make much, anyway.  He might go to
the city and obtain work, but he did not wish to do that if he could
possibly avoid it.

He was thinking of this one night at the close of the week.  No one had
spoken to him for days except Peter Martin, who was as friendly as
ever, and gave no sign that he had heard anything about his neighbor's
career.  Nathan had given up his visits to the Watters' house lest he
might embarrass the widow should she not wish him to see her little
girl.  He felt that it was better for him to stay away altogether
unless Mrs. Watters should send for him.

It was impossible for Nathan not to feel a keen sense of bitterness in
his heart at the way in which he was being treated.  His neighbors
called themselves Christian people, and most of them attended the
services of their church regularly.  The parson, he knew, had often
admonished them to be helpful to others, and nearly every Sunday they
were reminded in the words of the Litany "to strengthen such as do
stand, to comfort and help the weak-hearted, and to raise up them that
fall."  Yet why should they shun a man, and refuse him work when he was
striving to lead a good life, even though he had served a term in the
Penitentiary?

Nathan was in the midst of this meditation when a loud knock sounded
upon the door.  As he opened it, he saw standing before him the
towering form of Parson Westmore.  He was panting heavily, and was
quite agitated.

"I have met with an accident, Mr. Stone," he abruptly explained.  "A
car crowded me off the road just around the corner.  My horse took
fright, plunged into the ditch, and broke the right shaft of my waggon.
I wonder if you can patch it up?"

"I shall do what I can," Nathan replied, as he accompanied the
clergyman to the scene of the mishap.  "Whose car was it?"

"Mr. Preston's.  He was driving, and Bill Tooke was with him.  He
evidently didn't see me until I went into the ditch."

"And he didn't stop to see how badly you were damaged?"

"No, he kept right on at a high rate of speed.  The roads are becoming
unsafe these days with such reckless drivers abroad."

It did not take Nathan long to unfasten the shafts from the waggon, and
carry them to his workshop.  The parson followed, leading the horse,
which he fastened to a nearby tree.

"The shaft is badly splintered," Nathan declared, "but I can patch it
up for to-night.  I shall take the measurements and make you a new one
to-morrow.  It will be ready right after dinner."

He then set to work and did as firm a job as possible, the clergyman
watching him most intently.

"It was fortunate that I was near your place," he remarked.

"At the bend in the road," Nathan replied.  "That's where the
unexpected happens, so you said last Sunday."

"So I did! so I did! and here is the practical application of it."

"And it's not always the golden van, either, is it?  Sometimes it is
altogether different.  Such has been my experience."

"So I believe, Mr. Stone, according to rumors I have lately heard."

"That I am a jail-bird?"

"Yes, yes, but I cannot believe such reports."

"They are true, nevertheless.  You might as well know it now as at any
time.  Ned Preston has been circulating the news, so I surmise."

"It makes no difference to me, let me assure you of that, Mr. Stone.
You have proven yourself a quiet and obliging neighbor, and a most
earnest worshipper.  I wish I had more like you in this parish."

"Others evidently do not think as you do, sir.  From the way work has
fallen off, it looks as if I might be starved out.  Several orders have
been cancelled since that news went abroad."

"Is that so?"

"It certainly is.  I haven't anything to do now to make a living."

"Dear me! that's too bad.  I had no idea that my people would treat you
in such a manner.  I wonder what I can do about it."

"Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Westmore.  I am not starved out yet.
Something will come around the bend before long."

When the shaft was repaired, and ere they left the workshop, the
clergyman pointed to a rustic chair in a corner of the room.

"Did you make that?" he inquired.  "It is a very fine one."

"Yes, I made it some time ago when I had nothing else to do.  I learned
to make such things when at the Penitentiary.  Would you like to have
it?"

"Indeed I should.  But what is the price?  Perhaps it is more than I
can afford."

"It will cost you nothing," Nathan assured him, as he picked up the
chair and carried it outside.  "It is no good to me, so I shall be
delighted if you can make some use of it."

The parson protested, and offered to pay for the chair, but Nathan had
his way, and tied it securely to the back of the waggon.  Soon the
shafts were in place, the horse hitched up, and the parson in his seat
with the reins in his hands.

"I shall not soon forget your kindness, Mr. Stone," he said.  "I shall
pay you for your work when I come to-morrow.  Keep up courage and do
not worry.  Perhaps the golden van will come around the bend sooner
than you imagine."

"You may be right, sir," Nathan laughingly replied.  "But what about
the roots and snags which have to be torn up at times?  You mentioned
such things in your sermon, didn't you?"

"Quite true, quite true.  Yes, there are snags in the way, and one
doesn't have to go far to find them.  Get along, Jerry.  Good-night,
Mr. Stone, I hope to see you again to-morrow."




CHAPTER 7

Through the Window

As Nathan worked at the waggon shaft the next morning he wondered what
Ned Preston and Bill Tooke had been doing together.  That they had been
bent upon some mischief he felt certain.  It was most unusual for the
two men to be so friendly.  But, perhaps, their mutual hatred to him
was the cause of it.  Anyway, he would await their move, whatever that
might be.

Parson Westmore came that afternoon for the new shaft, and while Nathan
was removing the broken one, the clergyman sat watching nearby.

"I believe I have found work for you, Mr. Stone," he at length
announced.

"That's good news," was the reply.  "Have any of the neighbors
repented?"

"Not that I know of.  But this is a different kind of work, and that
rustic chair you gave me last night was the cause of it.  When I
reached home with my prize, I found several friends there.  They have
cottages at River View where they are spending the summer.  They were
most enthusiastic over the chair, and I have taken orders for a number,
providing you will make them.  They asked what they would cost, and
although I did not know for sure, I told them that they should be worth
five dollars each, at least.  They considered that reasonable, so if
you are willing you can make three at once.  I feel certain that others
will want chairs as well, so you may work up quite a business."

Nathan was much touched by the clergyman's interest on his behalf.

"It is very good of you, Mr. Westmore," he replied.  "I never thought
of the idea before.  River View is a busy place, I understand, so there
should be a good sale for the chairs.  I can make other things, too,
such as flower-stands and tables.  If I had a rowboat, I could take
them there myself."

"You are welcome to mine, Mr. Stone.  It has been seldom used since my
son left home.  It may leak quite a bit, so will need some caulking.
You can get it whenever you are ready."

Nathan was greatly pleased at the idea, and a new spirit animated his
soul as he thought of the prospects in store.  He knew where he could
find plenty of suitable wood, and he really enjoyed making rustic
chairs and tables.  He set earnestly to work, and various were the
designs he made, giving his imagination free play, feeling certain that
those who bought his wares would be satisfied.

The middle of the following week he took his first load to River View.
He had caulked the parson's boat, and had given it a much-needed coat
of paint, thus making it quite water-tight.  His bulky outfit almost
filled the boat, and besides the chairs and tables he took along with
him the dolls he had made.  It was a row of about six miles, but he
enjoyed the trip.  It was a beautiful morning, and the river was as
smooth as glass.  The people at the summer resort were in good humor,
eagerly bought his entire stock, and ordered more.  Parents purchased
the dolls for their children, and several little ones were keenly
disappointed at not obtaining any.  But Nathan promised to bring more
the next time, so they were comforted.

This success was most encouraging, and once more Nathan set to work
upon a new supply.  Only Peter Martin visited him, bringing fresh eggs
and butter.  Each time he stayed for a while, chatted, and watched the
carpenter at his work.

"Ye learned that business well, Mr. Stone," he one evening remarked.
"I wish t'goodness I could make sich things.  I'm not much use on the
farm these days, as I'm gittin' lamer all the time.  My knee hurts me a
great deal now.  Yer fortunate in bein' so handy.

"But I paid dear for it, Mr. Martin," Nathan reminded, looking up from
his work.  "While I was learning to make chairs and such things I might
have become a successful business man."

"So I understand, Mr. Stone, from what I have heard of late.  But d'ye
s'pose ye'd have been any happier than ye are now?"

"Perhaps not, although I'm very sorry that I didn't have a chance to
try it out.  You have heard the story of my career, no doubt, so it is
not necessary for me to tell you about it.  But a block of twelve years
ruined in a man's life, just when he is in his prime, is a very serious
matter."

"It sure is, an' no mistake about that.  But success an' money don't
allus bring happiness, remember.  Look at Mr. Preston, fer instance.
He's got money, an' is considered a smart business man.  But is he
happy?  I should say not, from what I hear.  Mattie Burns, the girl who
works at his house in the summer time, has told my wife some things I
wouldn't like to repeat.  I guess Mrs. Preston has her own troubles."

"Mr. Preston should be happy, though, with such a wife and children as
he has," Nathan replied.

"He'll never be happy with sich a conscience as he carries around.  I
don't see how he kin sleep at night after the mean, contemptible things
that he has done.  There's my leg, fer instance, an' the good money I
had to pay out because of his diviltry.  But, never mind, he'll git
what's comin' to him some day, an' mebbe it'll all come in a bunch.  It
ginerally does when it starts, so I've noticed."

Peter rose slowly from the box upon which he had been sitting, and
limped toward the door.

"There's a storm not fer off," he announced, as he opened the door and
viewed the sky.  "Rain's needed, an' we haven't had any since that last
thunderstorm."

"I hope it won't come to-morrow," Nathan replied.  "I have another load
almost ready to take to River View."

"Better be careful, Mr. Stone.  It's mighty rough at times out there on
the water.  That flat-bottom boat of the parson's is hard to handle,
'specially with an outfit sich as you'll have.  But good-night, an'
good luck to ye."

The next day Nathan found that Peter's words were only too true.  He
started that afternoon for River View, and when halfway there the wind
came up from the south.  It had been threatening all the morning, but
as the water was smooth, Nathan thought that he could reach his
destination before it arrived.  Now he knew that he had been mistaken.
The wind steadily increased, and this, together with the mounting
waves, made rowing very difficult.  Often the spray dashed high,
wetting his clothes and his load.  It was a hard pull, and once he
believed that he would have to give up and go back home.  But he kept
on, and at length, greatly wearied, he reached the summer resort.  It
did not take him long to dispose of his goods, and he then longed to
return home.  But he did not care to venture forth with the water so
rough, so he waited, hoping that the wind would die down.  Instead,
however, it increased, until about dark it was blowing a gale, and ere
long the rain began to fall.  He, accordingly, abandoned the idea of
returning by boat, and decided to walk.  He could come back next day
for the craft, or as soon as the storm ceased.

There was a large hotel at River View, and as Nathan was hungry, he
entered the building and took a seat in a corner of the comfortable
dining-room.  To sit at a table covered with spotless linen, to be
waited upon, and to eat food not of his own cooking, was a luxurious
experience for him.  He recalled how often he had frequented hotels and
restaurants before his imprisonment, and had taken it all as a matter
of course.  But now it was different, and the novelty appealed to him.
He watched with much interest the people seated at the various tables,
noted their animated faces, and listened to their talk.  Several
consisted of family groups, fathers, mothers and children.  How happy
they must be in one another's company, he thought.  Perhaps he, too,
would be enjoying such a life but for the strange twist of fate that
had overtaken him.  Helen would be just where a beautiful woman was
sitting by the side of her two radiant daughters, talking to her
husband.  A feeling of intense loneliness, mingled with bitterness,
stole into his heart.  What had he done to be deprived of the woman he
loved, and all those things that make life worth living?

Happening to glance to the right, he gave a start as he saw Ned Preston
enter the room, and with him was a woman of more than ordinary beauty
of face and form.  They took seats at a small table, and Nathan was
glad that Preston's back was toward him.  He did not wish the fellow to
know that he was there, so from his corner he could watch them without
attracting any notice.  The man and the woman nearby also saw them.  A
look of deep significance passed between them, and the woman said
something which Nathan could not catch.  The two girls also looked
around, and then whispered earnestly together.  How Nathan longed to
know what they were saying.  That it was not of a very complimentary
nature he felt certain.  What kind of a life was Preston leading? he
wondered.  Was he in the habit of leaving his wife and paying attention
to other women?  It did appear so, and the thought stirred him to
anger.  Had Preston's wife been anyone else but Helen it would not have
concerned him in the least.  But to think that the one woman in the
whole world who was dearer to him than life was the wife of the man
before him, and he was tired of her, and was basking in the graces of
another, was hard to endure.  Nathan's hands clenched hard, and his
eyes glowed with indignation as he thought of these things.  He noticed
that Preston was talking earnestly to the woman seated opposite him,
and that she was looking with beaming eyes into his.  This made Nathan
more disgusted than ever.  He rose from the table, made his way out of
the room, paid for his unfinished meal, and left the building.  It was
raining hard, and the wind was blowing a gale.  But he paid no
attention to the weather.  He wanted to get as far away from River View
as possible, and so he at once set his face homeward.  He walked with a
rapid stride, in keeping with the tumult that was raging in his brain.
His clothes soon became thoroughly soaked, but he did not mind.  In
fact, he never thought about them.

Darkness came upon him when he was about half-way home, and walking was
difficult.  Several times he was forced into the ditch by autos, and
liberally splashed with mud and water.  But steadily he kept on his
way, and at length stopped in front of the Preston house.  Light
streamed from two front windows, and a desire entered his heart to know
how Helen was spending the evening.  Acting upon the impulse of the
moment, he walked slowly up the driveway, and paused just at the edge
of the large verandah, close by a group of thick lilac bushes.  From
here he could look into the sitting-room through the windows where the
curtains were partly drawn aside.  And there he saw Helen sitting near
a little table, with the light from a shaded lamp falling upon her face
and hair.  A wood fire was burning in the grate, and at this the woman
was gazing.  He could obtain only a side view of her face, but from her
serious expression he surmised that she was in deep thought.  Her hands
were clasped in her lap, and her head was bent somewhat forward.
Nathan knew that it was unmanly for him to be standing watching her,
and he was about to hurry away, when the woman rose suddenly to her
feet and walked rapidly up and down the room.  This she did several
times, and the watcher was thus enabled to see her face to a good
advantage.  And what he saw there startled him, for it was the face of
a woman in the depths of despair.  Once she paused, clasped her hands
wildly together, and her body trembled.  An intense longing swept upon
Nathan to rush into the house, seize her in his arms and comfort her.
He realised, however, that such a thing would be madness, so he crushed
back the desire that was burning in his heart, turned and fled away,
lest he should be tempted to follow his wild impulse.  But he had seen
enough to know that the rumors he had heard concerning Helen Preston
were true.  She was most unhappy, and it was due to the man she had
married.  She evidently knew the kind of life he was leading, so while
he was spending his nights with other women she was left alone in
solitude and despair.




CHAPTER 8

A Startling Confession

When Nathan reached home he built a fire in the stove, changed his
clothes, and hung the wet ones up to dry.  The heat felt good, and the
room seemed exceptionally cosy and comfortable after his battling with
the storm.  He lighted his pipe, stretched himself upon the cot near
the stove, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of a much-needed rest.
The rain drove lashingly against the window facing south, and he could
hear the wind tearing through the trees at the back of the house.  It
was good to be under shelter on such a night, and but for the thought
of Helen alone in her distress he would have felt quite happy.

A loud rap outside startled him, and when he had thrown open the door,
he saw Peter Martin, dripping with wet, standing before him.  In his
hand he held a piece of paper which he at once gave to Nathan.

"It's a phone message from the city," he explained.  "I happened to be
at the store when the call came fer you.  I told Dobbins that you were
away from home, an' that he'd better git the message, an' I would
deliver it, so there it is."

"Come in, Mr. Martin," Nathan invited.  "It is nice and comfortable in
here."

"Can't stay a minute, Mr. Stone, though I'm much obliged, all the same.
My horse is jist outside."

"Thanks very much for your kindness, Mr. Martin.  You should not be out
in such a storm as this."

"That's quite true, but us farmers have to turn out in all kinds of
weather.  We're used to it.  Good-night."

When Peter had gone, Nathan carried the piece of paper to the light,
and with difficulty read the scrawl written with a lead pencil.


"DEAR MR. STONE:

"You are wanted at the city early to-morrow morning at the office of
Black & Muirhead, lawyers, 61 Crescent Street.  It is a matter of great
importance, and your presence is urgently desired.  I have taken this
message for you.

"J. E. DOBBINS."


Nathan stared at these words, read and re-read them.  What does it
mean? he asked himself.  What could the lawyers want with him?  Had it
anything to do with those stolen bonds?  The thought made his heart
beat fast, while an expression of hope dawned in his eyes.  But such an
idea was ridiculous, he felt certain, and he chided himself for his
foolishness.  "A matter of great importance," so the message said.
There were only two matters of great importance to him in life, and one
was the unravelling of the mystery connected with those stolen bonds.
The other was his love for Helen.  This could not have anything to do
with her, so, therefore, it must be something about those bonds.

Nathan slept but little that night.  He had much to keep him awake, for
when not thinking about the message he had received, Helen was in his
mind.  He was up early, and at the wharf some time before the little
steamer arrived.  Never was the boat so late, he thought, and never did
it take her so long to reach the city.  When at length the trip was
ended, he sprang ashore, hurried up the street, and in a few minutes he
was on board a car, headed for the business heart of the city.  He had
no difficulty in finding the office of Black & Muirhead, where he at
once met Mr. Black, the senior partner, and stated who he was.  The
lawyer greeted him in a most friendly manner, shaking hands with him,
and offering him a chair.

"I was afraid you would not get here in time," he remarked, as he
picked up a folded paper from a number of neatly-arranged documents on
his desk.  "But now we can get right ahead with the business."

"What is the matter of great importance, anyway?" Nathan asked.  "I am
completely in the dark as to why you sent for me in such a hurry."

"I cannot explain to you just now, Mr. Stone, but you will understand
shortly.  A client of mine is anxiously awaiting you, so we shall go to
him right away."

Thrusting the paper he was holding in his hand into an inside pocket,
and taking down his hat from a hook, the lawyer left the office, with
Nathan wonderingly following.  Outside there was an auto standing, and
in another minute Mr. Black was at the wheel and was threading his way
through the crowded streets, headed for the main residential portion of
the city.  At length they came to a beautiful avenue lined with stately
trees, where large residences lifted their imposing fronts, and
well-kept lawns gladdened the eyes of all who passed that way.  Along
this they sped, and stopped at last before a house more magnificent in
appearance than any they had yet seen.  Here they alighted, and Mr.
Black at once led the way up the smooth concrete walk, and rang the
bell.  A maid opened the door, and as the men entered, she conducted
them up the richly-carpeted stairs, and ushered them into a room on the
right.  Nathan gave a slight start of surprise as his eyes rested upon
a man lying upon a bed, his face white and haggard.  Bright, restless
eyes watched the lawyer as he drew near, and a skeleton hand motioned
the attendant nurse to leave the room.

"Has he come?" the sick man eagerly asked.  "Is that Nathan Strong?"

At these words Nathan stepped quickly forward, for in the invalid he
recognized his former co-worker, Matthew Halton.

"Yes, he is the man," the lawyer replied.  "But keep calm, Mr. Halton,
as you will need all of your strength for this interview."

"You are right, Black.  But give Mr. Strong a chair, here close to my
side.  Ah, that's better," he continued, when the lawyer had complied
with his request.

For a full minute the invalid kept his eyes fixed upon Nathan's face
with a mute appeal, such as an animal sometimes exhibits when in deep
distress.  Several times he moistened his parched lips with his tongue
and attempted to speak.  Nathan could hardly believe that this was the
man of abounding health he had known years before.  He knew that
Matthew Halton had succeeded in life, and from a humble office worker
had rapidly risen to be one of the city's most prominent business men.
The praise of him was upon the lips of all, and his outstanding career
was held up as a worthy example to the young.  He was always foremost
in every good work, and his liberality was well known.  He had been
untiring on behalf of his city's welfare until disease laid him low.
General regret had been expressed at his illness, and for weeks the
newspapers had been issuing daily statements as to his condition.
Nathan had always read these with more than ordinary interest, owing to
his acquaintance with the man in former years.

"Have you brought the paper for me to sign?" Halton asked the lawyer.

"Yes, sir, it is right here.  Are you ready?"

"Just a minute, Black," and the invalid lifted his right hand as he
spoke.  "I have something to say to Mr. Strong."

He then turned to the man seated by his side.

"Have you any idea why I sent for you, Strong?" he asked.

"I am beginning to suspect something now," was the reply.

"Ah, is that so?  My! we had trouble in locating you.  I was sure that
I would die without seeing you."

"And how did you find me?" Nathan asked, as Halton again paused to
moisten his lips.

"It was through Ned Preston.  He told me where you were living."

"Did he?"  Nathan's hands clenched hard, while an angry gleam flashed
in his eyes.

"Yes, and I sent for you as soon as I found out."

"And what do you want?" Nathan peremptorily demanded.  "I am here, so I
would like to know what is the meaning of all this."

"You are here to listen to the confession of a dying man.  Oh, Strong,
I have been living in hell for years, with no rest of mind day nor
night."

"Hell, then, must be a different kind of place from what I have always
been taught," Nathan sarcastically replied, as he glanced around the
luxuriously-furnished room.  "You have evidently thrived during your
period of torment."

"I have, indeed, but at what a price!  It was the price of manhood and
peace of soul.  Oh, how I have suffered!"

"And you were not the only one, remember."

"What!  Do you know?  Do you understand what I mean?"

"I think I do."

"That I stole those bonds?"

At this confession Nathan rose to his feet, and towered above the bed.
Outwardly he was calm, but a tumult was raging in his heart.  A longing
swept upon him to seize the wasted man lying before him, and bestow
upon him the punishment he deserved.  Halton seemed to read something
of this in his manner and his eyes dilated with fear.  He shrank back
and pulled up the bedclothes as if for protection.  Nathan noted this,
and a sense of pity smote him for the miserable creature cowering
before him.

"I won't harm you," he said.  "Why should I add more misery to you than
that you have already endured.  I guess the Lord has dealt with you
according to your deserving."

"He has!  He has!  But why am I so terribly punished while he who led
me into guilt has perfect health, and has not been hounded in
conscience?"

"And who is that?" Nathan sharply demanded.

"Don't you know?"

"I think I do, but I wish to hear it from your own lips."

"It was Ned Preston, the villain.  Did you suspect him?"

"I did."

Nathan rasped forth these words, and there was something in the tone of
his voice that sent a chill of apprehension through the listening
lawyer.  As he watched the cruelly-wronged man before him, he did not
envy Preston's success and ill-gotten gains.

"Yes, it was Ned who plotted the whole affair," Halton explained.  "He
was rooming with you, so it was easy for him to place several of those
stolen bonds in one of your grips.  He led me into it, for both of us
were badly in need of money.  No one ever suspected us, and when we
prospered, people believed that our success was due entirely to our own
keen business talents.  But everything we own was built upon those
bonds we stole.  Why, whatever we touched after that turned into gold.
We were Fortune's favorites, and we had all that the heart could
desire."

"Except peace," Nathan drily remarked.

"Ah, you are right so far as I am concerned.  The more I prospered, the
more peace fled from me.  I have this beautiful house, but it is not a
home.  I married a woman and lavished my wealth upon her.  But she left
me, and my two children went with her.  I disowned them, and have lived
alone in this house which is nothing but a prison, attended by my
servants who care for me because I pay them well.  I have bestowed
gifts without stint, and have thrown myself into the welfare of this
city.  But all in vain.  Peace is as far from me as ever.  'There is no
peace to the wicked,' so the Bible says, and I know only too well how
true are those words."

"Do you see Ned Preston often?" Nathan asked.  "His conscience doesn't
seem to be troubling him."

"I see Ned only occasionally, though that is too often.  But he is not
happy.  I know that from what I have seen and heard.  He is living a
fast life of shame, and he has given himself up almost entirely to
drink and bad women.  It is terrible!"

Halton ceased, and began to cough violently.  The excitement was
telling upon him, and he was weakening fast.

"Perhaps you had better not talk any more to-day," the lawyer
suggested.  "The strain is too great."

"I must talk," the invalid vehemently declared.  "I must unburden my
soul, and tell of the things that have lain hidden there for years.  I
have been in hell, and to talk to some one is a little relief."

"I see that a man may be a prisoner, though not confined by bars and
locks," Nathan remarked.  "I suffered years in the Penitentiary, but
you have been in a worse prison."

"You are right.  You were an innocent man, and your conscience was
clear.  But I--oh, God!"

Halton lay panting for breath, and his cough again swept upon him.  A
hectic flush tinged his cheeks, and his eyes were unusually bright.
The lawyer nervously fumbled the paper he was holding in his hand, and
when the cough had ceased, he moved closer to the invalid.

"Suppose you sign this paper now, Mr. Halton," he again suggested.  "It
is very important, you know, and should, ah--anything happen to you,
justice might not be done to Mr. Strong."

"You are right, Black.  Give me a pen and I shall sign at once.  But,
stay, read it once more that I may be sure it is complete."

The lawyer did so and in a low, clear voice read the confession of
Matthew Halton, implicating himself and Edward Preston, and fully
exonerating Nathan Strong.  There were not many words, but they were
sufficient, and as Nathan listened, a thrill of joy surged through his
being.  At last his name was clear, and all would acknowledge him as an
innocent man who had been shamefully treated.  He beheld almost as in a
dream the lawyer going to summon the nurse and one of the household
servants to witness the signing of the confession.  He saw them enter,
watched Halton write his name and the witnesses theirs.  Then when the
lawyer had added his signature, and attached several seals, Nathan drew
a great sigh of relief.

"That is yours," he heard Mr. Black say, as he handed him the paper.
"For your sake I am thankful for this day's work.  Allow me to
congratulate you."

Nathan seized the outstretched hand, and a mistiness dimmed his eyes.

"Thank you," he replied, and his voice was somewhat unsteady.  "It is
hard for me to realise the truth of all this.  I must get out into the
fresh air that I might think it all over.  I hope it isn't only a
dream."

He was moving toward the door, when a feeble cry from Halton caused him
to stop and look around.  The invalid was trying to rise, but as Nathan
stepped swiftly to his side, he fell back again upon the pillow.  The
wretched man caught Nathan's right hand in his, and held it fast.

"Will you forgive me?" he asked.  "I don't want to go until I hear the
words from your own lips."

Nathan hesitated, and tried to free his hand.  How could he forgive the
man who had so deeply wronged him?  But Halton would not let him go.

"For God's sake!  Don't deny a dying man's last request," he pleaded.
"You will, won't you?"

"Yes, I forgive you," was the somewhat reluctant reply.  "But I can't
forgive Ned Preston.  You will soon have to answer to your Maker, but
Ned will have to answer to me.  Good-by."

Without another word, he withdrew his hand, and strode rapidly out of
the room.




CHAPTER 9

The Struggle

The little steamer _Banner_ was making her regular evening run up
river, and she carried a fair-sized cargo.  Farmers, and others, were
congregated on the lower deck, assembled in little groups, discussing
various topics of interest.  Nathan sat alone upon an empty crate,
clutching in his hands a copy of the evening paper he had obtained
before coming on board.  He paid no attention to what was taking place
around him, for his mind was centered upon an article telling of the
death that day of Matthew Halton, the prominent citizen.  It was a most
laudatory account, setting forth Halton's successful business career,
his outstanding integrity, his numerous gifts, and his deeds of charity.

"Some men build upon the defeat and ruin of others," so ran the
article.  "Some hoard their ill-gotten gains, or squander them in
purely selfish interest.  Some never think of others, and are of little
use to their community.  But with Matthew Halton it was different.
Whatever he possessed was due to integrity of character, and honest
business methods.  In the path of his success he left no wrecks behind,
and no man was the poorer because he lived.  Men and women in all
stations of life found in him an ever-ready and sympathetic helper.  He
turned a deaf ear to none, and because of his great heart and open hand
thousands to-day will mourn their loss."

Nathan read no more, and the paper dropped upon his lap.  His eyes
stared straight before him out upon the river.  So Halton had died just
an hour after he had signed the paper, he mused.  He thrust his right
hand into an inside pocket of his coat to make sure that the document
was safe.  It was the most precious thing he possessed, and he trembled
at the thought of losing it.  What would people say when the truth
concerning Halton became known? he wondered.  And the newspaper which
had said such laudatory things, would it remain silent?  Would it give
as prominent a space to the injustice done to Nathan Strong as it did
to the death of Matthew Halton?  He had his doubts.  Anyway, he was
determined that he would soon give it a chance.  And what about Ned
Preston?  When the exposure came, what would be said of him and his
contemptible deed?

Since leaving Halton's house Nathan's heart had been on fire with a
desire for speedy revenge.  He had wandered aimlessly about the city,
except when he was standing watching Preston's office situated in the
main business section.  He longed to go to the villain and tell him
what he had learned.  But he resisted the temptation, deciding to go
home first that he might brood upon it, and silently triumph for a time
over the victim soon to be in his clutch.  No longer was he the
carpenter, content with his humble tasks of building and repairing.
The beast within him was aroused, and revenge was his one desire.  He
rejoiced in this feeling.  He had often experienced it during the years
of his imprisonment when he had beaten with his hands against the walls
of his cell, and passed sleepless nights in wild impotent rage.  But
that had all passed forever, so he believed, and he had come forth from
his bondage a new man, clothed with the majesty of self-mastery.
Little did he really know of the strange depths of the human heart when
face to face with an overmastering impulse or a strong temptation.

And through the memory of his sufferings came the thought of his
parents.  Although he knew that they had always believed him to be
innocent, yet he was certain that his imprisonment had shortened their
lives.  It was bitter to think that two such worthy people had been
enforced to endure such agony of soul and mind owing to the misdeeds of
others.  Oh, if they were only alive to hear the proof of their son's
innocency!

So vehement was his emotion as he thought of them, that he rose
abruptly to his feet and walked over to the port side of the boat.  He
looked out upon the water through the steadily deepening darkness.
Some things he could do, such as hale Ned Preston to justice, but to
bring back his parents and give them comfort in their old age was
beyond his power.  His attention was suddenly arrested by voices close
at hand.  He glanced around, and saw several men standing near, one of
them holding a newspaper in his hand.

"Yes, Matt. Halton was a good man," he was saying.  "I worked fer him
once, an' he treated me white."

"Pity there ain't more like him," another replied.  "Now, there's Ned
Preston, fer instance.  He's a shyster, if ever there was one.  Why, he
owns houses in the city that ain't fit fer pigs to live in.  People
have to take 'em because houses are so scarce.  He charges big rents,
too, an' if a man can't pay on the dot, out he goes bag an' baggage,
right on the street.  He has turned people out in the dead of winter
when they had no places to go to.  An' look at Preston with his fine
house in the city an' another in the country."

"It's a wonder the law doesn't step in an' make him fix up his houses,"
one of the men remarked.

"Law!" was the contemptuous retort.  "The less said about law the
better when it comes to the rights of tenants."

The conversation drifted off to politics in which Nathan was not
interested.  But he had heard enough to give him food for serious
thought.  So Preston was grinding down the poor in the city, was he?
Owned houses which were not fit for pigs to live in, while he built the
finest for himself.  But that would soon be changed, and Ned would
occupy a cell in the Penitentiary.  He would then be in his right
place, and he would stay there, too, for a long time.

It was dark when the _Banner_ reached River View.  Here Nathan landed
and went at once to his boat which was drawn well up on the shore.  In
a few minutes he was headed homeward, pulling steadily at the oars.  It
was a beautiful night and hardly a ripple ruffled the surface of the
water.  Sounds along the shore could be clearly heard, the laughter of
children, the barking of dogs, and the raucous honks of auto horns.
Nathan paid little heed to these, for his mind was too deeply occupied
with the strange events of the day.  But when he came opposite the
Preston house he rested upon his oars, and allowed the boat to drift
with the tide which was setting up.  A light streamed from a window in
the front of the house on the hill, and Nathan pictured Helen sitting
alone in the room as he had seen her that night of the storm.

Silently he dipped his oars into the water and urged the boat
shoreward.  Some unseen force seemed to be drawing him against which he
had no power of control.  A disturbing idea had come into his mind
which was now battling fiercely with the raging spirit of revenge.  If
he should expose Ned Preston and bring him to justice, how would it
affect Helen?  He knew the sensitiveness of her nature, and how could
she stand up under the ordeal?  Would she be able to bear the disgrace
and agony of mind which would surely be hers when she learned that her
husband was a criminal?  He believed that her heart would be broken,
and that she would never again hold up her head and face the world.
And it all rested with him.  Nathan's hands gripped hard upon the oars,
and his firm-set teeth told of the struggle that was going on within.
Preston must be punished, but he would not suffer alone.  He would drag
down innocent ones with him.  That Helen would be one of them was
almost too terrible for Nathan to contemplate.

He had gone but a short distance when he again ceased rowing.  A woman
was singing in close to the shore, and her voice floated sweetly
through the night out over the placid water.  Nathan's heart beat fast,
for he was certain that it was Helen's voice he heard.  It could be no
other, and he recognized the tune and the words she was singing.

  "Somewhere the sun is shining,
  Somewhere the song birds dwell;
  Hush then thy sad repining,
  God lives, and all is well.
  Somewhere, Somewhere,
  Beautiful Isle of Somewhere,
  Land of the true where we live anew,
  Beautiful Isle of Somewhere."


Nathan listened spellbound.  It had been long years since he had heard
that voice lifted up on the wings of song.  It had always thrilled him
in the past, but never so much as now.  The calmness of the night and
his own agitated state of mind, perhaps, had much to do with enhancing
the effect.  He also detected a deep note of pathos in Helen's voice
which had not been there before, and he believed that he knew the
cause.  And he was about to increase her sorrow, and to add another
overwhelming burden to her life!

Impulsively he swung the boat around, and rowed homeward with great
strong strokes.  He had almost given way to the desire to go to Helen
and comfort her.  He had to get away from the place of his temptation
and that sweet plaintive voice which was affecting him so keenly.  No
matter how much Helen meant to him, he was not going to allow his love
to interfere with his bringing her husband to justice.  Of that he was
determined.  He would not play the weak, sentimental fool, and thus
allow a villain to go free.  Helen could never belong to him, anyway,
and he had his own life to live and his name to clear.  Helen had
married Preston, and surely she had known what such a union would mean.
And although she had suffered at his hands, most likely she would stand
by him to the last, and repudiate with scorn and contempt the one who
was instrumental in bringing him to justice.  Women had done so in the
past, and most likely Helen would do the same now.

Such were some of Nathan's thoughts as he drove the boat through the
water straight for his own landing-place.  He pulled the craft well up
on the shore, and walked slowly up the path toward his house.  He made
a mere pretence at eating the supper he prepared that night, for all
the time he was waging the greatest battle of his life.  He could not
remain still, as he had to be on the move to keep pace with his active
mind.  For some time he strode up and down the gravel walk outside the
house.  He summoned to his aid all the weapons in the arsenal of
revenge, and when he at length went back into the house, he brought
down his Bible and read over several Psalms of cursing and judgment.
He knew them by heart, for he had often repeated them during the first
years of his imprisonment.  But now he wanted to look at the words
themselves upon the printed page.  He gloated over the pictures they
brought to his mind.  He recalled the terrible injustice that had been
meted out to him, his disgrace, the ruin of his life's hopes, the loss
of Helen, and the winning of her by Preston.  But when his mind turned
to his parents and all that they had endured, his anger grew more
intense.  He thought of their grave, patient faces, and how they had
gone silently about their daily tasks with the image of their only son
undergoing the bonds of imprisonment.  With a great cry as of a wounded
animal, he hit furiously out at an unseen enemy.  He would be avenged.
But how?  Could he depend upon the law to give him justice?  This
unspoken question startled him.  How had the law served him in the
past?  Could he expect any different treatment now?  Ned Preston was a
judge's son, and although the evidence would be all against him, he
would have money to back him up, and who could tell what influences
might be brought to bear upon the case, and he might go unpunished.
Anyway, the affair would be long drawn out, due to many postponements.
No, that would not do.  Preston must be punished at once, and most
effectively, at that.  Nathan determined to take the matter into his
own hands.  He would defy the law which had treated him so cruelly, and
after he had wreaked his revenge upon Preston, it could do with him as
it wished.  Nothing would much matter to him after that.  The law could
put him to death, if it so desired.  There was nothing for him to live
for, anyway, and no one would grieve for him.

For a few minutes he stood like a statue in the middle of the room.  He
then seized his hat, blew out the light, tore open the door and sprang
out into the darkness.




CHAPTER 10

The Fugitive

Nathan hurried down the road with a strong, rapid stride.  The spirit
of the cave man possessed him.  He had been deeply wronged, and he
would pay back in full the injury that had been done.  The blood surged
madly through his body, and his brain throbbed.  Forgotten was all
feeling of mercy, and forgiveness was a thing of naught.  Even his love
for Helen was unable to restrain his wild ungovernable passion.  Like a
raging torrent it was ready to sweep all before it, the innocent and
guilty alike.

He had gone several hundred yards when a peculiar sound arrested him,
and stayed his hurrying feet.  It came from the right, just ahead.  He
listened intently, but hearing nothing more, he was about to resume his
journey, when he heard it again.  It was like the low moan of some
creature in distress.  He took a few steps forward, and peered keenly
through the darkness.  But he could see nothing.  Only the sounds were
more frequent now, and he felt sure that they came from a human being.
It was a still night, so striking a match, he searched the side of the
road, and ere the feeble flame had flickered out, he saw an object
lying huddled in the ditch.  That it was some one in distress he was
well aware, so he advanced, struck another match, and beheld the form
of a man lying at his feet.  He spoke, but received no reply.  The
moaning alone continued, at times scarcely audible.

Nathan was in a quandary.  He was anxious to get on his way, and yet he
could not leave the unconscious man there.  Something had to be done,
and all that he could do was to get him back to his house.  He reached
down, laid his right hand upon the man's shoulder, and gave him a
slight shake.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded.  "Are you sick or drunk?"

This had the desired effect upon the prostrate man.  He moved and tried
to scramble to his feet.

"Don't take me back!" he feebly moaned.  "Let me go!  For God's sake,
don't take me there again!"

"Shut up," Nathan sternly ordered.  "Are you drunk?  If you are, then
I'll leave you and get on my way."

This brought the bewildered man somewhat to his senses, and he clutched
frantically at his rescuer.

"Don't leave me!" he pleaded.  "I'm not drunk, only dead beat, and
starving.  I thought you were--"

He ceased abruptly, and his clutch relaxed.

"You're not going to take me back, are you?" he asked.  "You're not
going to put me in that hole again?  I must see my wife and child
first."

"No, I am not going to take you back," Nathan assured, thinking that
the man was wandering in his mind.  "Come, buck up.  I'm going to take
you to my house and give you something to eat.  Get up, and I'll help
you."

Slowly the man rose to his feet, and as Nathan took him by the arm he
noticed that he was tottering and trembling violently.

"I can't walk," the stranger moaned.  "I'm too weak.  Let me stay here
and die."

"Nonsense," Nathan chided.  "I'm going to take you home, if I have to
carry you every step of the way.  But I guess you can walk, all right,
with my assistance.  Come on."

Thus encouraged, the man allowed Nathan to help him out of the ditch
and to guide him slowly along the road.  At times he would have fallen
but for the strong arm supporting him.  Twice Nathan believed that he
would be forced to lift him bodily and carry him the rest of the way.
He spoke encouragingly, and he could tell that the man was bravely
exerting every ounce of strength to stand upright.  At length the house
was reached and the exhausted man placed upon the cot in the kitchen.
Nathan at once lighted the lamp, and as the gleam fell upon the
stranger's face, he gave a start of surprise.  He recognized him, and
knew very well where he had seen him before.  He also understood the
meaning of the strange words he had uttered down the road.  He said
nothing, however, although his hands trembled slightly as he started a
fire in the stove, and poured some water into the kettle.  Several
times he glanced toward the cot, and noticed that the visitor was lying
very still with his eyes closed.  With as little noise as possible,
Nathan prepared a simple meal, and when the tea was made he aroused the
sleeper.

"If you're hungry, now's your chance," he said.  "Perhaps you will feel
stronger after you have eaten something."

The man lifted himself slowly from the cot, and dragged his weary form
to the table.  His hands clawed at the food, and he ate more like a
ravenous beast than a human being.  Nathan, watching, felt a deep
sympathy for the unfortunate fellow, although for a while he said
nothing.  When at last the man's appetite was appeased, he drew his
chair a little closer and laid a hand upon the man's arm.

"When did you get out?" he asked.

Startled and amazed, the visitor shrank back from the touch, and rose
unsteadily to his feet.

"W--why do you ask that?" he demanded.  "What do you mean?"

"Come, come, I know who you are, so it's no use trying to put up a
bluff.  You are Henry Stairs, No. 421, sentenced to five years in the
Pen."

"Lord!"  The man's unshaven jaws worked convulsively as he tried to
remonstrate.

"It's no use, old man, so quit it."

"But how do you know me?" Stairs gasped.

"Because I was there when you entered."

"You were!  And who are you?  I can't recall your face."

"Not likely," and a smile spread over Nathan's face.  "This beard makes
a fairly good disguise.  But don't you remember No. 737?"

"Ah, yes, I do," and Stairs' face brightened a bit, and he gave a sigh
of relief.  "I was scared almost out of my senses when you asked me
when I got out of the Pen.  But you won't send me back, will you?"

Nathan's only reply was to motion the man over to the cot.

"Do you smoke?" he asked.

Eagerly Stairs reached out and grasped the well-filled pipe which was
offered him, and when it was lighted, he leaned back and drew long,
deliberate puffs.

"My! that's a treat," he commented.  "It puts new life into me."

After Nathan had placed more wood in the stove, he sat down by the cot.

"Now, explain why you are here," he began.  "Tell me the truth."

"I escaped with two others from the Penitentiary," Stairs confessed in
a low voice.  "But, say, you won't send me back, will you?"

"That was a foolish thing to say," Nathan replied, ignoring the
question.  "How much longer did you have to serve?"

"One year."

"Only one year!  Why, man, you must have been crazy.  You are sure to
be caught, and then you will be given a further sentence."

"Oh, I am afraid so, and that's what's troubling me.  But the chance
came, and I could not resist the temptation.  I did so want to see my
wife and child."

"So you were on your way to them when I found you?"

"Yes.  I was dead beat, and almost starved.  I was afraid to ask for
grub from any of the houses for fear they might spot me."

"Why were you put in the Pen?"

"Because I stole food for my starving wife and child.  I could not get
work, so I was driven almost to despair.  But if they had only given me
another chance I would have paid for all I took.  But I had no one to
speak for me, and so was convicted."

"And what has become of your wife and child?"

"My wife has been doing some housework by the day.  Oh, my heart is
almost broken to think that she has to do it!  If they had only given
me one more chance and allowed me to work, I would have made good."

The man's face hardened, and his eyes glowed with an angry light.
Nathan asked no further questions just then, but remained in deep
thought.  So this poor fellow would have to go back to the Penitentiary
for another term, and his wife would be forced to drag out a miserable
existence to support herself and child.  Surely in a civilized and
Christian land there should be a more humane system.  Criminals, no
doubt, had to be checked and taught a severe lesson, but was the
present method of punishment as sensible as it might be?

"You will not send me back, will you?" Stairs again anxiously asked.

"No, I shall not send you back," Nathan replied.  "Others, most likely,
will attend to that.  But as you cannot remain undiscovered for any
length of time, I advise you to go back of your own accord.  It may be
much easier if you do."

"No! no!" the unhappy man cried.  "Anything but that!  I will die
first!"

"But you have your wife and child to consider," Nathan reminded.

"I know it, and for their sake I hope to obtain a pardon.  Surely I
have been punished enough, and mercy will be granted me.  I am not
well, and another year in that hole will finish me.  Oh, I must be
free!"

"Then you have gone about it the wrong way, it seems to me.  If you had
not escaped there might have been some chance of getting you out on
parole.  But now I am afraid it is too late."

"So you think I should go back?  You have been in the Pen, and know
what the life there means."

"I certainly do.  I was imprisoned unjustly for the crime of others, so
you can form some idea how I suffered.  But, come, you are very tired
and need a good night's rest.  We can talk this all over to-morrow.  I
am in no mood for an argument now."

Nathan decided to give Stairs his room, while the cot in the kitchen
would do for himself.  He wanted to be alone that he might think, for
his mind was greatly disturbed.  After Stairs was in bed, Nathan went
back into the other room, but not to rest.  He thought of the poor
wretch who had come so unexpectedly into his life.  What had led him
almost to his door?  This thought startled him.  But for his finding
that helpless man most likely he would have met Ned Preston, and what
would have been the result?  He shuddered as he thought of his burning
rage and the vengeance he had vowed upon his enemy.  Even now, perhaps,
he might be a murderer, for there had been murder in his heart, and he
certainly would have killed Preston had he met him that night.  The
perspiration came out upon his forehead, and his body trembled.  A
murderer!  And Henry Stairs had unconsciously saved him from that
terrible deed!  But why had the escaped convict happened his way and
dropped into the ditch so near his house?  He could not believe that it
was altogether by chance.  There must have been some special reason in
it all.  Perhaps Stairs had been directed that way.  A feeling of awe
entered his heart at the thought.

He rose abruptly to his feet and paced rapidly up and down the room.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that his
life was being directed by Another, stronger and wiser than himself.
It also brought to him a sense of comfort.  No longer would he give way
to the wild ungovernable passion which had agitated his soul.  He would
remain calm and self-possessed, trusting that everything would come out
all right at last.

He thought, too, of the sleeping man in the next room, and recalled
what he had said about his wife and child.  He had only wanted another
chance, an opportunity to work, and he would have made complete
restitution for the wrong he had done.  But it had been denied him.
Instead, he had been imprisoned, while his wife and child were left
without any support.  Stairs was not a criminal by nature, but merely
driven to the verge of despair through force of circumstances.  He
believed that there was something radically wrong with such a system.
Almost unconsciously he quoted a verse from "The Ballade of Reading
Gaol":

  "For man's grim Justice goes its way,
  And will not swerve aside:
  It slays the weak, it slays the strong,
  It has a deadly stride:
  With iron heel it slays the strong,
  The monstrous parricide."


He knew from experience how true were these words.  He had come across
men in the Penitentiary who should have been forced to work and make
such restitution as was possible for the lives they had ruined, for the
homes they had broken up, and for the money they had stolen.  Those men
were placed in safe keeping, and punished according to the law of the
land.  But their imprisonment did absolutely nothing to remedy the
injury they had committed.  Such a system did not seem sensible.

Then Ned Preston came into his mind.  That he could put the fellow into
the Penitentiary he felt certain.  But would that be the best way to
deal with the rascal?  Would it not be better for him to make
restitution for the wrongs he had done?  But how could this be carried
out?  Who was to take up the matter and compel him to do this?  If the
law took him in hand, he might be imprisoned after a long delay.  But
the evils he had done would remain.  No restoration would be made.
That would not be at all satisfactory.  Surely there was some other
way.  Why could he not do it himself? Nathan reasoned.  He could meet
him face to face, and charge him with his villainy.  If Ned would not
do as he wished, he would let the law take its course.  Four things
stood out clearly in his mind--those miserable tenements in the city,
Ned's debts to Peter Martin, the cause of Mrs. Watters, and Helen's sad
life.  Nathan now knew the course he would pursue, and let Preston
refuse to obey if he dare.




CHAPTER 11

Restitution

Nathan slept late the next morning, as he was very tired after his
trying experience of the previous day.  Stairs stayed in bed until
noon, and when he came from his room he looked greatly refreshed.
Nathan greeted him cordially, and motioned him to the table where
dinner was served.

"You must be hungry after your long fast," he said, "so set to work at
once.  You look in good shape for the road again."

"I dread the thought of doing that," the visitor replied.  "The nearer
I get to the city, the more fearful I become.  But I must see my wife
and child before I am captured and sent back again.  It is a long walk,
but I do not dare to go on the steamer.  It is not safe for me to
travel by day, although I did it at times."

While Stairs was eating, Nathan did considerable thinking.  It would
not be right for him to keep the man for any length of time in his
house, knowing that he had escaped from the Penitentiary.  It was
really his duty to assist the authorities by sending them word about
the escaped convict.  If he failed to do so, the law might lay hold on
him as harboring and hiding the man.  Just what the punishment would be
he did not know, although the fact that he himself had served a term
might make it very unpleasant for him if found out.  But he did not
wish to give Stairs up.  He would urge him to return of his own free
will after he had seen his wife and child.  Then a new idea entered his
mind, and he wondered why he had not thought of it before.  He would
take Stairs to the city himself in his small boat.  They could go by
night, and thus escape observation.  He said nothing about it just
then, but when Stairs had finished his dinner, and was enjoying a
smoke, Nathan turned to him.

"Would you like for me to take you to the city in my boat?" he asked.

"Would you do it?"  The expression in the man's eyes showed his
eagerness, and he almost dropped the pipe in his excitement.  "When?
To-night?"

"Perhaps so.  It will take me some time to rig up a sail.  I shall have
to go to the store for cotton first."

"And you really mean it, then?"

"Yes, if you promise me one thing."

"What is that?"

"If after you have seen your wife and child you will give yourself up,
and go back and finish out your term."

"Oh, Lord!" Stairs groaned.  "How can I!  It will mean going to Hell
again."

"There is no doubt about that.  But most likely you will have to remain
there much longer if you don't give yourself up, so you had better
decide to do as I advise."

"Is there no way I can get out on parole?" the unhappy man asked.
"Others have done so."

"Have you any friends who might intercede for you?"

"Not one, and that was the trouble when I was sentenced to the Pen.  No
one cared what happened to me or to my family."

"Well, if I undertake to do what I can for you, will you promise that
you will give yourself up after you have seen your wife and child?"

"Yes, I promise," was the low reply.  "But for God's sake, do what you
can!"

"I shall do all in my power," Nathan assured.  "But you stay here now
while I go to the store.  I want to get to work upon that sail as soon
as possible."

Nathan made his way slowly, up the road, thinking deeply as he walked.
How was he to help Stairs in his trouble?  He knew of no person of
influence to whom he could turn, and without such help there was very
little chance of success.  If he had sufficient money he might engage
the service of a skilful lawyer.  But he had only a few dollars left,
and that would not go far he well knew.

He called at Mrs. Watters' to see how Doris was getting along.  He had
not been there for several days, and he did not know how he would be
received.  He found the child improving as well as could be expected.
Her eyes brightened as the visitor entered her room, and a smile
illumined her face.  But the widow seemed to be in deep distress.  It
was evident that she had been crying, while her words and manner told
of some trouble that was affecting her.  Nathan found it difficult to
talk to her, so he stayed but a few minutes.  He wondered what was the
matter with the woman.  He had longed to ask her, but had refrained,
feeling that she might resent his interference.

Upon reaching the store, he got his mail, which consisted of the daily
paper, and a letter from Black & Muirhead.  This he at once opened, and
as he read, his eyes widened in amazement, and a slight gasp of
astonishment escaped his lips.  It was from Mr. Black, and the tone was
most friendly, not like the usual curt business letter.


"Dear Mr. Strong," it began,

"No doubt you know that Matthew Halton died shortly after our visit to
him the day he signed that paper.  I now wish to inform you that his
will names you as the principal beneficiary.  This will be gratifying
news to you, and I wish to extend my heartiest congratulation.  I
cannot say now what the estate is worth, as there has been no time as
yet go into details.  But if you can come to the city at your earliest
convenience, we can then go into the matter as fully as possible.  Of
course, as you are well aware, it will take over a year to get the
business settled and the will probated, but the sooner we begin upon
the work, the better it will be.  Mr. Halton requested me to notify you
of this immediately after his death, so I am merely carrying out his
wish.

  "Yours very truly
    "W. J. Black."


Nathan read this letter through twice ere thrusting it into an inside
pocket of his coat.  It seemed like a wonderful dream from which he
would suddenly awake.  Matthew Halton had made him his principal
beneficiary!  He understood the reason.  It was the belated restitution
of a conscience-stricken man for the wrong he had committed.  How much
was the estate worth? he wondered.  What would people say when they
heard the news?  And how would it affect Ned Preston?  A spirit of
exultation possessed him, and he was about to rush from the store to
give vent to his excited feelings in a rapid walk home, when he thought
of the cotton.

"You must have received startling news to-day," the storekeeper
remarked, as he measured off the number of yards required.

"Yes, yes, most startling," Nathan replied.

"Nothing bad, I hope."  The storekeeper was very curious, and eyed his
customer with considerable interest.

Nathan pretended not to hear as he counted out the money and laid it
upon the counter.  He then picked up his parcel, and was about to leave
the building, when the storekeeper again spoke.

"By the way, Mr. Stone, did you see that account in yesterday's paper
about the escape of those prisoners from the Penitentiary?"

"No, I did not.  I was in the city, and was very busy.  I shall read
it, however, when I get home."

"It is reported, Mr. Stone, that one of the escaped men passed this way
last night.  Bill Tooke is on the lookout for him now."

"Why is Bill so much interested?" Nathan inquired.

"Oh, there is a reward of one hundred dollars offered for the capture
of the man.  The others have been already taken."

"So Bill hopes to get that reward?"

"He certainly does.  He's been on the tramp all day, down the road, I
guess.  I hope he'll succeed, for he owes me a big store bill."

Nathan was in no mood for further talk, but left the store and hurried
homeward.  He noted that the wind had veered from the west, and was
blowing gently down river.  This was most fortunate, and he considered
it as a favorable omen.  His brain was in a whirl.  The information he
had received from the lawyer was enough to stir any man.  But to learn
in addition that a reward was offered for the capture of Henry Stairs,
and that Bill Tooke was in pursuit, aroused him to the highest pitch of
excitement.  He knew very well that he could not save Stairs from going
back to the Penitentiary, but he was determined to do all in his power
to take him to his wife and child.  And more than that, he wished to
defeat Bill Tooke.  It was just like the sneak to be hot-footed after a
wretched fugitive.  If Bill had justice meted out to him he would now
be serving a sentence himself behind prison bars.

When Nathan reached home he found Stairs sunning himself in front of
the house in full view of the road.  This was an unwise thing to do,
and when Nathan told him what he had heard, he was greatly alarmed.
With trembling hands he read the account in the paper about his escape,
and the reward offered for his capture.

"They are sure to get me!" he wailed.  "I shall never see my wife and
child again!"

"You will have a chance if you keep out of sight and obey me," Nathan
replied.  "Stay close in the bedroom, and don't show your face for the
rest of the day.  I must get to work at that sail, and haven't any too
much time.  I have delayed too long already."

Nathan spent the rest of the afternoon in his shop, and when he had
made the mast and yards, he fashioned a lee-board, for there was no
centre-board in the small boat.  He also put the finishing touches to
several chairs and tables which he planned to take with him to the city.

After he had taken Stairs' supper to him in the bedroom, he ate his own
in the kitchen.  He desired to keep his guest out of sight lest anyone
should come unexpectedly to the house and see him.  When he had washed
the supper dishes, he spread the cotton out upon the floor, and cut it
to the right size.  Then with a needle and coarse thread he began to
hem the edges and form holes to fasten the sail to the yards.  This
took him some time, and darkness overtook him before he was half
through.  But he was in no special hurry now, as he decided to wait
until ten o'clock for the ebb-tide.  The wind was so light that he
would need a favorable current to make much progress.  Even then he
questioned whether he could reach the city before daylight.

A rap upon the door startled him, and when he had opened it, he saw
Peter Martin standing before him.  The visitor limped over to a chair
and sat down.  He viewed with interest as well as curiosity the sail
lying upon the floor.

"Off fer a trip, eh?" he queried.  "Tired of rowin', I s'pose."

"I am," Nathan replied, as he resumed his sewing.  "I am getting lazy
these days."

"Say, did ye hear about that escaped prisoner?" Peter asked.  "The
women folks around here are 'most scared t'death.  I believe I jist saw
him."

"Where?"  Nathan looked up from his work as he spoke.

"Peekin' in at your winder jist a minute ago.  As I came from the road
I saw a man standin' at the winder over that table.  Thinkin' that it
was the escaped prisoner, I tried to creep up an' capture him.  But he
heard me, an' you should have seen the way he took to his heels.  It's
too bad, fer I might have got that one hundred dollars which is
offered."

Outwardly Nathan remained very calm as he picked up one end of the sail
and pretended to examine it carefully.  But he was greatly concerned.
Someone must have been watching his house, and who could it have been
but Bill Tooke?  The thought brought an angry glow into his eyes.  If
he had only caught the sneak prowling around, he would have broken
every bone in his body.  His anger was rapidly increasing, and this
Peter noted.

"It's no wonder ye git mad," he remarked.  "What business has a man
prowlin' around places at night, peekin' in winders?  No one kin tell
what mischief he's plannin'.  If it hadn't been fer this lame knee of
mine, he wouldn't have got off as he did.  Confound Ned Preston.  He's
to blame fer that."

"Perhaps there are some men at liberty who should be in jail," Nathan
replied, wishing to change the course of the conversation.

"I know it, Mr. Stone, an' Ned Preston's one of 'em.  Have ye heard
about poor Widder Watters?  Her trouble is due to that villain."

"No, I haven't heard anything lately.  But when I called there this
afternoon to see her little girl, I noticed that Mrs. Watters was
greatly worried about something."

"An' she has cause to be," Peter angrily declared.  "That accident to
her little lass has meant heavy doctor bills.  She's not been able to
earn any money since it happened, as she had to stay at home to look
after the child.  The mortgage interest is now overdue, an' Preston has
threatened to foreclose if the amount is not paid at once."

"He has!"  The needle dropped from Nathan's fingers, and he stared at
his visitor.  "The scoundrel!"

"Ay, yer right in that, Mr. Stone," Peter agreed.  "He is a scoundrel,
an' no mistake.  He robbed Mr. Watters, who died of a broken heart.
Now he is robbin' the widder an' the fatherless; that's what he's
doin'."

Nathan picked up the needle, and continued his sewing.  His mind was
now firmly made up.  Ned Preston must not be allowed to harm Mrs.
Watters.  There was a way to stop the villain, and he would do it.
There were other scores to settle, as well.

"Do you suppose Preston will carry out his threat?" he at length asked.

"Indeed he will.  That man hasn't any soul.  Look what he did to me.
He robbed me, that's what he did.  An' I've been lame ever since."

"Tell me about it, Mr. Martin."

"Why, haven't I told ye already?"

"You did some time ago, but I want to hear it again.  He cheated you,
did he not?"

"I should say he did.  He agreed to give me fifteen dollars a thousand
fer all the logs I could git out five winters ago.  Then when they were
rafted an' shipped, he would only give me seven dollars.  So there I
was, laid up with a bad knee, an' besides losin' the two thousand
dollars which Preston owed me, I had to sell a fine tract of timber to
pay other expenses.  I was lucky to save me place."

Nathan listened to this story with a new interest.  When he had heard
it before it had aroused his anger.  But then he was unable to do
anything.  Now, however, it was different, and he would see to it that
Preston made proper restitution for the wrong he had done.

Peter rose slowly to his feet, and started for the door.  He paused
with his hand upon the latch, and looked back.

"Bill Tooke is after that escaped prisoner," he remarked.  "He wants to
git the reward.  But wouldn't it be a great thing fer the country if
criminals who are at large could be rounded up an' put in jail?  Bill
an' Ned Preston would be there in a jiffy."

"Perhaps there is a better way than putting such people in jail,"
Nathan replied.

"In what way, Mr. Stone?"

"Why, to force them to make restitution for much of the evil they have
done.  Putting Preston in jail, for instance, wouldn't help you any.
Neither would it relieve Mrs. Watters of the burden she is bearing."

"What d'ye suggest, then?  What else could be done?"

"Make him pay what he owes you, and support the widow.  That would be
much more effective, it seems to me."

"H'm!" Peter grunted, "that might be all right in theory, but how kin
it be carried out?  It's like the fable of the mice who planned to have
a bell placed around the neck of the cat to warn them when she was
near.  It was a great idea, an' all the mice were delighted.  But when
one old mouse asked them how they were goin' to git the bell on the
cat, they were dumbfounded.  They hadn't taken that into account.  So
when ye talk about makin' Preston pay what he owes, the question is,
How is it to be done? an' who is to do it?"

"I am," Nathan quietly replied.

"You!"  Peter's eyes bulged with amazement.

"Certainly.  Do you doubt my word?"

"Oh, no, I don't doubt yer word, though I do doubt yer sense.  I allus
considered you a man of good jedgment, but I guess I'll have to change
me mind.  You force Ned Preston to pay his debts!  I'll only believe it
when I see it."

Nathan felt somewhat annoyed at these words, although he made no
further reply, but worked steadily away after his visitor had departed.
He knew it was but natural for Peter to treat his boast with scorn.
Was it not the way of the world?  But a feeling of strength and
superiority rose within him.  He would show Peter, and others, too, for
that matter, that the humble carpenter was a force to be reckoned with.
Ere long Halton's money would be at his disposal, and money meant
power.  Then he had the signed document which would bring Preston to
terms.  Oh, yes, Peter might scoff now, but he would show him what he
could do.

He thrust his right hand into an inside pocket of his coat, and touched
a folded paper hidden there.  That touch brought a gleam to his eyes
and a smile to his face.  It was the magic wand that would work wonders.




CHAPTER 12

The Flight

The tide had been running down for about half an hour when Nathan
pushed his boat from the shore and sprang in.  He had the chairs and
tables on board, with Henry Stairs seated in their midst.  This was
done as a precaution, lest he should be observed from any craft they
might meet.  Nathan shipped the sail, seized the oars, and rowed the
boat out into midstream.  He then ceased rowing, settled himself
comfortably astern, and drew the sail up to the gentle breeze.  Thus
with wind and tide favoring them, they slipped noiselessly down the
river.

It was a beautiful night, the heavens thickly studded with stars.
Lights twinkled from houses along the shore, and the glare of
rapidly-moving autos could be plainly seen.  Voices of men and women
drifted across the water, and at times they passed close to groups of
campers.  Complete silence was maintained on board the little craft, as
this was considered advisable.  They wished to run no risk lest they
should betray their whereabouts to any who might be spying upon their
movements.  But both were doing considerable thinking.  Stairs was
looking hopefully forward to meeting his wife and child, and now that
he was on the last lap to the city he was consumed with feverish
excitement.  Nathan, on the other hand, was musing over the strange
course of events which was causing him to make this voyage.  What a
peculiar thing life was, after all.  A year ago he was a prisoner, with
hope low in his heart like the poor fellow near him.  Now he was his
own master, to go where he willed, and with the proof of his complete
innocency secure in his pocket.  And soon he would be a rich man, able
to take his place once more among men, and with the stain wiped forever
from his name.  And he had Preston at his mercy, to force him to do as
he commanded.

His thoughts naturally turned to Helen.  Although she could never
belong to him, he loved her as of old, and he would shield her, if
possible, to the last.  He would not bring sorrow and disgrace upon her
if he could help it.  Never for a moment did he doubt Preston's
willingness to obey him to the letter.

Ere long the wind died down entirely, and the river became as smooth as
glass.  Nathan again took to the oars, and with long steady strokes
drove the boat onward.  They passed River View, where, late though it
was, the place was brilliantly lighted, and the sound of merrymakers
drifted to them across the water.  Nathan wondered if Preston was
spending the night there in drinking and revelling, while his wife was
keeping her lone vigil at home.  How he longed to go ashore, and if he
found the villain there, to expose his crime to his companions.  What a
delight it would be to see him shrink back, and turn deadly pale with
fear and consternation.  The temptation was hard to resist, and
intuitively he turned the boat shoreward.  This was only a sudden
impulse, however, and the next, instant he swerved back to his former
course, and continued on his way.

Thus hour after hour Nathan bent to the oars, and the dawn of a new day
was brightening the far-off eastern horizon when two-thirds of the
voyage had been made.  He was tired and disappointed, as he had hoped
to reach the city before day-break.  This was now out of the question,
so it would be necessary to remain in some secluded place and wait
until darkness had again enshrouded the land.  He had got Stairs this
far, so he did not wish to run any risk by landing him in the city in
broad daylight.

For another half hour he continued his rowing, when observing a little
cove where the trees stood thick around, and with no house visible, he
ran the boat ashore.  Stairs was asleep, so letting him remain where he
was, he sat down upon the gravel, and ate part of the lunch he had
brought with him.  Ere long he was joined by his companion, who had
aroused from his slumber with a start, and had stepped quickly ashore.

"I thought something had happened to us," he remarked, as he ate some
of the food Nathan offered to him.  "It was a bad dream, I guess.
Where are we, anyway?"

"Held up for the day," Nathan explained.  "We failed to reach the city,
so must stay here for the day.  I am going to have a sleep, so advise
you to do the same.  It's just as well to keep out of sight, for we
can't tell who might be prowling around."

"You sleep while I keep watch," Stairs replied.  "I've had a good rest
already.  If anyone comes this way, I'll give you warning, so we can
get away in time."

Nathan merely smiled, being too tired to enter into any conversation.
He took one of the two blankets he had brought with him, selected a
comfortable place in the midst of several small thick fir trees, and in
a short time was fast asleep.

He was aroused by a cry of fear, causing him to leap to his feet.  What
time of the day it was he did not know.  Rushing toward him was Stairs,
his eyes big with terror, and his body trembling violently.

"What's the matter?" Nathan demanded, coming forth into the open.

"The Police!  The Police!" Stairs gasped.

"Where?"

"Up there, coming this way."

"To the boat, quick," Nathan ordered.

In another minute they were both on board, and Nathan was rowing hard
away from the shore.  He could see uniformed men running down the bank,
while one, who seemed to be the leader, called to him to stop or they
would shoot.  But Nathan paid no heed to the order.  He rowed harder
than ever, straight for the opposite shore.  Several revolver shots
rang out, but they did no harm.

"We're in for it now," Nathan panted, as he rested for a few seconds
and wiped his moist forehead.  "We're making matters worse, I know, but
I'm going to get you to your wife and child, and then I'm done with
you."

Stairs made no reply, but crouched in the bottom of the boat in fear
and dejection.  The sight of the Police had unnerved him.  The old
terror of capture overwhelmed him, and the vision of his lonely cell,
and perhaps solitary confinement, loomed before his mind.

"I won't go back!" he at length wailed.  "I will die first!  But I must
see my wife and child."

"Come, brace up," Nathan encouraged.  "Don't talk that way."

"But what am I to do?  The Police will get us both when we reach the
city."

"Will they?  I am not altogether sure of that."

Nathan was rowing hard again, and was drawing closer to the opposite
shore.  Occasionally he turned and looked ahead, and what he at last
saw filled him with hope.  It was a large motor-boat, where two men
were preparing to depart.  He ceased rowing, stood up, and hailed them.
He then turned to Stairs.

"You are to be the sick man," he said.  "You must play your part well."

"What do you mean?  What are you going to do?"

"Get you to the city in that motor-boat.  You must go to the hospital.
See?"

"I do.  Now I understand.  Yes, I'll be a very sick man.  And I won't
be pretending, either, for I never felt worse in my life."

In a few minutes they were alongside of the motor-boat, and Nathan
briefly explained what he wanted, and the need for haste.  The two men
looked at Stairs huddled in the bottom of the small boat, and at once
agreed to go as fast as possible.

"We are just leaving for the city, anyway," one of them said, "so it
will be no trouble."

With their assistance Stairs was carefully transferred to the
motor-boat, and placed in a comfortable position.  The rowboat was
fastened to the buoy, and they were off.  As they cut through the
water, Nathan glanced anxiously back to the place where the policeman
had disturbed them, but no sign of them could be seen.  He felt certain
that they would hurry back to the city and be there when they landed.
The high-powered engine throbbed and the boat raced forward, although
it was all too slow for the anxious man.  The owners of the craft paid
little attention to him, and if they noted his worry at all, they, no
doubt, attributed it to his concern for his sick companion.  Stairs
acted his part to perfection, and kept up a constant moaning.

"What ails the fellow, anyway?" one of the boatmen at length asked.

"It's hard to say," Nathan replied.  "That's why I want to get him to
the city as fast as possible.  He was taken bad just a short time ago."

It took them but half an hour to reach their destination, and the boat
moored close to a wharf where a steamer was just tying up.

"This is fortunate," Nathan remarked, "as I can get one of those autos.
How much do I owe you men for your kindness?"

"Nothing," one of them emphatically replied.  "You haven't put us out,
and we were only too glad to help you."

Having thanked them, Nathan hurried away, and in a few minutes an auto
was backing down to the boat.  Stairs was placed on board, and they
were whirled away.  Nathan breathed a sigh of relief as they moved
through the crowded streets.  No sign of the policemen did he see, and
he was thankful that he had succeeded in eluding them so far.  He tried
to arouse his companion, telling him that he could get well now.
Stairs, however, made no reply, but sat huddled in his seat, leaning
heavily against Nathan.  The latter became alarmed and looked anxiously
into Stairs' face.  He noticed that it was very white and haggard.  He
knew now that the man was really sick and in much distress.  Again he
spoke and gave Stairs a slight shake.  Receiving no reply, he was
forced to wait while the auto glided on its way.  The driver had his
direction, so it should not take long to reach their destination.

In a few minutes the auto stopped in front of a miserable ramshackle
house in a wretched part of the city.  The driver opened the door, and
Nathan briefly explained the situation.

"We must carry this man into the house," he said, "as he is
unconscious.  But find out first if Mrs. Stairs lives here."

The driver did as he was ordered, and returned shortly with the
information that Mrs. Stairs was at home, and lived in the top flat.
Lifting the helpless man from the car, they carried him into the
building and up the rickety stairs.  It was a difficult task, and by
the time they reached the top landing they were both panting heavily.
Nathan knocked at the only door in sight, and when this was almost
immediately opened, a woman appeared.  A frightened look came into her
eyes when she saw the two strange men.  Then she gave a startled cry,
took a quick step forward, and threw her arms about her husband's neck.

"Henry!  Henry!  What is the matter?" she asked.

But no reply came from that silent form, so relaxing her arms, she
allowed the men to carry Stairs into the room.  She followed and
pointed to a cot against the wall.  Here the men deposited their
burden, and then Nathan glanced around.  What a desolate place it was,
with scarcely any furniture, except one broken chair, a box which
evidently served as a table, and the cot.

"Are you Mrs. Stairs?" he asked, turning to the woman.  He knew very
well that she was, but he had to say something, and that was all he
could think of just then.

But the woman made no reply.  She sank upon the floor by her husband's
side, and took one of his hands in hers.

"Speak to me, Henry," she pleaded.  "It is Martha.  Don't you know me?"

Seeing that her words were of no avail, she looked up into Nathan's
face.

"Is he dying?" she whispered.  "Oh, don't say that he is!"

"He is very sick, I fear," Nathan replied.  "We must get a doctor at
once."

"A doctor!  How am I to pay for a doctor?  Look," and the woman leaped
to her feet, "all I possess is what you see here.  How am I to pay for
a doctor?"

"Then I will," Nathan emphatically declared.  "This man must have
medical aid.  I shall go and telephone immediately."

He started for the door, but stopped and looked back.

"Is this the way you have been living, Mrs. Stairs?"

"Living!  Starving, you mean, and my child, too.  Now she is in the
hospital, and I shall soon be in the Insane Asylum.  I have sold nearly
everything to live.  But my child needed more than I could provide, so
I sent her to the hospital.  And to-morrow I am to be turned out on the
street because I can't pay the rent.  Oh, what am I to do, now that
Henry has come home sick!"

"Who is going to turn you out on the street?" Nathan demanded.

"Why, Mr. Preston, of course.  He owns this house, and several more
adjoining.  Anyone who doesn't pay on the dot is turned out.  He is a
hard man."

For a few seconds Nathan stared at the woman, and only with difficulty
controlled the rage that swept upon him.  Mrs. Stairs noted the angry
expression in his eyes, and shrank back a little.

"I couldn't help it," she explained, thinking that Nathan was blaming
her for her miserable condition.  "Nellie was sick and I could not
leave her to go to work, so there is no money to pay the rent."

"I am not blaming you, Mrs. Stairs."  Nathan had control of himself
now.  "I was only thinking of the wretch who is about to turn you out
on the street.  But, there, we must not talk any longer at present, as
your husband needs assistance at once."

He hurried out of the room and down the stairs.  He was about to step
out upon the street when three policemen confronted him, and laid firm
hands upon him.

"We want you," one of them said.  "And where is the man who was with
you?"

Nathan hardly heard these words, for he had caught sight of Bill Tooke
standing a little apart, his face beaming with triumph.  How he longed
to spring forward and lay violent hands upon the sneak.  In fact, he
did make an impulsive movement, but the grips upon his arms tightened.

"None of that," he heard one of the policemen say.  "Don't try that
game upon us.  Where is Henry Stairs?"

"Up there," and Nathan motioned to the top flat.  "But for God's sake,
don't go up there now!  The man's dying, and I've just come down to
phone for a doctor."

"Look here, stop this nonsense," was the stern order.  "Do you think
well believe such stuff as that?  Get in there," and the speaker
pointed to the car.  "And see that you don't try any of your fooling,
either.  We'll look after the dying man, all right."




CHAPTER 13

Behind Prison Bars

So once again Nathan found himself behind prison doors, alone with his
thoughts.  Although this cell in which he was confined was different
from his former ones, yet it seemed almost like home.  The sounds he
heard were quite familiar, and looking through the little barred window
in the door he could see other prisoners walking up and down the
enclosed space outside.  He was glad to be alone that he might think
over all that had taken place.  His brain was in a tumult, and his
heart charged with anger and indignation.  On his way to the jail he
had thought of Mr. Black, and he had asked the turnkey to phone to him
requesting him to come to him at once.  He knew that he would need
legal advice, and he believed that the lawyer would do all that he
could on his behalf.

As he paced up and down his small cell, he mused over the strange twist
of Fate which had placed him again in such a serious position.  How
long was this injustice to continue? he asked himself.  Why should he,
an innocent man, be thus treated, while the guilty ones were free?
Most likely he would be charged with abetting and aiding Henry Stairs,
an escaped convict, and what the punishment would be he had no idea.
And should he once more be committed to the Penitentiary, his plans
concerning Ned Preston could not be carried out.  He wanted to go to
him, confront him, and compel him to bow to his will.  But now all this
would be frustrated, and nothing would be accomplished.  Preston would
deprive Mrs. Watters of her home, he would turn Mrs. Stairs out upon
the street, he would continue his neglect of Helen, and go on with his
evil manner of living.  Nathan lifted his right hand and pressed the
pocket which contained Halton's confession.  How useless appeared that
document now, and when would he be able to use it?  Only a short time
before he had been confident of success, but now his hopes seemed
shattered, and all because Henry Stairs had crossed his path.

His thoughts turned to that scene on the river bank when the policeman
had arrived.  Who had summoned them?  It must have been Bill Tooke, he
was well aware, for he had seen him in front of the Stairs' house.  Had
he followed them through the night, spied out their hiding place, and
notified the Police?  Most likely that was what he had done.  But did
he have an accomplice?  Had he walked the whole of that distance?
Perhaps someone had taken him in his car, and who else would that one
be but Ned Preston?  Perhaps the two were working together.  Bill
wished to obtain the reward offered for the capture of the fugitive.
But he wanted revenge as well.  And Ned Preston was anxious to get the
man he feared out of the way, and once more securely locked up in the
Penitentiary.  It all seemed reasonable to Nathan as he brooded over
the matter.  And they had succeeded in their efforts!

Although he tried to keep calm, yet his heart was hot within him.  He
felt like a caged lion.  His enemies had accomplished their designs,
and he longed to break his prison bars that he might set upon them,
confound their schemes, and expose them to the glare of the world.
Such were his thoughts when Mr. Black arrived, and never was Nathan
more pleased to see anyone than the face of the worthy lawyer.  He
related to him the full story since his finding of the fugitive by the
side of the road to the time he left him to telephone for a doctor.
Mr. Black was a most interested listener, jotting down the details in a
note book.

"I must see Stairs," he said when Nathan had finished.  "I hope he has
recovered sufficiently for me to talk with him, as it will mean so much
to you.  My! this is a gloomy place," and he shivered as he glanced
around the cell.  "I think I can get you out on bail."

"When will my case come up?" Nathan asked.

"In the morning, and I want to do all I can to get you acquitted.  It
will never do to allow you to be sent up for trial.  You see, we've got
that Halton estate to settle.  Yes, I'll go and get you out on bail at
once.  I think I can arrange it."

"Let me stay just where I am," Nathan replied.  "I don't mind it so
much now since I've had this talk with you.  I am used to a place like
this, remember.  Never mind about me now, but go and see how poor
Stairs is getting along.  And do what you can for his wife.  Don't let
Preston turn her out on the street.  Pay the rent, and I will make it
good when I get some money."

Nathan slept well that night, for he was very tired after his trying
experiences.  He was greatly refreshed when he awoke, and ready for
whatever adventures the day might bring forth.  Life held much in store
for him now, and if he could only get out of this difficulty, he could
go straight ahead.

At the appointed time he was taken with other prisoners into the court
room, and seated on the long bench to await his turn.  His companions
in distress all wore woe-begone expressions.  There were several
"drunks," and they showed most plainly the effects of their recent
carousals.  Two were up for theft, and one for a more serious offense.
When these cases had been dealt with, some being fined and others
remanded, Nathan was called.  He told his story in a straightforward
manner, not in a pleading, whining voice as had some of the others.
His speech and manner made a favorable impression upon the police
magistrate and the spectators.  He was closely cross-examined, but he
passed triumphantly through the ordeal.

Bill Tooke was next called.  As he told his story, Nathan learned that
what he had surmised the evening before was true.  He swore that he had
been on the lookout for Stairs, and when he learned that he was
travelling down the river road, he trailed him to Nathan Stone's house.
And there he had seen him through the window one night, and he was
hiding among the bushes when he left in the boat for the city.  He had
travelled down the road, and when the two had landed early in the
morning, he had phoned to the Police, and then showed them the place
where the men were hiding.

It was quite evident that Bill received much pleasure in telling of his
detective work, and several times he glanced at Nathan.  When he was
through, Mr. Black asked him if he had walked the entire distance that
night, and he replied that a man had taken him in his car.  When
pressed to tell who the man was, he said that it was Edward Preston.
Nathan knew that Ned was in the court room among the spectators, and a
thrill of pleasure came over him.  Tooke had not been alone in his
detective work, that was quite evident.

When Mr. Black's turn came to sum up the evidence, he made a masterly
speech on behalf of his client.  He was known far and wide as a most
clever lawyer, and a man of unimpeachable character.  His words,
accordingly, bore great weight, and all listened to him with special
attention.  He traced the story from the night Nathan had found Henry
Stairs lying practically unconscious by the side of the road, how he
had taken him to his own house, and cared for him.  Then moved by pity,
he had arranged to conduct the fugitive to his wife and child.  This
was only upon the condition that Stairs would give himself up of his
own free will after he had visited his family.  In proof of this, he
read Stairs' own sworn statement made at the Public Hospital where he
had been taken owing to his illness.

"Stairs is a sick man," he said with solemn emphasis.  "He is also an
escaped convict, and in the eyes of the law his sworn statement which
you have just heard is of no account.  But I have read it that you may
know and judge for yourselves.  He thinks that he is dying, and perhaps
he is, and as a dying man he would have nothing to gain by swearing to
a lie.  He was a sick man when found by Nathan Strong by the side of
the road.  It is the firm conviction of the doctor who is now attending
him that if he is sent back to the Penitentiary he will not live long.
Even now he has only a fighting chance, and needs the greatest care.
In every heart which is human there surely must be sympathy to-day for
this unfortunate man.  In the Penitentiary he was not well, and so
overmastering was his desire to see his wife and child once more before
death claimed him, that he took a desperate chance when the opportunity
came.  And what was the condition of his home when he arrived?  His
only child was sick in the hospital, and his wife ready to be turned
out upon the street by a merciless landlord.  Nearly every scrap of
furniture had been sold by Mrs. Stairs to provide food for herself and
little one.  Anyone who will take the trouble to go to that miserable
house will see for himself what a wretched place it is, a totally unfit
abode for human beings.  And this, remember, is right in our city, at
our very doors, and we were ignorant of it, or closed our eyes to the
disgrace.  My client here has been the means of bringing this to our
notice.  He did not harbor and abet an escaped fugitive.  On the
contrary, he acted the part of a wise counsellor, and proved himself a
friend to a man in need.  He might have handed Stairs over to the
authorities, and thus claimed the reward that was offered.  He did
nothing of the kind--that was done by another, who according to his own
words and manner of speech took a diabolical delight in his deed."

The lawyer's closing words were most impressive.  He urged that his
client be set free at once.  An injustice had been done to him, and all
worthy citizens would rejoice at his acquittal.

This speech affected all very keenly, and it was no surprise when the
police magistrate, after he had reviewed the case, discharged the
prisoner.  He warned him of the great risk he had run in fleeing from
the Police when they had ordered him to return to the shore.  But
considering his motive, and the wise counsel he had given the fugitive,
he felt that it was only right that he should be acquitted.  He spoke,
too, in most caustic words of what Mr. Black had said about Henry
Stairs' home, and urged those present to take immediate steps to assist
his wife, and compel the landlord to remedy the wretched condition of
the house.

Nathan and the lawyer walked slowly down the stone steps leading from
the court house, and out upon the street.  They were silent for a
while, each being wrapped in his own thoughts.  The sound of the one
o'clock gong aroused Mr. Black from his meditation.

"Come and have lunch with me, Mr. Strong," he invited.  "There are
several important matters I wish to discuss with you."

"Thanks," Nathan replied.  "I did not realise until now how hungry I
am.  I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am for what you have
done for me this morning.  Some day I hope to repay you for your
kindness."

"And repay others for their kindness, eh?" the lawyer queried.

"Indeed I shall, Mr. Black.  One man, especially, shall have my
immediate attention.  He was in the court room, as you no doubt
noticed."

"Yes, I saw him, and I understand what you mean."




CHAPTER 14

Stern Terms

Nathan spent part of the afternoon with Mr. Black discussing Matthew
Halton's estate.  He heard the lawyer's voice as he read out the list
of bonds, mortgages, debentures, and other investments.  But his mind
was elsewhere, and he was impatient to be away from the office.

"Look here, Mr. Black," he at length interrupted, "I am not much
interested in all this just now, so suppose we put it off until another
day."

"Not interested!" the lawyer exclaimed in amazement.  "Why, man, what
is the matter with you?  Think of the fortune that has been left to
you."

"There was a time when it would have meant everything to me," Nathan
slowly replied.  "But it is different now.  Money has but little
fascination for me.  To work and make an honest living is all that I
desire.  I am a carpenter, a builder, and a repairer, and my happiest
moments are those when I am working at my trade.  I have seen how money
in abundance often brings misery instead of happiness.  No, let me get
back to my work, and the fulfillment of my plans, and you can look
after Halton's estate for me.  I may change my mind later, but at
present I am in no mood for this business."

"And do you intend to spend the rest of your life in the country?" the
lawyer asked.  "Why not move to the city?"

"How could I enjoy life here?  I like the country, its great open
spaces, the freshness of the air, and the quietness of it all.  Then at
night when my work is done, there is the restfulness of my house, my
books, meditation, and undisturbed sleep.  What more could any man
desire?"

"But have you reached that stage yet, Mr. Strong?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you not your name to clear?"

"I have not forgotten that.  As soon as you are through with me I am
going to see Preston.  I may need your assistance."

"And you shall have it.  You have Halton's confession, I suppose?"

"Yes, it is safe in my pocket."

"So you intend to expose Preston?"

"Not if he obeys my orders.  He must make as full restitution as he can
for the wrongs he has committed."

Then as briefly as possible Nathan explained his plan for bringing
Preston to task.

"But that won't be sufficient punishment," the lawyer replied when
Nathan had ended.  "That fellow should be sent to the Penitentiary."

"Perhaps so, but that won't make amends for the wrong he has done.  It
will not relieve Mrs. Watters in her distress, it will not compensate
Peter Martin for his loss, neither will it improve those miserable
tenement houses which Preston owns in this city."

Nathan said not a word about his wish to shield Helen, and the lawyer
suspected nothing.

"Imprisonment is all right for a certain class of criminals, no doubt,"
he continued.  "But in other cases it works a great injustice to the
innocent to whom no restitution is ever made by the ones who committed
the injuries.  I am not a lawyer, and have nothing to do with the
making the laws of our land.  I am merely taking a commonsense view,
and intend to try it out upon Ned Preston, at any rate."

"I am afraid your plan will not work, Mr. Strong.  It is contrary to
all law and precedent."

"But not contrary to the precedent of nations, it seems to me."

"In what way?"

"Surely you should know.  Suppose the nations of the world treated one
of their number which has committed serious wrongs in the same manner
as we treat an individual offender, what would be the outcome?  That
nation would never be able to make any restitution.  Take Germany, for
instance.  We know that she stands convicted as a thief and a murderer
on the most colossal scale.  Yet the cry is to-day that she must not be
put down and out, but should be given a chance to remedy some of the
terrible injuries she has done.  Cripple her trade, crush her,
obliterate her, so to speak, and what would be the result?  She would
never be able to make amends for her ghastly deeds, neither could she
pay her enormous debts now due to the ones she has harmed.  She must be
given an opportunity to make good as far as possible.  Now, if such a
policy is considered advisable in dealing with a criminal nation, why
is not the same reasonable method used in reference to the individual?
But it is not, and that is what surprises me."

Nathan suddenly paused, and looked at the lawyer.

"Pardon me," he said with a slight smile.  "Why should I talk to you
like this?  You, like everyone else, will consider me a fool for
suggesting such ideas."

"No, I do not, Mr. Strong," the lawyer emphatically declared.  "I like
to hear your views; they are most refreshing.  I quite agree with you."

"I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Black.  Ned Preston has injured
many.  He is a villain, and must be punished.  But why shut him up,
thus making it impossible for him to remedy the wrongs he has
committed?  No, far better to compel him to make restitution, and that
is what I intend to do.  What is commonsense with a criminal nation, is
surely the same when dealing with a criminal individual."

"Well, I wish you success," Mr. Black replied.  "But it is well to
remember that Preston is a shrewd, tricky man, so you will have to be
very careful.  If you need my assistance, I am always at your command.
And, by the way, I am going to place some money to your credit in the
Atlantic Bank.  Although you may not care for money, you may find use
for it sooner than you expect."

On his way from the lawyer's office Nathan bought a copy of the evening
paper from a newsboy.  Coming to a square, he sat down upon one of the
benches and began to read the account of the trial.  It was displayed
in big headlines, and told in detail of the escape of Henry Stairs from
the Penitentiary, and his capture by the Police after an exciting
chase.  Credit was given to Bill Tooke for the part he had taken, and
how he would receive the reward which had been offered.  The miserable
condition of the Stairs' home was also mentioned, that the wife was
about to be turned out on the street for non-payment of her rent, and
that she had sold nearly all of her furniture to provide food for
herself and sick child.  A large space was devoted to Nathan's trial,
and Mr. Black's able defense.  Part of his address was given, as well
as the scathing remarks by the police magistrate in reference to the
miserable tenement in which Mrs. Stairs was living.  It closed with an
earnest appeal to all citizens to assist the unfortunate woman, and to
force the landlord to improve the condition of his houses.

Nathan read all this with great interest, and then sat for a while lost
in thought.  His mind turned to Henry Stairs, and he longed to do
something to get the man pardoned.  Some one better known than himself
should prepare a Petition and get it signed.  Mr. Black was just the
man, and he would ask him to do it.

He rapidly retraced his steps to the office, and suggested his plan to
the lawyer.  The latter smiled as he picked up a paper lying upon his
desk.

"I have already done it," he replied.  "Several leading men spoke to me
to-day about it, so I have drawn up this Petition.  Copies will be made
and placed throughout the city.  I feel certain that thousands will
gladly sign it.  You may be assured that I shall do all in my power to
obtain a pardon for Stairs.  I am well acquainted with the Minister of
Justice, and hope to see him myself and make a personal appeal."

Perfectly satisfied, and thanking the worthy lawyer, Nathan again left
the office, and went at once to Preston's place of business.  When he
entered the waiting-room he found several people already there, seated
upon benches arranged against the walls.  He was informed by a young
woman that Mr. Preston was busy, so he would have to take his turn in
seeing him.

Nathan was thus forced to wait and possess his soul in patience.  He
glanced around upon his companions, and noted that they were nearly all
women, and poorly dressed.  Their appearance told of dejection, and
whenever Preston's loud, threatening voice sounded from the office,
their faces betrayed their fears.  This was all very interesting to
Nathan, and a feeling of satisfaction came into his heart.  He had the
power to help these unfortunate people, and as he listened to Preston,
although he could not understand what he was saying, he smiled,
thinking how soon the man would be pleading for mercy instead of
threatening.

At length the office door was flung open, and a woman came out.  She
was crying, and held a handkerchief to her eyes.  Preston followed, and
glared upon those waiting outside.

"Next!" he roared, and then returned to his desk.

Nathan at once arose and made for the door.  But the young woman in
attendance confronted him.

"There are several before you, sir," she said.  "You must wait your
turn."

"Oh, I guess it's my turn now, all right," Nathan replied, as he pushed
her gently aside and entered the office.  He closed the door and walked
at once to the desk where Preston, with head bent, was examining a
paper.

"I am next," Nathan began, and at these words Preston looked quickly
up.  Then seeing who it was, he rose to his feet.

And truly there was reason for the pallor which suddenly appeared in
the man's face.  Instead of finding before him one of his cringing,
whining tenants, he beheld the last man in the whole world tie wished
to see.  Drawn to his full height, and with his keen piercing eyes, he
seemed to Preston like an avenging demon.  He cowered, shrank back as
from a blow, and sank down heavily into his swivel-chair.  In another
minute he had somewhat recovered his composure, and the light of
defiance shone in his eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded.  "And what do you want?"

"Don't you know me?" Nathan asked.

"Why, yes, I believe I do.  You are Stone, the carpenter, who fixed my
fence."

"And only got part of my pay," was the retort.

"I paid you enough for what you did.  Is that why you are here?  I
shall not give you a cent more."

"Ned!" the word was spoken very quietly, but it sent a chill through
Preston's soul.

"Well, what is it?  Out with it."

"I guess you know me, all right.  And you know, too, that I have not
come here for that half dollar you owe me.  I have come to meet the man
who ruined my life, and married the woman I love."

"Ruined your life!" Preston gasped, while his hands gripped hard the
edge of his desk.

"Yes, ruined my life.  You stole those bonds, Ned, and I was punished
for your crime."

Preston tried to make some reply, but his lips would not utter the
words.  Nathan rejoiced in the man's abject appearance, and determined
to lengthen the agony as much as possible.

"What's wrong with you, anyway, Ned?" he asked.  "You don't seem to be
comfortable."

"There's nothing wrong with me.  You'll soon learn that to your sorrow
if you don't get out at once."

"Oh, you won't undertake anything like that, Ned.  You should know why
I am here.  I have come to get satisfaction for the injury you did me.
You stole those bonds, and laid the blame on me."

"You lie, you confounded villain.  This is a hold-up.  I shall call the
Police, and have you arrested.  You should never have been let out of
the Penitentiary."

"You tried to get me back again, when you aided Bill Tooke, didn't you?
But that scheme failed.  You hoped to trap me, but now you are trapped
yourself, for you are at my mercy."

"Am I?  In what way?  You charged me with stealing those bonds.  Where
is your proof?"

"Right here," and Nathan placed a hand over the pocket which contained
the confession.  "Do you doubt my word?"

"Certainly.  Do you think I'm a fool?  But, there, I haven't time to
talk to you any longer.  People are waiting for me outside."

"Let them wait, Ned.  They'll have to wait for you much longer when
you're behind prison bars.  Now, look here, you stole those bonds, and
I have complete proof of it."

"Where did you get it?"

"From Matthew Halton."

This was more than Preston expected.  He stared at his accuser, his
face blanched with fear.

"But Halton is dead," he found voice to gasp.

"I know he is.  But before he died he made a full confession in the
presence of a lawyer, while two persons witnessed his signature.  I
have it with me now."

"Let me see it," and Preston reached out a trembling hand.

"There it is," Nathan replied, holding forth the document.  "I shall
read it, if you wish."

Preston, however, remained silent.  He crouched in his chair, his eyes
glaring hard at the man before him.  He seemed more like a wild beast,
ready to spring, than a human being.

"Let me read it," he presently requested.  "I want to see the words
with my own eyes."

"No, it doesn't leave my hand, Ned," Nathan declared, as he thrust the
paper back into his pocket.  "It is safer with me than with you."

"You'll use that, I suppose, to put me in the Penitentiary.  Preston's
words were weighted with fear and despair.

"Perhaps so.  But it all depends upon yourself."

"Upon myself!  Why, what can I do?  You've got me in your clutches, and
you can do what you like with me.  But for God's sake, don't put me
behind the bars!  Anything but that!"

"So you wouldn't like a dose of your own medicine, eh?  You had no
hesitation about giving it to me.  But I am going to give you a chance,
providing you obey my commands.  There is a way whereby you can save
yourself."

"Is there!  What is it?  Money?  Name your price, and we will settle at
once."

"Yes, money is part of the price, but not for myself.  I am not in
need, as Halton left me most of his estate."

"He did!  How much was he worth?"  Preston was again the eager,
grasping, money-loving fiend.  Nathan noted this, and he was more
disgusted than ever.

"I do not know how much he was worth.  But what difference does that
make to you?  I should think you would be sick at the thought of money
after what you have done.  No, I do not want money for myself, but for
others you have wronged."

"Others I have wronged!  Who are they, pray?"

"You must surely know.  If not, I shall enlighten you.  Unless you wish
to go to the Penitentiary, I command you to lift the mortgage from
Widow Watters' place, and to pay her the money you stole from her
husband.  There now, keep quiet," Nathan sternly ordered, as Preston
started to protest.  "And you are to make complete compensation to
Peter Martin for the contemptible way you treated him several winters
ago.  You owe him two thousand dollars, at least, for the logs you got
from him.  You cheated him, and you know it.  Then, you are to put
those miserable tenement houses of yours in good repair, and treat your
tenants as human beings, and charge them a reasonable rent.  And
further, you are to give up your disgraceful manner of living, such as
drink and fast women, spend more of your evenings at home, and be a
good husband to your wife, the best woman on earth.  These are some of
the conditions, and I may think of others later."

Preston was standing when Nathan finished, his body trembling, and his
face white with rage.

"You devil!" he cried.  "Do you expect me to do all that?  Do you take
me for a fool?"

"You will be a fool, Ned, if you don't.  Refuse, and you can put up
with the consequences."

"But your demands are too hard, they are unjust."

"Are they as hard as what you meted out to me?  This is merely justice,
and if you are wise you will accept my demands.  I want your answer at
once."

Preston again slumped down into his chair, and remained silent for a
few minutes.  He was thinking deeply, and Nathan wondered what was
passing through his mind.  He thrummed upon the desk with the fingers
of his right hand, while his eyes gazed unseeingly at the wall before
him.  He was in a tight corner, and knew it.  But Preston was not a man
to be easily downed.  It was his nature to struggle fiercely, and when
beaten in one direction, he would always seek some other way.  Any
method that would serve his purpose he never hesitated to use.  As a
rule, he threatened, and he had found this satisfactory, especially
with those who could not help themselves.  But when graciousness was
needed, he could be all that, and more, too.  The serpent's heart could
feign repentance.  The saying of the writer of old was applicable to
him, "The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in
his heart; his words were softer than oil, yet they were drawn swords."
In this manner he generally gained advantage over any unsuspecting
opponents.

"Look here, Nathan," he at last began, "I know you have got me in a
nasty trap, and I deserve it.  I certainly did treat you in a most
criminal way, and I should go to the Penitentiary for it.  I am really
surprised that you are so merciful to me.  Yes, I will agree to your
demands, and make whatever restitution I can.  But give me a little
time, say a week, in which to do so.  It will take longer to make
arrangements about repairing my houses, although I shall set to work at
once.  If in seven days restitution is not made to Mrs. Watters and
Peter Martin, then you can go ahead and expose me.  Will you accept my
word of honor?"

"I am willing to give you a week, Ned, but for heaven's sake, leave out
about your word of honor," Nathan icily replied.  "You haven't the
least spark of honor in your soul, as you have only agreed to this
under stern compulsion.  But, remember, if seven days from now you have
not fulfilled my demands, Mr. Black, of the firm of Black & Muirhead,
will take charge, and you know something about him."

"So Black is your lawyer, eh?"

"He is, and he knows all about Halton's confession."

"Good Lord!  This is awful!"

"It is, and it will be more awful if you try any nonsense.  And don't
overlook what I said about your giving up drink and fast women.  There
is Helen, also, to be considered."

"Has Helen been saying anything to you?"  Preston asked this question
as calmly as he could, but his voice betrayed his anger.

"No, she has not.  The only time I have spoken to her since obtaining
my freedom was the day I repaired your fence.  She had no idea who I
was, and not likely she knows yet."

"But you couldn't disguise yourself from me.  I knew you the minute I
set my eyes on you."

"I guess it was your conscience, Ned, and not your eyes.  I am giving
you the credit of having a conscience, which is going a long way."

"You seem to consider me a regular devil, Nathan."

"And haven't I good reason if I do?  Would anyone with the slightest
spark of manhood do what you did to me?  Why I am amazed at myself for
my patience.  Some men, if their lives had been ruined as mine has,
would have tracked you down and shot you on sight.  But thank God, I am
different."

"You want revenge, nevertheless."

"Revenge!  Yes, but revenge that will do the most good to the ones you
have injured.  Mine is a new kind which, perhaps, you are incapable of
understanding.  It is the Master revenge.  I shall leave you now, but,
remember."




CHAPTER 15

A Helping Hand

Nathan went at once to see Mr. Black, and related to him his
conversation with Preston.  The lawyer was greatly interested, although
he shook his head doubtfully.

"I hope it will work out all right," he replied, when Nathan had ended.
"But Preston is a tricky man, and will endeavor to crawl out of the
trap some way.  He has been in tight corners before, so he knows all
the ways."

"But he won't get clear this time," Nathan stoutly asserted.  "I have
given him just one week.  If at the end of that time he has not obeyed
my orders, I am going to ask you to take the case in hand.  When he
finds out that I mean business, it will make a great difference.  I am
going home to rest, and await developments."

"Back to your retreat, eh?" the lawyer queried.  "How I envy you."

"Envy me!  What for?"

"Your life in the open these beautiful days.  I was born in the
country, with hills all around, the forest near, meadows, river and
lakes.  Yet I left them all to spend a life of drudgery here in the
city."

"You seem to thrive upon it, though, Mr. Black.  You look so hale and
hearty."

"That may be true," and the lawyer smiled somewhat sadly.  "See that,"
and he pointed to a piece of paper pinned to his desk.  "I found that
several years ago.  It is a translation from the Chorus of an ancient
writer.  Listen,

  "Oh, take me to the mountains!  Oh,
  Past the great pines, and through the wood,
  Up where the lean hounds softly go
  A-whine for the wild things' blood."


"Now, those words stir me, and do you know, I visit the hills every
morning in my mind.  I wander through the woods and meadows.  I take a
refreshing dip in the lake where I used to swim as a boy.  I fish in
the old brook, drink from the ice-cold spring, lie in the newly-mown
hay, sleep in my little bed at night and hear the rain beating on the
roof.  And living that life over every morning, puts me in good trim
for the duties of the day.  It is a great tonic."

"I understand," Nathan quietly replied.  "I have been in prison, too,
and know what such thoughts mean.  But, there, I must hurry away now to
catch my steamer."

The _Banner_ was about ready to leave her wharf as Nathan stepped on
board.  He wished to be by himself, that he might think over all that
had happened during the day.  He found a secluded spot on the main
deck, and there in a corner he seated himself upon a small camp-chair,
and leaned back against the wall which separated him from the purser's
bedroom.

He had been here but a few minutes when three people, a man and two
women, brought their chairs and sat down a short distance away.  At
first he paid no attention to them, but continued his meditation.  At
length, happening to glance in their direction, he straightened
suddenly up as he recognized the man as Judge Preston.  He looked much
older than when he had last seen him on that fateful day when he had
committed an innocent man to the Penitentiary.  But he seemed to be as
overbearing and petulant as ever, and answered curtly whenever the
women spoke to him.  Nathan noted his fat face, small eyes, and
bull-like neck, and a feeling of repulsion swept over him.  How often
in his lonely cell he had pictured the man in his mind, and vowed
vengeance some day.  And here he was close at hand, and he could do
nothing.  The weapon of revenge was in his pocket, but he must not use
it.  If Ned Preston obeyed the orders he had received, his father would
go to the grave without any knowledge of his son's infamy.  It did not
seem right that the judge should escape.  He should be made to suffer,
and his haughty pride humiliated.  It was hard for Nathan to control
himself as these thoughts surged through his mind.  Perhaps he was a
fool, after all, for the course he had taken.  Would it not be better
to let the law deal with the guilty one?  Even now Ned Preston might
elude him, and he recalled Mr. Black's warning.  Ned was a judge's son,
and the law had many loop-holes for a rogue to escape.

Nathan could not help hearing what the women were talking about.  He
felt sure that they were the judge's wife and daughter.  They were as
talkative as the man was silent.

"I am so glad we came by the boat," the elder woman was saying.  "Ned
wanted to take us in his car, but this is such a change.  He has gone
to notify Helen of our coming.  She will be quite surprised."

"Oh, I guess nothing will surprise her, mother," the other
sarcastically replied.  "She doesn't take much interest in us and our
affairs.  I know she worries Ned a great deal."

"I am afraid so," and Mrs. Preston gave a deep sigh.  "Poor Ned looked
troubled when we called at his office on our way here.  Did you notice
it, dear?"

"Yes, mother, he was unusually pale.  Perhaps he is annoyed about his
name being in the paper this afternoon.  Did you see it, papa?" she
asked, turning to the judge.

"Yes I did," was the snapping reply.

"And isn't it a shame that Ned's name should be mentioned in connection
with that disgraceful affair?"

"It is.  Very disgraceful."

"I was speaking to Ned about it," Mrs. Preston remarked, "and he told
me that the man who aided that fugitive to escape the Police served a
long term in the Penitentiary.  Did you know that, John?"

"I did, for I sentenced him."

"You sentenced him!"

"Certainly, and if he'd been before me to-day, I should have sent him
up again.  He is a dangerous man to be at large.  And he's now living
in the country near Ned, just think of that!"

"He is!" Miss Preston exclaimed.  "Why, I feel afraid already.  It
isn't safe for Helen to have such a man in the neighborhood.  I wonder
if she knows about him."

Nathan had heard enough.  He rose abruptly to his feet, stepped swiftly
past the three, and made his way down to the lower deck.  And here he
remained, silent and thoughtful, as the steamer plowed on her way.  He
was on the lookout when they came to the wharf where the Prestons were
to land, and he saw Ned there with his car.  As they drove away, he
thought of Helen, and pitied her.  What chance would she have with
those two self-complaisant women? he asked himself.  How repellant they
must be to her, and how her gentle nature must recoil from their sharp
tongues and prying eyes.

Nathan thought of all this as he sat on his verandah that evening after
supper.  It was good to be back home again.  There was a quiet peace
surrounding him, and a restful spirit possessed his soul.  He wondered
how Helen was enduring her visitors, and if she longed to be away from
them.  There were more prisoners in the world than those behind bars
and bolts, he mused.  Helen was really a prisoner, he felt sure, even
though she lived in a fine house.  So was her husband, but in a far
different sense.  He smiled as he recalled his conversation with Ned,
and the despair he had exhibited.  And Black, the lawyer, was a
prisoner, too.  He longed for the free life in the open, but was
compelled to remain in the city, most of the time in his office.  But
he was not like Ned Preston.  He looked forth from his place of
confinement to the hills, forest, lake and river.  Although his body
was enslaved, his mind was free and noble.  Ned, on the other hand,
peered forth angrily and fearfully upon life.  His heart was bad,
therefore his deeds were evil.  There came to Nathan's mind two lines
he had learned years ago, and which had often inspired him during those
terrible year in the Penitentiary:

  "Two men looked through prison bars,
  The one saw mud, the other saw stars."


"I guess that is very true," Nathan remarked aloud.  "I must try to see
more of the stars, although it is difficult to keep one's eyes off the
mud when there is so much of it around."

He was aroused by the sound of a waggon coming along the road.  It
stopped in front of the house, and Nathan saw Mr. Westmore alight and
walk toward the verandah.  He noted that the old man's step was not as
brisk as formerly, and that he seemed very tired.  He rose to his feet
as the clergyman approached.

"Sit down, sir," he invited, offering him a chair.

"I can't stay long," the Parson replied, as he settled down wearily
upon the proffered seat.  "I have just come from Silas Fletcher's.  One
of his little children died this afternoon, and I have come to see if
you will make the coffin.  I have brought the measurements.  I hope you
will be able to do it."

"Certainly, Mr. Westmore, I shall make it in the morning.  But what was
the matter with the child?"

"Diphtheria, and a very malignant kind.  I am afraid there will be
other deaths in the family.  Poor Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher are almost
heart-broken and completely worn out.  They live three miles back from
the river, and are very industrious and respectable people."

"Have they had the doctor?"

"Oh, yes.  But he lives a long distance away, so it was too late when
he came to do anything for little Bennie.  The neighbors are so afraid
of the disease that they will not go near the house."

"But you have been there," Nathan reminded.  "Were you not afraid?"

"I am different, remember.  I must go wherever duty calls.  I am going
back again just as soon as I get a little rest."

"In the morning, Mr. Westmore?" Nathan inquired.

"Yes.  And I shall come this way, so if you have the coffin ready I can
take it with me.  It will not be large, and I know I can manage it in
my waggon."

"When will the funeral take place?"

"To-morrow afternoon, providing you can get the coffin ready."

"It will be ready early in the morning, Mr. Westmore.  You can leave
that to me."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Stone," and the Parson rose to his feet.  "I
must go home now.  What a comfortable place you have here.  I almost
envy you such a life.  Good night."

Nathan was deeply moved by the words and manner of the old clergyman.
How light he made of his own part in helping the stricken Fletchers.
But Nathan knew from what he had heard of his deeds in the past, what a
great comfort and assistance he always was in times of trouble.  Like
his Great Master he was ever going about doing good, and all classes
were alike to him.  To think of the man was an inspiration.

Nathan had never made a coffin, but he knew just what was needed.  He
lost no time that night in going to the store to obtain the necessary
materials.  He paid for these, and when he reached home, he went at
once into his workshop.  He selected several of his choicest boards,
and by the lamplight over the bench he worked hour after hour.  Not
until the last touch had been given to the little coffin, and a rough
outside box made, did he lay down his tools.  He had completed his
work, and could afford to rest.

Nathan was ready when Mr. Westmore arrived, and went with him on his
mission of mercy.  The Parson objected, saying that it was unnecessary
for him to run any risk.  But Nathan told him not to worry, that he was
only too pleased to be of some assistance.

"I have only myself to consider," he said, "so why should I not go?
And, besides, you will need help at the funeral."

Nathan found Mr. and Mrs. Fetcher quiet, friendly people, and their
grief touched his heart.

"Bennie was such a bright boy," Mrs. Fletcher said, "and always so
willing to do what he was told.  And now he is lying there so still,
the poor dear.  Just come, Mr. Stone, and have a look at him."

Three other children were sick in bed, so the poor woman was kept very
busy.  Nathan did what he could to help, for which she was most
grateful.

"Why, you are as handy as a woman," she complimented.  "Now, some men
are no use in the house at all.  But you are different."

Nathan noted the quiet dignity of this woman, and her self-restraint.
And how brave she was in the face of her great bereavement.  Even when
the little coffin was borne from the house and laid in the waggon, she
made no outcry, but stood in the doorway watching all that was taking
place.

"Good by, little Bennie," was all she said, as if the boy were just
leaving for school.  She remained there while the two teams moved
slowly down the highway, and until the trees hid her from view.

Nathan's heart was heavy.  Had Mrs. Fletcher made a fuss, or cried out
in her distress, it would have been some relief.  But to see her
standing there without a word was almost more than he could endure.
And to think that she had to go back to the care of her other children,
not knowing which of them would be the next to be taken from her.

"Mrs. Fletcher is a heroine," he remarked to the Parson.

"Indeed she is, Mr. Stone.  I have known her for years, and she has
always been that way.  Mrs. Preston thinks she is a wonderful woman,
and often visits her.  She was so grieved this morning when I told her
about Bennie's death."

"Do you mean Mrs. Ned Preston?" Nathan asked.

"Yes, the very one.  She is a noble woman, and does so much good in a
quiet way.  I wish I could say the same about her husband.  I cannot
understand how she came to marry a man like that."

Nathan made no reply, for the clergyman's words had given him food for
much thought.  He had no idea before that Helen went to the Fletcher's.
But it was just like her, he knew.  She had not changed, but was as
sympathetic as ever.  What steps would she now take to help the
stricken family? he wondered.  She could not very well go herself, as
she had her own two children to consider.  Perhaps she would engage the
services of a trained nurse.  Then he thought of the money Mr. Black
said he would deposit in the bank to his credit.  Why not use some of
that?  Yes, he would do it.  Impulsively he turned to the clergyman.

"Mrs. Fletcher should have a nurse," he began.  "She will break down if
she doesn't have a woman's help."

"I am afraid so," Mr. Westmore replied.  "But where is the money to
come from to pay a nurse?  Silas has a hard time to make a living, as
it is.  He cannot afford any extra expense."

"But I can, sir, and I am willing to furnish the money."

"You!"  The Parson stared at his companion in astonishment.  "Why, only
a short time ago you were very hard up, so you told me.  Didn't you
have to make chairs and tables for a living?"

"Quite true.  But since then I have had a fortune left me, and do not
know what to do with it."

Mr. Westmore looked keenly into Nathan's face, as if to see whether he
had taken leave of his senses.  The latter smiled.

"You needn't doubt my word," he informed him.  "What I have told you is
true.  I have plenty of money now, so if you know of a good nurse,
engage her at once, and I shall pay her."

"God bless you!" the clergyman fervently replied.  "You have taken a
great load from my shoulders.  Yes, I know of a nurse at River View.  I
am sure she will go, and I shall phone to her immediately after the
funeral.  I prayed very earnestly last night for someone to help poor
Mrs. Fletcher, and my prayer has been wonderfully answered."

When they reached the burying ground, the coffin was lifted from the
waggon, and lowered into the grave.  After the Burial Service had been
read by the Parson, Nathan shovelled in the earth.  This completed, the
three men stood there looking upon the little mound.  Tears streamed
down the father's cheeks.  At length he turned to Nathan.

"Thank you, sir, for your kindness," he simply said.  "I shall never
forget it.  Please let me know how much I owe you."

"You owe me nothing, Mr. Fletcher.  I consider it a privilege to be
able to help you."

"But the cost! the cost!"

"Everything is paid for, so do not worry."

As Mr. Fletcher stood there, overcome by this unexpected kindness, the
Parson laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Come, Silas," he said.  "Mr. Stone wants no pay for what he has done.
He is a true man of God."

"He is, he is," the grief-stricken man murmured.  "The Lord will reward
him."

Nathan and the clergyman stood and watched, the man as he mounted his
now empty waggon and drove slowly away.  They made no comment, for
words were unnecessary.  Their hearts were deeply stirred, and there
were tears in their eyes, of which they were not ashamed.




CHAPTER 16

Stricken Down

During the remainder of the afternoon Nathan was busy in his workshop.
He had chosen with much care a piece of sound wood, and from this he
fashioned a little cross, of Celtic design, such as he had seen in
pictures.  On this he carved with his knife the one word "Bennie," and
colored the letters with black paint, which caused them to show up
clearly against their white background.  After supper he carried the
cross down to the burying ground, and placed it at the head of the
little grave.  He then gathered a number of wild flowers and laid them
tenderly over the mound until every portion of the raw earth was hidden
from view.  A sweet peace reigned in his heart as he did this, all the
more satisfying because it was a work of love.

Upon his return to his house, he seated himself upon the verandah and
smoked in silent contentment.  He thought much about Mr. and Mrs.
Fletcher, and the great sorrow that had come into their lives.  He also
recalled what the Parson had said in reference to Helen.  When he
thought of her she seemed to be very near, as if her spirit were
surrounding him.  This had been so in the past, but especially so this
evening.  He meditated upon it, and wondered if she was thinking of
him.  He saw her again as he had seen her years ago at the garden gate
when he had bidden her good night.  It was the same girlish form he
beheld, the flush of health upon her cheeks, and the light of joy and
love kindling her eyes.  No man had ever loved as he loved Helen, so he
believed, and that love was still true and deep, even though she was
wedded to another.  According to the law of the land she was Ned
Preston's wife, but according to a higher law she belonged to Nathan
Strong.

And thus he reasoned as he sat gazing out over the river.  When Ned
came into his mind, he wondered if the fellow had done anything as yet
to make restitution for the wrongs he had committed.  But he did not
wish to think about him now.  The death of the child had calmed his
agitation, and the thought of Helen had brought peace into his soul.
The evening was conducive to such feelings.  As the darkness deepened,
and the inanimate forms around him grew less and less distinct, he
settled comfortably back in his chair, and gave himself up to the
enjoyment of it all.  The air was balmy and refreshing, with scarcely
any wind astir.  The stars twinkled overhead, while lights from several
houses on the opposite side of the river emitted their feeble rays.
Various sounds came through the deepening darkness, such as the bark of
a dog, the quack of a wild duck down among the rushes, the occasional
cheep of a drowsy bird, or the rumbling of a farm waggon upon the road.

For some time Nathan sat there, thinking deeply.  At last he knocked
the ashes from his pipe, and was about to go into the house, when a
wild cry startled him, and caused him to spring to his feet.  It came
from his own shore, and he could hear the splashing of water and
frantic calls for help.  Feeling certain that someone had met with an
accident, and was in danger of being drowned, he hurried down the path,
and as he neared the shore he shouted out that he was coming.  When he
entered the thick bushes it was difficult for him to see, so he was
forced to pick his way quite cautiously.  The cries had now ceased, and
he feared that he was too late.

He had just reached the lower side of the thicket, and had paused to
peer keenly out over the water, when a noise at his side startled him.
Before he could lift a hand, something struck him upon the forehead,
and with a groan he toppled and crashed into the bushes.  And as he lay
there, the form of a man bent over him, his pockets were quickly
searched, and from an inside one a folded paper was drawn forth.  With
a chuckle of satisfaction, the assailant stepped out upon the path, and
hastened up from the shore.  Cautiously he approached the house,
keeping close to a row of trees by the side of the road.  Presently he
gave a low whistle, which was immediately answered by a gruff voice.
Soon another man appeared, walking unsteadily as if he had been
drinking.

"Did you get it, Bill?" he eagerly inquired.

"Y'bet," was the reply.  "He went down like a baby.  I guess that is
what ye want," and he handed forth the paper.

"G-good for you, Bill.  I won't forget thish.  Here's shomthing for
you," and he thrust a roll of bills into the other's hand as he spoke.
"Come home wish me, Bill.  I'm a bit unshteady on my feet to-night.
Here, have a drink; it's good shtuff."

In a few minutes the two were reeling down the road, each trying to
hold the other up, and talking in a most maudlin manner.

When Nathan opened his eyes, he did not try to understand what had
happened to him.  He saw the stars shining overhead, and watched them
curiously.  One star larger than the others fascinated him.  It was
smiling at him, and he tried to smile back.  Then it seemed to change,
and it was no longer a star but Helen's face.  How bright and beautiful
she appeared, and he wondered what she was doing away up there.  That
was a funny place for a woman to be.  He called to her, and the sound
of his voice startled him.  It brought him somewhat to his senses, and
for the first time he realised that his head was hurting him.  Where
was he?  What was he doing there in the darkness?  He reached out and
felt the trees and bushes.  Strange that he should be in such a place!

Then all at once his memory returned.  He struggled to his feet, and
peered through the night.  He had been struck on the head as he was on
his way to help some one struggling in the water.  He found it
difficult to stand, he was so dizzy.  He groped his way to the path,
and there he sank down upon the ground.  How his head did hurt!  He
raised his hand and felt a large lump back of his right ear.  Somebody
must have hit him.  The thought stirred in him a feeling of anger, and
aroused him to action.  Again he struggled to his feet, and staggered
along the path.  How far away seemed his house.  Could he ever reach
it?  But still he moved forward, sometimes swaying, but never falling
until but a few yards from the verandah.  And there he fell, and only
with difficulty was he able to drag himself up the steps and into the
house.

The world then to Nathan was suddenly turned upside down.  He was
falling from a fearful height, and hands of demons were waiting to
receive him.  He struggled and tried to call for help, but words would
not come to his lips.  He saw Ned Preston and Bill Tooke jeering at him
in his misery.  Presently Helen's face appeared.  She was holding out
her hands, and urging him to come to her.  All this faded, and he was
once more in the Penitentiary, beating against the door and walls of
his cell in a vain effort to escape.  And coming to his aid was a
little child, with a wonderful halo about its head, and holding in his
hands a cross, the very one Nathan had made and placed over the grave.
But there was blood upon it now, and it was dripping from above.  This
puzzled him, but lifting his eyes, he saw two wonderful hands with a
deep wound in each from which the blood was trickling.  Then a face
appeared, such as he had never seen before, so beautiful was it, and
with eyes full of compassion.  He knew it at once as the face of the
Master, and on His head was a crown of thorns.  With a cry of intense
joy he raised his hands as if to grasp that wonderful form.  Instantly
the vision faded, and in its stead he beheld the anxious face of Parson
Westmore bending over him.  He tried to rise, but was too weak.

"Where am I?" he feebly asked.  "What has happened?"

"Hush, hush," was the reply.  "You are right in your own bed."

Then another man, a stranger, came to his side, who looked keenly into
his face.

"He will be all right now," he heard him say.

"Will he recover, doctor?" the Parson asked.

"I believe so.  But he must have very careful attention."

So that strange man was the doctor, Nathan mused.  What in the world
was he doing there?  But so tired was he that he did not ask any
questions.  The bed was comfortable, and he felt so sleepy.  He knew
that a soft light hand was placed upon his forehead, and he heard a
woman's voice.  He thought it must be Helen's, and he gently whispered
her name.

When he again opened his eyes, he felt altogether different.  His sleep
had refreshed him, and his mind was clearer.  He saw a woman sitting
near the window, reading.  He knew she was a nurse by the dress she
wore.  She looked somewhat like Helen, although not so beautiful.  But
what was she doing there in his room?  Had he been ill?  He remembered
that the Parson and the doctor had been by his side when he had aroused
from his strange dream.  Yes, something must have happened, he felt
sure.  He made a motion as if to rise, and in an instant the nurse rose
to her feet.  She saw the light of understanding in his eyes, and
smiled.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"I guess so.  But, say, I'm almost starved."

Again the nurse smiled, and at once left the room.  In a few minutes
she returned with some steaming broth.

"Try this," she said, as she dipped the spoon into the dish.  "I am
going to feed you."

"Do you think I am a baby and must be fed?" Nathan indignantly asked.

"You must be a baby for a while, Mr. Stone, until you get a little more
strength.  I am merely obeying the doctor's orders."

Nathan was forced to submit and take just as much broth as the nurse
would permit.  He wished to take an abundance, for he was very hungry.

"Give me something stronger than this," he ordered.  "I want a big
dinner."

"Then you will have to wait until it is cooked, Mr. Stone.  And,
besides, it would not be good for you just now.  You have been very
ill."

"I believe I have.  So you came to nurse me.  Who sent you?"

"Mr. Black, the lawyer.  He is a personal friend of mine."

"But how did he know I was sick?"

"He saw about your accident in the paper, and brought me up in his car."

"He did!  So I met with an accident, did I?"

"Oh, I merely called it that, as no one seems to know just what
happened.  But, there, you must not talk any more now."

"I must talk," Nathan insisted.  "It doesn't hurt me.  Now, tell me,
how long have I been in bed?"

"For nearly a week.  The doctor was very anxious about you for several
days."

"And did you take care of me all that time?"

"I was here, but the neighbors took turns in staying, especially at
night.  The Parson and Mr. Martin were here a great deal.  They would
not leave me alone with you.  Now, I am not going to talk any more at
present.  You must go to sleep."

Nathan, however, was not inclined to do as he was told.  While the
nurse busied herself in the kitchen, he tried to recall the events
which led up to his visit to the shore in response to the call for
help.  But his mind was not very clear, and he was thus thinking when
the Parson arrived.  The latter took his hand, and his face beamed with
pleasure as he looked down upon the patient.

"More like your old self, eh?" he queried.  "My!  I am glad."

"Yes, I feel better, thanks to you and other kind friends for what you
have done for me.  But what happened to me, anyway?"

"That's what we don't know," the clergyman replied, as he sat down by
the side of the bed.  "Peter Martin found you early one morning lying
on the floor, raving at a great rate.  He had a hard time with you, but
as soon as he could get word to the neighbors, they came and gave a
hand.  Did you fall and hurt yourself?"

"I know very little about it, Mr. Westmore.  I was sitting on the
verandah that evening, when I heard a voice calling for help down by
the shore.  There was a great splashing of water, so I was certain that
somebody was in danger of drowning.  I hurried down as fast as I could,
and when I came near the shore I was suddenly knocked down.  How long I
remained there I do not know, but have a faint recollection of
staggering up to the house.  That is all I can remember."

"Strange! very strange!" the clergyman commented.  "Are you sure you
didn't faint, owing to your hurrying so fast, and falling, struck your
head against a stone?"

"I am certain that nothing like that happened.  I was struck by some
person, for I heard a sound at my side just as the blow fell."

"Dear me! this is all very puzzling," and the Parson rubbed his chin in
a thoughtful manner.  "I cannot understand it at all.  This is a very
quiet neighborhood, and we never had such a mysterious thing to happen
before.  But here comes the nurse, and she will give me a great
scolding for keeping you talking.  I must hurry away now, so good by
for the present."




CHAPTER 17

A Star and a Toad

Nathan made steady improvement, and in a few days was able to be around
again.  He had no longer any need of the nurse, so she went back to the
city, and once more he was left alone to do his own cooking and
housework.  He was glad of this, for the presence of the nurse, good
and kind though she was, worried him.  He was ashamed of his meagre
household effects, especially his dishes, which were very few.  On the
other hand, he missed her, and the place seemed lonely after her
departure.  He realized now more than ever that it takes a woman to
make a house beautiful.  He thought of what a home he might now have,
with Helen by his side, but for the villainy of Ned Preston and his
accomplice, Matthew Halton.  And in addition to this he had been
treacherously stricken down in the night.  What else had Fate in store
for him? he wondered, and was he to go on meeting with adventure after
adventure to the end of his life?  Other men around him did not have
such serious experiences, so why should he be continually hounded by
forces over which he had no control?

Nathan was anxious to learn if Preston had fulfilled the promises he
had made to him that day in the city.  He had heard nothing from him,
and knew not what he had been doing.  He determined to visit Mrs.
Watters just as soon as he was able, and he believed that he could find
out something from her.  As for Peter Martin, he had said nothing about
receiving any money.  The time allotted to Preston was now past, and it
was evident that nothing had been done in the way of restitution.

He was thinking of this the evening of the day the nurse left, as he
was sitting upon the verandah.  It was a night similar to the one when
he had heard the cry of distress from the river.  He had walked about
some that afternoon, so felt quite well and strong again.  In a day or
two he would go to the city and consult Mr. Black, so he planned.  He
would also find out if Preston had taken any steps to have his
miserable houses improved.  If not, he would have everything turned
over to the lawyer and let him handle the matter.

And as he sat there, Peter Martin limped in from the road, and took a
seat by his side.  Nathan offered his visitor some tobacco, which was
gladly accepted.

"I'm all out of terbaccer," Peter explained, as he filled his
well-blackened pipe.  "I intended to git some at the store to-day, but
fergot all about it.  I guess it must have been the condition of Bill
Tooke's family that put it out of me mind."

"Why, what's the matter there?" Nathan asked.  "Not sick, I hope."

"They're starvin'; that's what's the matter, Mr. Stone.  Bill has
disappeared, an' no one knows where he has gone.  He's been away fer
over a week, an' left his family without a scrap of food in the house.
The children were over to the store beggin', an' around to the
neighbors, too, I guess.  It looks as if the parish will have to keep
'em, fer Mrs. Tooke can't manage alone with that brood."

"But has no one seen Bill?" Nathan enquired.

"No, not since the night you met with that accident.  There are some
nasty stories goin' around, but I put no credit in 'em.  Bill is a bad
man, we all know, as fer as stealin' goes, but I never knew of him
doin' any real bodily harm sich as happened to you.  He's too much of a
coward fer that."

"So people think that he was the one who struck me down?"

"Yes, that's what they're sayin', but not openly, ye understand.
They're jist whisperin' it, so to speak, fer no one wants to be brought
up fer slander.  Bill might come back at any time, an' he's jist the
man who would like to make trouble.  Nuthin' would suit him better than
to sue somebody fer damages.  He has nuthin' to lose, while we have our
farms.  That has allus struck me as unfair.  Why is it that a man who
isn't worth a hill of beans kin trump up a charge against some
neighbor, an' put him to no end of trouble an' expense?"

"But he would have to prove his charge, remember," Nathan reminded.
"The law will not allow a good citizen to be ruined by such a creature."

"That may be all very well as fer as it goes, Mr. Stone.  But think of
the trouble, worry, an' expense a good citizen is put to in order to
defend himself.  He has to hire a lawyer, an' that sometimes means as
much as his place is worth.  An' supposin' he does win his case, what
does he git in return?  Nuthin', an' the man who brought in the charge
gits scott free, 'cause he ain't worth a cent.  No, it ain't fair by a
long chalk."

While Peter was thus talking, Nathan was doing some serious thinking.
He was rather surprised that people associated Bill Tooke with the deed
down by the river.  But he himself had thought of it ever since he
regained his senses.  It was no doubt revenge the man sought.  If he
had intended to kill him, he would have finished him on the spot.
Then, perhaps, when he found out how serious was the injury, he had
become frightened and cleared out.  Yes, it did seem reasonable.  But
did Tooke have any other object in view?  Was he Ned Preston's tool?
The idea came to him with startling intensity.  Ned had a reason for
doing away with the man who stood between him and the Penitentiary.
But never before did Nathan imagine that he would resort to bodily
injury to accomplish his purpose.

"Have you seen Preston lately?" he asked, turning to Peter.

"No, I have not, though I have heard about him.  He's been hittin' the
booze pretty lively, so I've been told.  I do pity that wife of his."

By this Nathan knew that Ned had not fulfilled his promise, and had
been drinking hard, no doubt, to drown his despair.  But was that the
only reason? he asked himself after his neighbor had gone.  Did he
imagine that he could evade the issue and escape?  The only way for him
to do that was to obtain possession of Halton's confession.  This
thought caused Nathan to straighten suddenly up, as a great fear leaped
into his mind.  Had he obtained it?  Was that the cause of the attack?
Trembling with excitement, he rose to his feet and went into the house.
The coat he had worn that night to the shore was hanging in his
bedroom, and he had not used it since the accident.  It took him but a
minute to reach it, and thrust his right hand into the inside pocket.
Then a cry burst from his lips.  The paper was gone!

Nathan stood there amazed and dumbfounded.  His eyes stared straight
before him, and his body was motionless as a statue.  At length he
groped his way into the outer room, and sank down into a chair by the
writing-table.  He understood now the meaning of that attack.  Preston
wanted the confession, and he had either done the cowardly deed
himself, or had hired Bill Tooke to do it.  All was clear, and so Ned
had won again.

Nathan's weak condition had much to do with the spirit of despair that
now settled upon him.  He had fought hard, but everything had been
against him.  He had tried to be true, to face the world bravely, and
not whine like a whipped cur.  Freedom from the Penitentiary had given
him renewed energy, and he had determined to press manfully forward,
clear his name, and to be of some use in the world.  But all that
seemed in vain.  The powers of darkness were opposing his steps, and
seeking his ruin.

He rose from his chair and paced up and down the room.  A deep, raging
anger consumed him.  Where was the justice of it all? he asked himself.
What was the use of being honorable and upright when evil was permitted
to triumph?  He recalled his years of confinement, suffering for the
sin of others who had become prosperous.  He thought of his parents,
and what they had endured.  He looked around and the loneliness of the
room swept upon him.  Others had their homes, with loved ones near.
And what did he have?  A house, and nothing more.  But his enemy, the
man who had done him so great a wrong, had the one woman in all the
world he held most dear.  Why were such things permitted?

As he moved to and fro, the beast nature within him slipped its leash
and ran wild.  No longer was Nathan the quiet, self-controlled
carpenter, but a brute of the jungle.  Devils in forms of human beings
were continually pursuing him.  He could not escape, so he would fight,
he would tear, he would rend asunder.  He would be a law unto himself,
for that was his only protection.  The law of the land had failed him
in the past, and it might do so again.  Ned Preston and Bill Tooke had
triumphed for a time; they had robbed and injured him.  But he would
track them down, and have revenge.  They had shown no mercy to him, so
he would grant none to them.  His emotion was intense, and the room
seemed unbearably close and oppressive.  The walls appeared to be
crowding in upon him like menacing arms ready to crush him to death.
Anywhere was better than in that silent house.  With a moan he fled
from the room, out into the night.  The air cooled his hot face, and
his brain cleared.  He was weary from his overmastering excitement, so
dropping upon the grass, he lay there in the midst of the dew.  The
stars twinkled as of old, and sounds of night drifted to his ears.
These he hardly noticed for a time, but as his calmness returned, he
stretched out his hands to the great vault above.  It was a mute appeal
for help, a longing for some sustaining power in his hour of agony.

For some time he remained there, fighting the battle he had so often
fought before.  But he was weak now, and the floodgates of his passion
were wide open.  He had little strength to contend against the
overwhelming torrent.  His eyes were turned upward, and as he looked, a
star shot across the sky, and then disappeared.  He had often seen such
a thing before, and had thought very little about it.  But now it was
different.  It impressed him deeply, for that shooting star seemed to
him as a sign etched for an instant in a streak of flaming glory by an
unseen hand.  It sent a thrill of strength through his soul, mingled
with a sense of awe.  Perhaps it was a message direct to him, he mused.
It was foolish of him, no doubt, to believe such an idea, and yet it
brought some comfort to his heart, and soothed the fever within.

Nathan was very still as he watched the heavens and thought of all
this.  Then something moved in the grass by his side.  Almost
intuitively he reached out in the darkness, and when his hand touched
the body of a toad, he gave a slight gasp of fear, and shrank back.
Then he laughed, and the sound of his own voice startled him.  But the
tension of his severe mental strain was broken, and he felt relieved.

Slowly he rose to his feet and stood silently there in the night.  His
mind was very active, and he was thinking keenly.  The glory and
mystery of a flaming star, and the touch of a loathsome toad!  What a
contrast!  Surely these two coming so close together must have a
meaning.  What was it?  Ah, now he grasped the idea.  His life was
meant to be glorious.  He was intended to look up to things high and
noble.  But he had forgotten, so that vivid star in the sky was a
reminder to him of his manhood.  And the toad--a repulsive thing of
earth--was a warning lest he should lose the majesty within, and become
a mean, vile creature from which people would shrink in fear.  Such was
his interpretation, and it sent the blood coursing through his body.
He felt much stronger.  No, he would not sink; he would rise.  He had
been wronged, defeated, but he would win as a man, and not as a beast.




CHAPTER 18

Inspiration

It was late next morning when Nathan awoke.  He was in no hurry to get
up, as it was Sunday, and there was really nothing for him to do.  He
was much refreshed after his sleep, and the brightness of the day
brought him renewed courage and strength.  The mental storm of the
previous night had now given place to a confident peace.  He was in a
better frame of mind, and when he at last got up, dressed, and went out
of doors, life once more appealed to him.  All nature was astir.  The
birds were chirping among the trees, the bees were humming amidst the
flowers, and butterflies were zigzaging here and there.  The river was
unruffled, and the great trees along the shore were mirrored in the
placid surface.  There was peace everywhere, in keeping with the Day of
Rest.  It affected Nathan like an elixir, and he drank in great
draughts of the invigorating air.  He resolved that no matter how he
had been treated, he would enjoy this day.  Come what might, evil or
good, he would not worry about what lay beyond the bend in the road.

He went into the house and prepared his late breakfast.  It consisted
of a fresh egg, toast and coffee.  It was the first meal he really
enjoyed since his accident.  After he was through, he filled and
lighted his pipe, and smoked to his heart's content.  A well-worn copy
of Emerson's Essays was nearby, for it had been his habit to read while
eating.  He opened it now, dipping here and there, and refreshing his
mind with passages he had formerly underlined.  They brought a thrill
to his soul, especially sentences from the essay on Heroism.


"Oh, friend, never strike sail to a fear!  Come into port greatly, or
sail with God the seas.  Not in vain you live, for every passing eye is
cheered and refined by the vision...  I see not any road which a man
can walk, but after the counsel of his own bosom....  It may calm the
apprehension of calamity in the most susceptible hearts to see how
quick a bound nature has set to the utmost affliction of malice."


Nathan liked these words and he thought upon them for some time.  Last
night he was ready to strike sail to fear.  But he had been wonderfully
strengthened and warned by a sign from heaven, and the toad he had
touched.  He was well aware that they had not been sent for his special
benefit.  They had merely happened while his soul was deeply stirred,
and he had appropriated them for his good.

Rising at length from the table, he washed his few dishes, and went
down to the shore.  This was his favorite haunt on fine Sundays, but he
had a special reason for going there now.  He had a faint hope that
Halton's confession might have dropped from his pocket, and that he
might find it among the bushes.  But although he searched most
carefully when he reached the place, it was nowhere to be seen.
Certain was he now that it had been stolen, and that Ned Preston had
destroyed it long ere this.

Seating himself in a shady spot under a big branching tree, he leaned
back against the huge trunk and gave himself up to the spirit of
meditation.  It was good to be there, with no one near to disturb him.
Of only one person he thought this afternoon, and how gladly he would
have welcomed her.  In fact, he did look more than once downstream,
hoping that Helen might take it into her head to come that way.  Of
course, he was well aware that if she did appear he would leave the
shore so that she might not see him.  But it was pleasant to think
about her on an afternoon such as this, and wonder what she was doing.

He was startled by the church bell as it rang out its summons to
worship.  He had forgotten all about the service, and as he had not
attended for two Sundays, he decided to go.  And besides, he felt the
need of the spiritual uplift which he had always received in that
little sanctuary of peace.

Nathan knew that this was the half-hour bell, so he waited until the
final summons sounded forth ere he left the shore and made his way
slowly across the field.  He strolled through the grave-yard, stopping
for a few seconds to look upon the little mound with the faded flowers
and the cross he had erected.  He was the last to enter the church, and
he slipped quietly into a back seat just as the Parson was giving out
the opening hymn.  The first person he saw was Helen, seated at the
little organ, ready to play in the absence of the regular organist.
Here was a treat in store for him which he had not expected.  He had
not heard her play for years, but how often he had watched her in her
old home, seated at the piano, playing some old familiar songs.  He had
always been charmed then, but never so much as on this bright Sunday
afternoon.  He thought more of her, and was more intent upon watching
her than the words that were sung.  He could see the side of her face
quite clearly from where he was sitting, and he thought that she was
somewhat pale.

When the hymn was finished, Helen left the organ, and stepped back to
where her two children were standing.  As she did so, she gave one
quick, searching glance down at the congregation, and Nathan was sure
that she looked straight at him.  His heart beat fast, and a strange
thrill of happiness possessed him.  Perhaps she had turned to him with
the feeling that he would help her.  It seemed so to him, anyway, and
he longed to know what was passing through her mind.

The service that afternoon seemed especially adapted to Nathan's needs.
The hymns were appropriate to his state of mind, and the psalms for the
day were of an inspiring nature.


"The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?  The
Lord is the strength of my life, of whom then shall I be afraid?

"Though an host of men were laid against me, yet shall not my heart be
afraid, and though there rose up war against me, yet will I put my
trust in Him."


He liked those words, and also the Parson's sermon.  It was a simple
beautiful address on Temptation, and most helpful.  It seemed as if the
venerable man knew of Nathan's terrible struggle the evening before,
and had prepared his sermon for his special benefit.  Among other
things, he spoke about the loneliness of temptation, and how it would
often come to one in the darkness of night, and in times of deep
depression.  He referred to the solitude felt by Christ in His trial,
in the desert, in Pilate's judgment-hall, and in the garden.  He closed
his sermon with the words of a noble man:


"You are tried alone--alone you pass into the desert--alone you must
bear and conquer in the Agony--alone you must be sifted by the
world....  The strength that is in a man can only be learnt when he is
thrown upon his own resources and left alone.  What a man can do in
conjunction with others does not test the man.  Tell me what he can do
alone....  It is one thing to rush on to danger with the shouts and
sympathy of numbers: it is another thing when the lonely chieftain of
the sinking ship sees the last boatful disengage itself, and folds his
arms to go down into the majesty of darkness, crushed, but not subdued."


Nathan was intensely interested in these words, and as he passed out of
the church after the benediction had been pronounced, they kept running
through his mind.  He longed to know the author, and he determined to
ask the Parson at the first opportunity.  Indeed, this came sooner than
he expected, for Mr. Westmore called to see him on his way up from the
church.

"I am pleased to know that you are getting along so well," the
clergyman remarked, as he stepped upon the verandah.  "I saw you at
church, and you seemed greatly interested in my sermon."

"And so I was," Nathan replied, as he offered his visitor a chair.  "It
was one of the best sermons I ever heard.  And I enjoyed so much your
closing quotation.  Would you mind telling me the author?  I should
like to know more about him."

"Oh, that was from a sermon by Robertson, of Brighton, and it was
preached over seventy years ago.  Robertson is a great favorite of
mine, and I most always carry one of his books with me.  I have a copy
in my grip now, so shall be delighted to let you have it."

The Parson went out to his waggon, and shortly returned, holding in his
hand a small volume.

"This is it," he began, "and you will notice how worn it is.  I like to
dip into this when I have a few minutes alone, and always get something
new and inspiring.  Robertson was a remarkable man, saintly, and a true
scholar.  He committed to memory the whole of the New Testament, both
in English and in Greek, just think of that!  I must not tire you,
however, with a long account of the man.  But read 'The Loneliness of
Christ,' from which I quoted to-day.  Mrs. Preston is very fond of it,
and knows most of it by heart.  How her face brightened this afternoon
when she heard those words so familiar to her.  She is an exceptional
woman.  I supposed you noticed how well she played at the service.  The
organ became an instrument of wonderful power under her skillful touch."

"I was greatly impressed by Mrs. Preston's playing," Nathan replied.
"She seems to be very attentive to her religious duties."

"Indeed she is.  But she does not stop there, for she puts her religion
into practice.  You would be surprised if I told you all the things she
has done for the Fletchers.  When she learned of their affliction, she
was bound to go right out to the house and help them.  But I induced
her not to do so on account of her own children.  She saw the wisdom of
my advice, so sent food and clothing instead.  She takes an interest in
everyone in trouble.  Why, when you were lying unconscious, she came to
my house several times a day to inquire about you.  She asked no end of
questions about your house, and if you were comfortable.  She knows as
much about you as I do.  She is certainly a woman very much out of the
ordinary.  But there, I have stayed too long, so must get on my way.
Keep that book as long as you like, and when you have read it, I shall
gladly let you have another."

Toward evening the weather changed, and the wind drifted in from the
south.  The sky became overcast, and Nathan knew that rain was not far
off.  He sat that night by his writing-table, reading the book the
Parson had left.  The more he read, the more he enjoyed it, for he
found it a wonderful treasure house, filled with good things.  Several
of the noblest passages he committed to memory.  At times he would
place the book upon the table and meditate upon what the Parson had
told him about Helen, and how fond she was of Robertson's sermons.  He
wondered if she enjoyed them as much as he did, and which portions
appealed to her most of all.  What bliss it would be to have her with
him, seated by his side, doing some fancy-work, perhaps, while he read
aloud.  He had often pictured just such a scene, and it was always
evening.  What a difference between his bright dream and the dreary
reality.

He recalled again the glance Helen had given him at church that
afternoon, and what the Parson had said about her interest in him.  Did
she know who he really was?  Perhaps she did, and her love might have
been increasing during the years of her sad married life.  It gave him
comfort to feel that such was the case, and although she could never
legally belong to him, he believed that he was much in her mind, and
that she still loved him.

He was thus thinking, when he heard footsteps upon the verandah, and
then a timid knock sounded upon the door.  Wondering who it could be,
he rose quickly to his feet, threw open the door, and looked out.  A
slight exclamation of surprise escaped his lips, and his eyes
brightened with joy, for standing before him he beheld the white face
and trembling form of Helen Preston!




CHAPTER 19

The Night Visitor

"Are you Nathan Strong?" the woman asked in a low voice.

"Why, certainly," was the astonished reply.  "Have you any doubt about
it?"

"No, no, only I wanted to be absolutely sure, and to hear it from your
own lips.  Oh, I shouldn't be here!" and she glanced nervously around.

"Do not be afraid," Nathan assured.  "Come inside; it will be safer
there."

He offered her a chair near the table, then turned and closed the door.
He also drew down the blind of the one window to the room.  He then
came and stood by her side.

"There, that is better," he remarked.  "No one can see us now."

"Oh, I am so glad, Mr. Strong, but----"

"Don't call me that," Nathan interrupted.  "I am not 'Mr. Strong' to
you."

"I know it," and the woman's head bent a little, while a slight flush
appeared upon her cheeks.  "But it was so long ago I called you
'Nathan' that I thought you might consider it strange if I did so now."

"Years have made no difference in my feelings toward you," Nathan
quietly replied.  "You are still 'Helen' to me, and always will be.
Let me be 'Nathan' to you just for to-night, at least."

For a few seconds there was silence in the room.  Then Helen gave a
slight nervous laugh, and again glanced anxiously around.

"You wonder, no doubt, why I am here," she began.  "But I have
something which I believe belongs to you.  Here it is," and she handed
him a paper which she had drawn forth from under the rain-coat she was
wearing.

Nathan took it in his hand, noting, as he did so, that it was scorched
as with fire.  He unfolded it, and his eyes at once brightened with
joy.  It was the missing confession!

"Helen!  Helen!  Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"Oh, I hardly dare tell you," she replied.  "I am afraid, terribly
afraid."

"You need not fear, Helen.  I shall do nothing that will harm you in
the least degree."

"I am not afraid of you, Nathan, but of Ned.  If he should ever know
that I gave you that paper he would kill me, I feel certain."

"No he won't.  And, besides, he will never find out from me, so you
need not worry.  Did Ned steal this?"

"I cannot say for sure.  I only know that he came home drunk the night
you were hurt, and I was sitting alone before the fire, which was very
low.  He was in a wretched condition, and could hardly stand.  He went
at once to the fire-place and threw in that paper.  He then dropped
upon the floor, and there he lay, talking in a wild manner about how he
had outwitted his enemy.  Thinking that the paper was of some special
importance, and that Ned did not realise what he was doing, I managed
to rescue it.  I read it that night after Ned was in bed, and, oh!----"

She ceased abruptly, and her agitated manner, and the strained
expression upon her face, told of the agony she was undergoing.  Nathan
felt sorry for her, although he said nothing.

"You can imagine what a shock I received," she continued.  "I knew that
Ned was doing what was wrong, but never for an instant had I ever
suspected him of such a cowardly deed as that.  I was almost wild with
grief and despair, and then when I heard what had happened to you, I
thought I should go out of my mind.  I was certain that Ned had done it
in order to get that paper, and if you died he would be hung."

"It's a wonder you didn't destroy this," Nathan replied, motioning to
the paper.  There was a note of bitterness in his voice, for he
believed that Helen had only been concerned about him for Ned's sake.

"I was tempted to destroy it," the woman confessed.  "I thought of my
children, and what a terrible disgrace it would be should their father
be put in the Penitentiary, or--or hung.  Anything but that, I
reasoned.  On several occasions I was on the point of destroying that
paper, but each time I resisted the temptation."

"Why?" Nathan asked.  "It seems strange that you didn't do so.  It
would have protected your husband, yourself, and your children, would
it not?"

"Perhaps so, but it would not have been just to an innocent man."

"So you included me in your thoughts, I see."

"Certainly I did, especially when I found out how shamefully you had
been treated.  And, besides, I learned something else about you."

"What was that?"

"Your remarkable generosity and forbearance in connection with my
husband.  When you received Matthew Halton's confession, you might have
taken immediate action against Ned, or, at least, exposed him to the
world.  You did nothing of the kind, however, but kept silent.  A man
who can do such a thing as that is far above the ordinary, so it seems
to me."

"How did you find that out?" Nathan asked in surprise.

"Oh, I merely surmised it.  You had the confession but made no use of
it."

"I am afraid that generosity and forbearance toward Ned had nothing to
do with it, Helen.  I did use it upon him, and it was partly for your
sake."

"You did!  For my sake!"

"That was the principal reason.  My regard for you has never changed,
and I love you as much now, and perhaps more, than I did years ago.  No
doubt you have forgotten all about the past, but I have not, and never
shall.  Yes, I did it that you might not suffer."

Nathan took several rapid turns up and down the room, and again came to
her side.

"You know the reason now, Helen, and I am not ashamed to tell you.  I
wished to shield you and your little ones, for I know what a noble
woman you are.  How many in your situation would have brought such a
paper as this to me?  Why, they would have destroyed it at once."

"That was what I was tempted to do, as I have already told you," Helen
replied.  "Even last night I was wavering, but when I heard that sermon
this afternoon on Temptation, I was undecided no longer.  It thrilled
me, especially the quotation about the 'lonely chieftain of the sinking
ship' standing bravely at his post of duty, and with folded arms going
'down into the majesty of death, crushed, but not subdued.'  Why, I
felt ashamed of myself for my cowardice, and waited impatiently for
night to come that I might restore that confession to you."

Helen spoke rapidly, and her face was lighted with a glory such as
Nathan had never seen there before.  He knew that she was a woman who,
like the 'lonely chieftain of the sinking ship,' would go down to death
rather than do a dishonest or an ignoble thing.  He loved her more than
ever for her courageous spirit, although he could not tell her so.  And
this was the woman united to such a man as Ned Preston!  He turned
abruptly to the door, opened it, and looked out.  It was very dark, and
the rain was now falling.  Helen mistook his action, thinking that he
considered her weak and foolish.

"I hope you do not misunderstand me," she said.  "I have tried to do
what was right, but God alone knows how hard it was."

"I understand you, perhaps more than you imagine," Nathan replied, as
he closed the door and returned to her side.  "I know that you are a
true woman, one of the noblest.  I only wish that I could do something
to help you.  But what can I do except save you from more trouble?"

"And you will not take action against Ned?" Helen eagerly asked.

"Not if he does what I want him to do.  I have demanded that he make as
full restitution as possible for a number of wrongs he has committed.
So far, he has not complied with my request."

"But how can he do that?  Can he ever make restitution for the injury
he has done you?"

"I am not thinking of myself, Helen, but of others.  I have asked Ned
to pay Peter Martin what he owes him; to return to Mrs. Watters the
money he cheated from her husband, and to improve his wretched tenement
houses in the city.  And more than that, and of greater importance to
me, he is to give up his evil manner of living and to treat you as a
husband should."

"Oh!"  Helen's startled exclamation, and her rigidly clasped hands
plainly told of her great agitation.  Her tear-dimmed eyes were turned
upon Nathan's face.  "You ordered him to do that!" she gasped.

"I certainly did, and gave him just seven days in which to do it.  But
so far, he has done nothing."

"My mind is now clear about something that was puzzling me," Helen
replied.  "I could not understand how Ned knew you had that paper.  He
never said a word to me about it."

"Does he as a rule talk to you about his affairs?"

"No, he never does.  But it is a wonder he didn't say something when he
had been drinking heavily.  That is the time I learn some of the
secrets he always tries to keep from me."

"It's strange that he never told about stealing those bonds."

"No, he never breathed a word about that, and he has never mentioned
your name to me since we were married, so far as I can remember."

"And good reason, too.  He caused me to go to the Penitentiary, and
stole you from me.  I wish to speak to you plainly now, Helen, for we
are merely friends, and can be nothing more.  But the man who is your
husband injured me more in taking you from me than in any other way.  I
could have borne the unjust imprisonment patiently if I had known that
when I was free you would be mine.  But when your letters to me ceased,
and someone sent that article about your wedding, I lost hope, and
longed to end my miserable existence.  I had always clung to the idea
that you believed me innocent until then."

"But why did you write me that letter saying you were guilty?" Helen
asked in astonishment.

"What letter?"

"The one I received from you, in which you said that you had stolen
those bonds, and that I was not to write to you any more."

Helen was looking straight into Nathan's eyes as she uttered these
words.  But she was unprepared for the sudden transformation which
swept over his face, and the terrible expression which leaped into his
eyes.  She shrank instinctively back, and lifted her hand as if for
protection.  Nathan, however, seemed not to notice this, but grasped
her by the arm, his whole body trembling violently.

"Helen!  Helen! are you telling me the truth?" he asked in a voice that
was little more than a hoarse whisper.  "Surely you didn't get a letter
like that--and from me!  Impossible!"

"But I did, Nathan, and it was on the same kind of paper you always
used when writing from the Penitentiary, and the writing was like
yours.  You must have written it."

Slowly Nathan's hand moved from the woman's arm and dropped to his
side.  His slightly-bent shoulders straightened until he was standing
erect as a statue.  The blood surged wildly through his veins, although
outwardly he appeared unusually calm.  But it was the calmness of a man
who through many trials and much injustice had become master of
himself.  His eyes, which had been staring hard before him, turned to
Helen's uplifted, tear-stained face.  A great longing swept upon him to
stoop and enfold this unhappy woman in his arms, urge her to leave her
wretch of a husband, and flee with him to the remotest part of the
world.  He could use Halton's money, and with it make amends for the
wrongs he and Ned Preston had committed.  The next instant he had
banished this temptation, as unworthy of himself and the woman he
loved.  No, he would not run away, but fight through like a man.

"Helen, I did not write that letter," he at length found voice to say.
"I know nothing about it."

The woman looked at him as if she had not heard aright.  She tried to
speak, but words would not come.  With a cry of despair, she bowed her
head upon the table and sobbed most pitifully.  Nathan made no attempt
to soothe her, but stood silently by her side.  When the flood of grief
had at last spent itself, he laid his right hand gently upon her
shoulder.

"That letter ruined both our lives, Helen.  Can you not surmise who
wrote it and forged my name?"

"Oh, I have no doubt who it was," the woman replied, as she raised her
head and looked again into Nathan's face.  "I need no one to tell me
that.  But what villainy!  What treachery!"

She sprang to her feet, her eyes ablaze with anger.  She stood there,
lithe and supple, her graceful form perfectly erect.  The change was
startling.  The quiet, confiding woman had been suddenly transformed.
She had patiently endured and suffered for years, but this new
revelation of the baseness of the man she called "husband" was the
breaking-point.

"I must go now," she declared, "but I go a different woman from the one
I was when I entered this house.  Oh, Nathan, if I had only known!"

"I understand, Helen.  It would have meant so much to us both.  But now
it is too late."

"Yes, yes, too late!"

She sighed, and held out her hand.

"Good-night, Nathan," she simply said.  "I must go now."

"Not alone along that dark road, Helen.  I am going with you."

"You must not.  You are not strong.  I am not afraid of anything
to-night.  I need the darkness, for it will cover my grief."

Nathan, however, paid no heed to her words, but turning, he put on his
rain-coat and hat.  Seeing that he was determined to accompany her,
Helen made no further protest.  Together they passed out of the house
and along the dark, silent road.  Neither spoke, but walking side by
side, each was sustained by the other's presence.  At last Helen
stopped.

"This is far enough, Nathan," she told him.  "I can see the light
ahead.  Good-night, and may God bless you."

Impulsively the man reached out, found her hand, and raised it to his
lips.  Then they separated, one to go back to his lonely house, the
other on to a life from which all joy and hope had fled.




CHAPTER 20

A Desperate Attempt

Nathan was in a most thoughtful mood as he walked home that night.  He
was not really unhappy, for the thought of Helen's visit filled his
soul with an indefinable joy.  That she had come to him at last after
long years of separation, and had talked with him, meant much to the
lonely man.  The new revelation of Preston's baseness stirred him
deeply, but he thought less of him now than he did of Helen.  He well
knew that Ned was capable of any degree of infamy.  This was but
another in the long chain of evil deeds he had been forging, and for
which he would have to answer when the time came.  With Halton's
confession once more secure, Nathan felt himself again master of his
adversary.

Reaching at length his house, he entered, and the first thing that met
his eyes was something white lying upon the floor near the table.  He
picked it up, and knew it instantly as Helen's handkerchief, which she
had evidently dropped in her excitement.  It was but a small, fragile
thing of silk, delicately embroidered, and in one corner there was the
single letter "H."  But it meant much to him.  It belonged to her who
was dearer to him than life.  She had held it in her hands, and with it
she had wiped away the tears from her eyes.  Impulsively he pressed it
to his lips, but the next instant his hand dropped, and he glanced
guiltily around.

"What a fool I am," he growled.  "I must stop this nonsense.  What
right have I to be doing such a thing?  Helen is another man's wife,
and here I am kissing her handkerchief."

Picking up the lamp, he went into the kitchen and lifted down from the
shelf the little box which contained his precious treasures.  He
carried it to the table, opened it, and looked in.  There was the
five-cent piece the bright-faced lad had given him weeks before.  He
had forgotten all about it, but now he lifted it out and held it in his
hand.  The memory of the day he had received it came back to him, and
the thrill that had stirred his heart by the child's manly action.
Carefully he wrapped the coin up in the silk handkerchief, and dropped
the little package into the box.  When he had replaced the latter upon
the shelf he went back into the other room, and sat there for some time
in deep thought.  A strange new glory seemed to pervade the place,
especially the table upon which Helen had bowed her head.  It was the
transforming power of love in the heart of the silent man which made
the difference.

Nathan went to the city in the morning on the early boat.  He had slept
well, so was in good form for the trying work he knew that lay ahead
that day.  His main object was to meet Ned Preston, and ascertain what
he intended to do.  There would be no further delay, Nathan was
determined about that.  He had Ned once again in his control, and he
would not loosen his grip until he had obeyed him to the letter.

Upon reaching the city, he went immediately to Preston's office, but he
was not there.  In fact, he would not arrive for another hour, so the
young woman in attendance informed him.  Mr. Preston had phoned from
his country place that he was unexpectedly detained that morning.
Rather than wait, Nathan decided to go to see Mrs. Stairs.  He had been
anxious to learn how she was getting along, and what had become of her
husband.  He was surprised to find them both at home, looking quite
happy.  They gave him a hearty greeting, and explained all that had
recently taken place.

"Through the kindness of many friends I am out on parole," Henry told
him.  "In a few days I hope to be able to work, and Mr. Black has
obtained a position for me.  I can never repay that man for his great
kindness."

"Neither can we repay you, Mr. Strong, for what you have done for us,"
Mrs. Stairs added.  "But for you, Henry would have died by the side of
the road.  I am certain of that."

When Nathan left the house an hour later, his heart was filled with
thankfulness.  He felt satisfied that the Stairs would get along very
well now, and that they would not be in dire need again.  He intended
to keep them under his special care, for he believed they were people
worthy of much consideration.

Preston had just arrived as Nathan once again entered the office, and
he was standing talking sharply to his stenographer.  As he turned and
saw Nathan, he stared hard at him for a few seconds.  He seemed upon
the point of saying something, but instead, he motioned to his inner
office.

"What are you doing here?" he sternly asked, after he had closed the
door, walked over to his desk, and sat down.

"To see you, of course," Nathan replied.  "What else would bring me?"

"H'm, is that so?  I should think you'd be ashamed to come after what
you did to my wife."

"Do to your wife!  Why, what do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, all right.  Filled her mind with all sorts of nonsense,
and turned her against me.  She raised hell this morning, and that's
what kept me late."

"Following your example, is she?  But she can never show such a
devilish crop as you can boast of, Ned.  You evidently disliked a dose
of your own stuff.  What did she tell you?"

"Oh, nothing much; just a few words.  But, Lord! they cut like a knife,
and the way she looked at me with those wonderful eyes of hers!  I
can't get it out of my mind.  And it's all your doings."

"Perhaps so, Ned, but whose fault is it, after all?  Didn't you bring
it upon yourself?  You know what your life has been, so why are you
surprised when your wife has learned something more of your baseness.
But I didn't enlighten her."

"You didn't!  How did she find out, then?"

"You will have to ask her yourself.  But I am not here to talk about
this.  I want to know why you have not obeyed my orders?"

"Orders!  Your orders mean nothing to me.  I'm not your slave."

"You seemed to think you were the last time I was with you in this
office.  Have you forgotten that?"

"Not at all.  But things have changed since then.  If you happen to
have Halton's confession with you, please read it."

Nathan noted the expression of triumph upon Preston's face, and the
sneering smile that lurked around the corners of his mouth.  But when
he had brought forth the paper, and held it up, there was a startling
change.  Preston's eyes grew big with astonishment, and his hands
trembled.

"W-where did you get it?" he gasped.

"Get it!" Nathan repeated.  "Why do you ask that?  You knew very well
that I had it."

"Yes, yes, but I thought--I thought----"

"Your thinking didn't do any good, Ned, so don't try so hard again.  It
might get you into more trouble.  I am not going to ask you how you got
this paper from me the night I was stricken down on my own shore.
Neither am I going to tell you how I happen to have it now.  But here
it is, and if you don't obey my orders at once, I shall take immediate
action.  There will be no further delay this time, remember."

Preston was looking keenly at the document, and he noticed that the
edges were somewhat singed.  He then stared hard at Nathan.

"Are you a man or a devil?" he asked in a hoarse voice.  "I burned that
paper in the grate, and here you have it with you."

"And so you acknowledge the deed, eh, Ned?  Well, that is interesting.
But look here, you'll find me to be a devil, all right, if you don't do
as I order.  I want you to answer at once.  Are you going to obey me,
or are you not?"

"What is it you want me to do, Nathan?  I guess I've forgotten."

"H'm, your memory must be very poor, Ned.  Anyway, I shall soon tell
you.  You must pay Peter Martin what you owe him, and also Mrs.
Watters, the widow, whose husband you robbed, and broke his heart.
Settle with these two first of all, and we can attend to the other
matters afterwards."

"But this is a regular hold-up," Preston declared.  "It's disgraceful!"

"You didn't seem to think so when you cheated them.  You considered it
shrewd business, no doubt, when you had them in your clutches.  Perhaps
you will see differently now."

"I shan't pay them," Preston vehemently cried.  "Five thousand dollars!
Why, it's outrageous!  They can go to the devil for all I care, and
you, too."

"Very well, then, Ned; if that is your decision, it's no use for me to
waste any more time.  You have had fair warning, and I have been more
lenient to you than you deserve.  Mr. Black can attend to you now."

Nathan turned and was moving toward the door, when Preston called him
back.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Nathan," he cried.  "This is a comtemptible
piece of business, and I'd like to skin you alive.  But you've got me
in a fix, and I can't help myself.  It would not do for this to get
abroad.  And, besides, it would kill my father and mother.  Yes, I
might as well pay up, and get the whole d---- business settled.  Will
you deliver the cheques if I make them out?"

"Certainly," Nathan replied, returning to the desk.  "I shall leave
them with Mrs. Watters and Mr. Martin this evening."

Preston pulled open a drawer of his desk, as if to get his cheque book.
Swiftly his right hand was thrust in, and the next instant Nathan was
staring into the muzzle of a levelled revolver.

"Ah, I guess that'll bring you to your senses quicker than anything
else," Preston remarked.  "Now hand over that confession, and no
fooling about it, either.  If you don't I'll shoot you as I would a
dog.  Hurry up and get a hustle on."

Nathan looked steadily at the infuriated man, and realized that what he
threatened he would do.  He noticed, however, that the hand holding the
weapon trembled, and that it would take but little to divert the aim.
A sudden idea flashed into his mind, so thrusting his hand into his
pocket, he brought forth the coveted paper.

"Ah, I knew that would fetch it," Preston sneered, as he eagerly
reached out his left hand.  "Your little game didn't work after all,
did it?"

Nathan's only reply was to thrust the confession across the desk, and
as he did so, his hand struck the revolver a slashing blow, which
knocked it out of Preston's nervous hand.  He then leaped forward,
seized Ned's wrists, and forced him back into the chair from which he
had attempted to rise.  A fierce but brief struggle at once ensued, for
the baffled man was no match for the powerful form bending over him.
In a few minutes Preston was forced to give up.  He sat very still,
panting heavily from his exertions.  Nathan then picked up the revolver
from the floor, extracted the cartridges, and placed the weapon in his
pocket.

"It's better there," he calmly remarked.  "A coward such as you are,
Ned, should never handle such a thing as that.  Now, what have you to
say for yourself?  Nothing?  Well, perhaps silence is better.  But let
me tell you this, if some men were in my place, they would crush every
bone in your body.  Why, I am surprised at my own self-restraint,
considering the way you have treated me."

He stood near the desk intently watching the cowering man before him.
Presently Preston looked up, and a quiver shook his frame.  He stared
for a few seconds at Nathan, and all at once the enormity of the crime
he had almost committed rushed upon him like a flood.  He buried his
face in his hands, as if to hide some terrible vision that had come
before him.  He raised his head, and struggled to his feet.

"Nathan!  Nathan!" he cried.  "Heavens, I might have done it!  Oh! oh!"

"You intended to do so, didn't you, Ned?"

"I did!  Before God, I did!  You saved me from murder!"

He raised his right hand to his face, and staggered back a step.
Nathan knew that the man was terribly in earnest, and that an
overwhelming fear possessed him.

"How could you do it, Nathan?" he hoarsely asked.  "Do what?"

"Be strong and patient, while I have been acting the fool?  Some men
would have killed me."

"I know it, Ned.  But never mind about that now.  Make out those
cheques, and be quick about it."

"Ah, yes, the cheques," and Preston sank down into his chair.  "I shall
do it at once, and get it ended."

He picked up his cheque book and fountain pen, but his hand trembled so
much that he could hardly write.  Several times he was forced to stop.
But at last the work was completed, and the cheques handed to Nathan,
who examined them most carefully.

"This will do for to-day, Ned," he told him.  "But get busy and attend
to those tenement houses of yours.  Remember, also, what I told you
about Helen."

Before Preston could reply, the telephone rang.  Indifferently he
lifted the receiver, and as he listened, his face grew as white as
death.  He tried to say something, but words would not come to his
lips.  He hurriedly replaced the receiver, and rose to his feet.

"My father is very ill; dying!" he announced.  "Heart trouble.  O Lord!
haven't I endured enough for to-day.  My father dying!  My father
dying!"

He seized his hat, rushed across the room, and tore open the door.
Nathan slowly followed, after he had carefully placed the cheques and
the confession safely away in one of his pockets.




CHAPTER 21

Repairing Things

Very glad indeed was Nathan to be back home again, and able to settle
down to steady work.  The excitement of the past weeks had disturbed
him very much, and he desired quietness and rest.  His own house was a
more pleasant abode, after all, with the open spaces surrounding it,
the friendly sentinel trees, and the pure invigorating air.  Here a man
could be renewed in mind and body, and do his work most effectively.
The city did not appeal to him.  There was too much confusion of
competition, the mad rush after excitement and the newest fads, with
little chance for the soul to expand and develop.  He had truly learned
that the real kingdom of God is within one's self, and lacking that,
all the glitter and outward trappings of the world will not give him
complete contentment.  Hence, his thoughts, his work, and his books,
occupied all his waking hours.

He rejoiced over the happiness that had come to Mrs. Watters and Peter
Martin upon the receipt of the cheques.  The tears of joy that
glistened in the eyes of the widow, and her quiet expression of
gratitude, were reward enough.  She was not a woman given to effusion,
for years of struggle and sorrow had deepened the self-restraint in her
naturally reserved nature.  With Peter Martin it was different.  As he
held the cheque in his hand, and learned whence it had come, he was
greatly moved and sobbed like a child, so much did it mean to him.

"This brings new life to me," he at length found voice to say.  "I
never expected any justice from Ned Preston, so why he has done it now
is more'n I kin understand.  Two thousand dollars!  Why, it's a fortune
to me."

He accompanied Nathan to the road and, ere turning back, he seized his
neighbor's hand and held it for a few seconds in a firm grip.

"God bless ye, sir," he fervently said.  "You had an important part in
gittin' that money, I feel sure, fer Ned Preston would never have done
it of his own free will.  I kin never repay ye."

Nathan thought of all this as he sat alone that night in his house.
How much better it was to force Preston to make some restitution for
his evil deeds than to thrust him behind prison bars.  He recalled the
man's agony in the office, and wondered whether it would change his
manner of life, and how his father's sudden death would affect him.  So
far he had compelled Ned to obey him, but he wished to make him do more
than that.  It was his desire now that he should turn from the errors
of his ways, live the right life, and be a faithful husband to Helen.
If he would do that, Nathan could then overlook his injury to him in
the past.  It would be far better, and it would give him greater
satisfaction than to seek mere brute revenge.  And unless Ned's
conscience was completely seared, this after all might be the most
effective revenge, when the guilty one would cry like the unhappy king
of old,

  "My conscience has a thousand several tongues,
  And every tongue brings in a several tale,
  And every tale condemns me for a villain."


Nathan hoped that such might be the case with Preston.  He wanted him
to suffer, but from the suffering to emerge purified and changed.  It
would be very hard, he well knew, to crush back the feeling of joy
should he learn that Ned was enduring the torments of the damned.  But
he would endeavor, at any rate, to resist the temptation and to prove
himself a man of strength.  If he could do that, it would be a royal
revenge as set forth by the life and teaching of the Master of Galilee.

Following swiftly upon this train of thought came a vision of Helen
that night she had visited him.  He beheld again her white face turned
appealingly to his, and her dark, wonderful eyes, tear-gemmed and
fearful.  He saw the grace of her white hand as it rested upon the
partly-opened door, and her shapely head, crowned with a wealth of
black hair, bending so pathetically over the table.  She had needed him
that night, and she needed him now.  But should Ned become a changed
man, what would be the result?  Would Helen be satisfied?  Would she
ever think of Nathan Strong, or again seek his assistance?  Perhaps
not.  Yet he had the feeling that her heart belonged to him, even
though she was the wife of another.  Why should he desire, then, the
reformation of the man Helen did not love, and never could love?
Should he not wish that Ned might continue in his old way if it would
mean the drawing of Helen nearer to him?  This was the great temptation
which beset the lonely man, and fierce was the struggle before the
victory was won.  But win he did, and came forth from the conflict
stronger than ever.  The strength of the vanquished enemy had entered
into his own soul, and with it came a new power and a comforting peace.

Nathan had a keen desire to continue his carpentering work, so the next
day he turned over in his mind what he should do.  He longed to be once
more building and repairing.  He did not wish to do it now for money,
but for the joy of the doing, and not for those who were well able to
pay, but for the ones who could not.  He had no intention of going
elsewhere, but to seek opportunities in his own neighborhood.  He felt
that there must be such work he could do, if only he could find out
where it was.

It is an established law of nature that every desire has somewhere its
fulfillment.  Nathan found this to be true in his case when the Parson
called that afternoon.  They were seated upon the verandah, and the
visitor was talking about the church, the graceful spire of which could
be seen in the distance among the tree tops.

"We hope to celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary of the building of
that church next year," Mr. Westmore announced.  "But before that takes
place many things will have to be done upon it.  I am almost ashamed
when strangers come to the services.  The roof is leaking in several
places, the seats need repairing, and nearly all of the book-racks are
gone.  I hardly dare think of other improvements, but if my people will
only attend to those three I shall be most grateful.  They are willing
enough, but, poor souls, they have little spare time and not much
money.  I wish that I didn't have to take a cent from them, but could
give my services free.  That has been my great longing ever since I
entered the ministry."

The Parson sighed, and his usually jovial face became grave and
thoughtful as he gazed over at the church.  Nathan then knew that his
desire was about to be fulfilled.  Here was a work he could do for the
love and joy of it.  Briefly he explained his idea, and requested
permission to go ahead.

"This is most unexpected, Mr. Stone," the clergyman declared.  "Why, I
never for a moment imagined such a thing.  I hope you do not think that
I was hinting at this when I referred to the condition of the church.
Your doing it never once entered my mind."

"I know it," and Nathan smiled at the worthy man's concern.  "All the
hinting in the world could not induce me to undertake such a work.  It
was prompted by a deeper and a truer spirit.  But if you agree to my
proposal, suppose we go to the church now and look it over."

And thus it came to pass that Nathan found a work to do that was dear
to his heart and gave him no little pleasure.  Peter Martin gladly gave
his time in hauling boards and shingles for which he would accept no
payment.  He wished to assist in shingling the roof, but Nathan
objected.

"You have your own place to look after, Mr. Martin," he reminded, "so
let me attend to the House of God.  I have nothing else to do, so it
will keep me out of mischief."

The news of what Nathan was doing soon spread throughout the parish.
The quiet carpenter was the subject of numerous conversations, and he
was steadily winning the approval of all, although he still remained a
mystery to the people.  They had heard about the cheques he had
obtained from Preston for Peter Martin and Mrs. Watters, of his
kindness to the Fletchers, and now this additional work of repairing
the church.  They had not forgotten the attack that had been made upon
him at his own shore, and still associated Bill Tooke with the deed.
Although the latter had sneaked back, and pretended that he had been
away on a visit to some relatives, no one believed him.  He was not
long in learning that all looked upon him with suspicion, which made
his lot harder than ever.  He hated Nathan, and as the carpenter
increased in favor, so much the more he decreased.  This was not at all
to Bill's liking, so he turned over in his mind how he might seek
revenge upon the man he considered his enemy.

Knowing nothing of the stir he was causing in the community, Nathan
went steadily on with his work.  The days were fine, so he made
excellent progress.  The Parson was a daily visitor to the church, and
his heart was full of gratitude as he observed what was being done.  It
seemed almost too good to be true that his fond hopes were at last
being realised.

One evening after he had eaten his supper, Nathan had occasion to go
over to the church.  He was working in his shop upon the book-racks,
and he needed a small plane he had been using that afternoon while
shingling the roof.  As he drew near the church, he was surprised to
hear the sound of the organ.  The door was open, and the music was
welling forth upon the still air.  He knew the tune, for it was one of
his favorites, "Lead, Kindly Light," and the unknown organist was
playing with considerable expression.  Wondering who it could be,
Nathan stepped softly to the door and looked in.  To his great surprise
he saw Helen sitting there, her face upturned to the east window, and
her eyes fixed upon the figure of The Good Shepherd, leading His sheep,
and tenderly holding a little lamb in His arms.  Nathan had often
admired this window, which had been placed there in memory of a former
rector of the parish.

It was only a minute that Nathan stood at the door watching the woman
at the organ.  He wished to remain longer, in fact, speak to her.  But
he did not wish her to think that he had been prying upon her, so he
decided to get the plane and go back to his house.

He had just turned, and was casting one more lingering glance upon the
fair face, when the music abruptly ceased, and Helen turned quickly
around.  Before Nathan could escape, she had caught sight of him, so
leaving the organ she came down the middle aisle.  Nathan stepped
forward to meet her, and as she held out her hand, he noted the
expression of pleasure in her eyes.

"I caught you just in time, didn't I?" she began.

"You certainly did, Helen.  But please excuse me for being here,"
Nathan apologized.  "I came over for my plane, and hearing the sound of
the organ, I was naturally curious to find out who was the musician,
never for a moment expecting that it was you."

"I used to come here several times a week," Helen replied.  "But lately
I have been too lazy.  I like this place, it is so quiet and
comforting, while that east window is an inspiration.  I think you
understand what I mean."

"Indeed I do, Helen.  I have come down from the roof more than once on
purpose to rest a while in here.  That window appeals to me, too.  We
all feel the need of The Good Shepherd, do we not?"

"I know that I do, Nathan, especially so now when my troubles are so
heavy.  You have heard about Ned, I suppose?"

"Nothing recently.  What is he up to now?"

"Acting worse than ever.  Oh, he is terrible!  He has been drinking
hard and acting in such a strange manner.  When he is not drinking, he
is so restless.  The children annoy him when he is at home, and once
when I was playing on the piano he rushed from the house and did not
return until late at night.  His face has been so haggard that it is
startling."

"Perhaps his father's sudden death is troubling him," Nathan suggested.
"He thought a great deal of him, so I understand."

"No, it cannot be altogether that.  It must be something else, but just
what it is I cannot make out.  He came home this afternoon, and paced
for hours, so it seemed to me, up and down his room.  He ate hardly any
supper, and left shortly afterwards in the car.  I have been so worried
for days, and this evening I felt I could not endure the strain much
longer.  For relief, I went out upon the river, and my boat seemed to
head this way of its own accord.  Perhaps it was The Good Shepherd
leading me to this House of Rest.  I have that feeling, anyway, and it
gives me much comfort."

"I think I understand," Nathan replied.  "I have experienced the same
thing myself.  How I wish that Ned could do so, too.  What a difference
it would make to him and to you."

"I am afraid he never will, Nathan.  He is very much opposed to
churches, and to everything connected with religion.  I would not like
to tell you what he said when he heard that you were repairing this
building, and doing it without any charge."

"You needn't tell me, Helen, as I can form a pretty good idea what he
would naturally say.  But suppose we forget all such disagreeable
thoughts for a while and have some music.  I am sorry that I
interrupted you."

Helen at once went back to the organ, and with Nathan standing by her
side, she played hymn after hymn.  The glory of departing day flooded
the church with a soft rich light.  It illuminated chancel and
sanctuary; it transfigured the worn pews and kneeling-benches, while
the cracked and stained walls appeared less unsightly.  It touched the
head and face of the woman at the organ and the man standing by her
side.  As the light of day gradually faded, so did their troubles.
They drifted back to days long past, and to memories sweet and
precious.  So absorbed were they in the music and in each other's
company, that they did not notice Bill Tooke, who had glided up
stealthily to the door of the church, and stood for a few minutes
watching the two with eyes of wicked triumph.  Bill had come across
something of great importance to him, and ere long he was speeding on
his way, eager to impart his discovery to another.

At length Helen ceased playing, and rose to her feet.

"My, how late it is!" she exclaimed.  "I must hurry home.  How fast the
time has gone!"

Side by side they walked out of the church, and over the field toward
the shore where the little boat was lying.  They talked about other
days, the friends they had known, and the pleasant parties they had
attended.  The present with all its cares had slipped away, and the
past alone held them in its golden embrace.

Nathan stood upon the shore and watched Helen as she rowed swiftly
homeward.  In fact, he stood there for some time after she had
disappeared from view, a lone figure as motionless as the placid water
over which he was steadily gazing.




CHAPTER 22

When the Bell Rang

While Helen Preston was bending steadily to the oars, moving straight
toward her own shore, two men were standing upon a hill some distance
away.  They were watching her, for the darkness had not deepened
sufficiently to hide her from view.  One of the men was doing most of
the talking at first, while the other merely interjected an occasional
question.

"I saw them in the church," Bill Tooke was saying, "an' their heads
were right close together.  Your wife was sittin' at the organ, an'
Stone had his right arm around her."

"Was my wife playing?" Preston asked.

"Oh, yes, that is, her fingers were runnin' over the keys, but I guess
she didn't know what she was doin'."

"Did you ever see them there before, Bill?"

"Yes, several times."

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"Because I thought it was none of my business.  But I couldn't resist
tellin' ye this time, fer I thought ye should know.  They're in love
with each other, by the way they acted."

"And I believed that Helen always stayed at home," Preston remarked, as
if to himself.  "I never imagined this of her.  She has always
pretended to be so religious that I felt I could trust her.  But that
is what this d---- religion does," he fiercely added.

"Women are really no better than men, fer all their church goin'," Bill
replied.  "They should be better, though, fer we look to them to be
examples to our children, an' teach 'em right things.  But men must
have their fling now an' then, which is only natural.  You do it
yerself, sir."

"I know I do, Bill, and so do you.  But we expect our wives to act
differently.  They should stay at home; that's the place for them."

"An' not be runnin' after a jail-bird, Ned?"

"Certainly not.  That d---- fool has caused too much trouble in my life
already.  He's a pious hypocrite, that's what he is.  He's interfered a
great deal with me in the past, but when it comes to his meddling with
my wife, that's more than I can stand."

"But he's very religious, too, is he not?" Bill queried.  "He's
undertaken to repair the church at his own expense.  Why, the Parson is
delighted, an' thinks he's a wonder."

"H'm!"  Preston grunted in disgust.  "The church!  The church!  I'm
sick and tired of hearing about it.  Why, it's always interfering with
a man's freedom.  And the Parson, too.  He's got the people in this
parish right under his thumb, and what he says goes.  He frightens them
out of their senses by his talk about Hell.  Bah! what do I care about
such nonsense?  It's superstitious rot, that's what it is, and the
sooner it's stopped the better it will be for all concerned.  The world
would be a decent place to live in but for churches and whining
hypocrites of parsons."

And thus the two men conversed, creatures of evil, to whom nobleness of
character and purity of life made no appeal.  Their own hearts being so
bad, they could see no good in others, and all true motives were
blackened by their low imaginations.  Such men would do away with the
Church and religion entirely, and would prefer the reign of vice and
licentiousness.  And yet between these two men there was a gulf.  Bill
Tooke was completely of the earth, earthy, so evil deeds and evil talk
were as meat and drink to him.  Ned Preston, on the other hand, was
fighting a terrible battle against his conscience.  It was goading him,
allowing him no rest, and so rebellious was his spirit that he lashed
himself into fury in his mad efforts to escape.  He defied his Creator,
and when alone at night he would sometimes shake his clenched fist at
the silent heavens.  Religion, too, he believed was his mortal enemy,
and when he heard people lauding Nathan Strong for his voluntary work
upon the church, his anger was intense.  Then when the serpent in the
form of Bill Tooke breathed into his ears the lie about Helen, his
heart overflowed with rage.  Had he stopped to reason he would have
remembered that Bill was an inveterate liar, and that Helen was pure
and free from all deceit.  But he was a man far from normal now,
half-crazed by that inward voice which would not be stilled, no matter
how hard he struggled against it.

Preston was in this mood as he parted from his companion that evening,
and made his way toward his own home.  He longed to meet Helen, and
declare unto her what he had just heard.  But he shrank from such an
encounter, knowing full well that he could not endure the expression
that would appear upon her face and the look of reproach in her eyes.
He knew that she would say little in self-defense.  If she would only
scold, or storm at him, it would give him a chance to relieve his
feelings.  But to see her standing before him in the dignity of her
simplicity and purity would be more than he could endure.  Only when he
had been drinking heavily did he have the false courage to face her,
and give vent to his maudlin thoughts.

He stopped ere he had gone far, and sat for a while by the side of the
road.  The twilight faded, and darkness enshrouded the land.  Several
autos sped by, and one farm waggon rumbled past, but he paid no
attention to these, so absorbed was he with his own misery.  Nature's
sweet peace and rest had no effect upon his heart and mind.  When
agitated conscience with its flaming sword is at war with a legion of
demons within a man, then terrible is the conflict, and the outcome
uncertain.  But this night the powers of darkness had the mastery of
Ned Preston, and crushed down the voice of the true monitor within.  He
gave himself up to their wild urgings, and followed their mad
promptings.

Rising at length to his feet, he walked back over the road he had
recently travelled.  At first he moved slowly, but in a few minutes he
was hurrying on his way, gliding like a spectre through the night.  As
he came near the house of his enemy, his rapid pace slackened, and he
advanced more cautiously.  A light shining from one of the windows
attracted his attention, and toward this he stealthily crept.  He
stooped when a few feet away, and peered in upon Nathan sitting near
his table, apparently lost in thought.  Preston's hand clenched hard,
and a gurgle of rage welled up in his throat as he watched his
adversary.  He envied him his quietness and peace of mind.  He longed
to turn the demons that were tormenting his own soul into Nathan's, but
he realized that such a thing was impossible.  Each man was reaping
what he had sown; one the whirlwind, the other the joy of a good
conscience.

When Preston at last stepped away from the window, he was more spiteful
than ever.  Whatever slight aversion he had felt for the deed he was
contemplating now vanished entirely.  In its stead came the wild and
the ungovernable desire to carry out his design as speedily and
ruthlessly as possible.

His steps led him toward the church, lying silently and unseen in the
valley beyond.  He sped through a grove of trees, and passed the grave
yard, where the white stones stood out faintly against the darkness of
night.  No thought of the peaceful dead who rested there entered the
mind of the infuriated man.  No vision of toil-worn men and women who
had carved for themselves homes in the wilderness, and who were buried
here, came to him.  Neither did the church, which he presently reached,
affect him in the slightest degree with the spirit of reverence and
respect.  As he pushed open the always-unlocked door, entered, and
groped his way up the middle aisle, no voice whispered to him words of
warning.  He never once thought of the noble and earnest ones who had
erected that building almost seventy-five years before, nor of the
sacrifices they had made to accomplish the task.  He could not see the
saintly men of God who had ministered there.  He caught no glimpse of
fond parents bringing their little ones for baptism, or of young
couples standing at the altar-rail, pledging their troth to one another
in holy matrimony.  Not for his mental vision were the slow processions
which had wended their way to that church to perform the last sad rites
over loved ones.  How could such a man understand what that sacred
edifice meant to the people of the parish?  It was closely and deeply
interwoven into their very lives.  It was their spiritual home, and
they looked upon it with more than ordinary reverence.  It was a
precious heritage, handed down to them to guard and maintain.  Its
sweet-toned bell summoned them to worship, and its finger-like spire
pointed them to higher things.

Well would it have been for Ned Preston had he paused for a few minutes
to consider all this.  Unfortunately, he was a man now beyond the power
of reasonable thought.  To him that building was nothing more than were
the precious treasures of ancient Rome to the marauding Goths and
Vandals.  It was merely an object to be destroyed to satisfy the
deep-seated spirit of revenge and hatred.

Having reached the chancel steps, Preston paused.  He then reached out
and laid his right hand upon the large Prayer Book, lying upon the
reading-desk.  This he quickly opened, and tore out several of the
pages.  These he crushed in his hands, and then jerking forth a match
from his vest pocket, he struck it, and applied it to the inflammable
material.  As the blaze started up, he stepped forward, flung the
burning mass upon the altar, and watched with glee as the flames
swiftly caught upon the light fabric on the wall.  The words, "Holy,
Holy, Holy," on the front of the re-table stood out with startling
splendor, as if in silent rebuke to the man who had thus dared to
profane the sacred place.  But upon the violator they made not the
least impression.  He watched until sure that his deed was successful,
and he then lifted his right hand and gave expression to a terrible
curse.

"I defy the God of heaven in whose House I stand," he cried.  "I defy
Him to punish me for this deed.  Let all such places of superstition
and hypocrisy come to a like end."

He ceased, turned and stepped down to the organ.

"Here they stood together, my wife and my enemy," he continued.  "Never
more will they come here to make love and deceive me.  I curse them
both, and may it happen to them as to this building."

Down the aisle he strode, with the roar of rushing flames sounding in
his ears, and the smoke of burning wood and cloth filling his nostrils.
He had other work to do before leaving the building; so laying his
hands upon the bell rope, he pulled it with all his strength.  Over and
over went the bell in wild gyrations, as if startled by such an
unfamiliar touch.  It no longer sent forth its sweet, even-toned notes
of peace and good-will.  It was a mighty voice now, pealing out its
clarion message of terror, and bidding all to arouse and save the
building from destruction.  Neither did it appeal in vain, for up and
down the river, in all houses within hearing distance, men and women
rushed to doors and windows with startled faces and fast-beating
hearts.  Never before had they been so peremptorily summoned.  But when
they saw their beloved church so brilliantly lighted, they understood
the meaning, so seizing pails in their hands they hurried out into the
night.

The man responsible for all this excitement at length dropped the rope
and stood for a few seconds watching the leaping flames.  When he left
the church, he did not go back by the way he had come, but turned to
the right and entered a grove of thick bushes beyond.  There he
stopped, and peered keenly forth, waiting for the arrival of the
neighbors.  He was sure that they would come, and he gloated over the
thought of their excitement and dismay.

"Now, let them send up their pious prayers," he muttered.  "If that
d---- building is as holy as people make out, it's a wonder that it
burns.  By the way that fire's taking hold inside, it looks as if the
place is saturated with the sulphur of Hell instead of the incense of
Heaven.  But, ah, here they come now!  The fun's just beginning."




CHAPTER 28

Destruction

Nathan had spent a wonderful evening in the quietness of his own house
after his return from the shore.  The vision of Helen was ever before
him, and he lived over again his conversation with her in the church,
and their walk to the river.  Her troubled face and lustrous eyes he
again beheld, and the sound of her voice lingered in his mind.
Gradually he drifted back to other days, and all that Helen had meant
to him then.  How different life would have been but for the strange
turn of the wheel of Fate.  Whenever the thought of Preston came to
him, he crushed it back with a great effort, determined not to think of
him more than he could help.

He was thus calmly musing when the wild ringing of the church bell
brought him to his feet with a bound.  Rushing to the door, he opened
it and looked out.  Through the trees he could see the
brightly-illumined building, and at once surmised the meaning.  The
church was on fire!  Hurrying into the kitchen, he seized an empty pail
and, forgetting his hat, he dashed out of the house and sped down
across the field.  Often he stumbled in the darkness, but he knew his
way, and when he at length passed forth from the grove of trees he came
in full view of the church.  The sound of the bell had ceased, and no
one was visible.  But the building was a blaze of light, as if
illuminated by a thousand electric globes, showing plainly that the
fire was within.  From neighboring houses he heard the sound of voices,
telling him that others were astir and alive to the menace that was
threatening their place of worship.

As he drew near the church Nathan realized that all hope of saving the
building was past.  Although the flames had not yet burst forth, the
fire was raging inside, and it would be utterly impossible to do
anything with only buckets to carry water.  As he stood staring upon
the doomed structure, others arrived, men and women, some hatless,
coatless, and even shoeless.  Silently they huddled together, watching
the wonderful sight, their hearts filled with a grief that was mingled
with awe.

It was not long before the cracking of glass was heard, and at once
huge wreathes of flames darted forth from the windows, and in a short
time the whole of the eastern portion of the building was at the mercy
of the devouring monster.  The wood work was as dry as tinder, thus
forming excellent fuel for the greedy flames which rose higher and
higher, sending up vast columns of smoke into the night.  The roar of
the fire steadily increased, until it became almost deafening.  And all
the time more people arrived.  Some walked around the church, and
viewed it from every angle, but all were helpless to do anything.

The fire by now had the church at its complete mercy, and the flames
were leaping through the roof, and spreading rapidly to the western
end.  They began to curl up around the spire, drawn upwards by great
draughts of air.  Reaching out like huge clutching fingers, they
encircled the cross just as the Parson appeared upon the scene.  Nathan
never forgot the expression upon the old man's face as he walked
quietly into their midst.  He uttered no word, but stood watching the
destruction of the building in which he had ministered for so many
years.  Once he made a sudden movement as if to spring forward to
rescue something in the church.  But he stopped short and lifted his
right hand to his forehead, as if dazed and puzzled by his complete
helplessness.

The heat was now so intense that all were forced to move farther back.
Their attention was centered upon the spire.  It was a glowing mass,
but as the flames swirled aside for an instant, the cross appeared,
erect and unharmed.  A deep feeling of awe came into the hearts of the
watchers.  Then when two great fiery columns leaped suddenly out from
the belfry, and swept high into the air, leaving the cross untouched, a
cry of astonishment went up from the lips of all.  And thus it remained
while the fire raged below, as if nothing could harm that symbol of
redemption.

Fiercer and fiercer grew the fire until the entire building was a
seething mass.  The roof fell in with a crash and, as it fell,
extra-huge volumes of smoke and flames rolled skyward.  And still the
spire stood erect as ever, wrapped in its fiery mantle.  The straining
eyes of all watched it with intense interest.  It seemed a supernatural
thing standing there looking down upon the dire ruin below.  But
steadily the fire ate through the heavy timbers, and when at last the
proud structure lurched, and then toppled earthward, the people rushed
wildly back with loud cries of fear and dismay.  And truly it was an
awe-inspiring spectacle.  As the spire hurtled through the air, it
appeared like a huge flaming meteor dashing to the earth on a mission
of destruction.

No sooner had the mass fallen, than a strange, weird noise, resembling
a cry of despair, sounded forth from the bushes beyond.  It came but
once, and although all looked in that direction with white faces and
fast-beating hearts, they did not hear it again.  What was the meaning
of that cry? they asked one another.  Had it anything to do with the
burning of the church?  But no one could answer these questions, and
although they turned to the Parson for some explanation, he was unable
to enlighten them.

"My dear people," he said, "this is a sad night for us.  Our beloved
church is in ruins, and we have witnessed its destruction.  The holy
place in which you and your fathers and mothers worshipped is no more
than a heap of burning embers.  But God's will be done, so we must not
despair, but bear up bravely.  It will mean a great sacrifice on our
part to build another church.  But we have the glorious example of the
noble men and women of the past.  As they built well and strong, so can
we.  Let us not be dismayed nor cast down.  God will help us, and that
right early."

The venerable man turned partly around to hide his emotion, and Nathan
noticed that tears were in his eyes.  He admired the man now more than
ever, and he determined there and then to take a prominent part in the
erection of another building.  He, like the others, was greatly puzzled
over the burning of the church.  Who had rung the bell?  And what was
the cause of that peculiar cry that had winged its way to them from the
bushes?  He noticed that some of the people were now talking earnestly
to one another about these very things, and he listened to what they
were saying.

"I was jist gittin' ready fer bed," Peter Martin announced, "when the
bell began to ring.  I knew at once that something out of the ordinary
was the matter.  I tell ye, it seems to me that no earthly hands pulled
that rope.  It must have been an angel that did it."

"Or the devil," Nathan replied.  "I don't believe an angel had anything
to do with it."

"What about that cry, then, that we heard from the bushes?" Peter asked.

"That I cannot explain, Mr. Martin, as it is all very mysterious.  But
the two may be closely related.  Perhaps we shall find out ere long."

"You are quite right, Mr. Stone," the Parson remarked.  "I feel quite
sure that there is some explanation for the cause of the fire, and that
the mystery will be solved.  There is nothing that we can do now, so we
might as well go home.  Thank you, my good people," he added, "for
responding so promptly.  Oh, if we had only been able to save our
church!"

Nathan hardly heard what he said, for his attention was centered upon
Bill Tooke, who was standing a short distance away, talking earnestly
with a number of men.  He wondered why the latter glanced occasionally
in his direction, as if Bill were talking about him.  At length they
walked away, and he saw no more of Bill that night.  But he could not
banish the scene from his mind, and he was curious to know what Tooke
had been saying.

Gradually the neighbors left and went back to their own houses.  The
Parson, too, departed.  Nathan watched him as he walked slowly and
wearily to his carriage some distance up the road.  He felt sorry for
the man, who had spent so many years in the parish in noble,
self-sacrificing service.  The burning of the church was a blow hard
for him to endure, notwithstanding his strong faith.  What a terrible
thing it would be if the fire had been set on purpose!  At once Bill
Tooke came into his mind.  The fellow was capable of almost any degree
of villainy, he felt sure, but what reason would he have for destroying
the House of God?  What harm had it done him that he should turn his
hand against it?

The fire still burned fiercely, devouring the frame of the church, and
sending up its clouds of smoke and flames into the air.  A few remained
with Nathan to keep watch lest the fire should spread across the field
and into the bushes beyond.  As Nathan stood gazing upon the scene of
desolation before him, he thought of the pleasant time he had spent
there with Helen but a few hours before.  What sweet music had filled
the building, a striking contrast to the roaring mass upon which he now
looked!  The abode of peace and rest was gone, and in its stead nothing
but hot seething ruins.

He thought about this as he at length wended his way homeward,
accompanied by the rest of the men.  He went into his house, but he did
not feel satisfied.  He could not get Bill Tooke out of his mind, and
gradually he began to associate him with the burning of the church.
Perhaps the fellow had rung the bell, and then had uttered that cry
among the bushes to startle the people and make them believe that the
deed had been committed by spirits of evil.  He tried to banish this
uncharitable feeling from his mind, and went out upon the verandah.
The moon had now risen, and was riding above the distant trees, and
gleaming in a long, silver path across the water.  Objects became more
distinct.  The light of the fire could be seen through the trees, and
the crackling could be distinctly heard.  A strange desire urged him to
go back to the scene of destruction.  He had read at times about
criminals returning to the places where they had committed evil deeds.
Perhaps the guilty one might creep back this night to view the effect
of his work, and if so, there would be a chance to capture the villain.

Leaving the verandah, Nathan hurried once more across the field, and
passed through the graveyard, where the trees would hide him from view.
From here he swerved to the left, and entered the grove of bushes from
whence the weird sound had come.  At the farther edge he stopped, sat
down upon the ground, and watched the open space between him and the
site of the church.  Higher rose the moon and flooded the landscape
with its bright beams.  Not a movement did Nathan make as he crouched
there, silently waiting to see what would happen.  Neither did he have
to wait long, for presently he saw a man emerge from among the bushes
on the left and glide cautiously toward him.  Nathan almost stopped
breathing as he passed by but a few feet away, and instantly he
recognized Ned Preston.  So great was his surprise that it was with
difficulty he controlled himself.  Never for a minute had he connected
Ned with the destruction of the church, and even now he could scarcely
believe his senses.  But there he was before him, moving toward the
burning embers.  Keeping well within the bushes, Nathan followed, using
every precaution, lest a twig should snap beneath his feet and thus
betray his presence.  Just at the very line, where the grove ended,
Preston paused and stared upon the ruins.  For a few minutes he stood
like a statue, and then threw up his hands and gave expression to a
groan of despair.  He next sank upon his knees, and remained in this
position for some time.  Nathan could not understand the meaning of
these strange actions.  He had the feeling that Ned was demented, and
did not realise where he was.  Another groan came from the kneeling
figure, and then he sprang to his feet and took a few steps forward.

"I did it!  I did it!" he wailed.  "I destroyed Thy House, O Lord!  I
did not know You were there.  I saw You on the cross when it fell, and
You looked at me.  Oh! oh!"

For an instant the unhappy man buried his face in his hands.  Lifting
his head, he rushed forward, seized the charred cross and dragged it
after him to a large tree.  Here he placed it in an upright position,
and then stepped back and silently looked upon it.

Nathan was intensely moved by what he beheld.  He knew now for a
certainty that Ned Preston had set fire to the church.  A feeling of
anger surged up within him.  This was but another of the many deeds of
infamy the man had committed.  But it would be his last.  No longer
must he be allowed to continue his work of destruction.  "Now is your
time," a voice within him whispered.  "Put the villain in the
Penitentiary, his rightful place.  You will be thus revenged for the
wrong he has done to you.  Do not delay any longer."  Strong, indeed,
was this temptation, and Nathan was in the proper mood to act upon the
suggestion.  But again the vision of Helen rose before him, causing him
to hesitate.  For her sake he had spared Ned until now, and he must go
on as he had begun.  So great was his love for her, that he determined
once again to shield her, and conceal from her and others Ned's
sacrilege in destroying the House of God.  But the man should be
punished, and taught a severe lesson.

"I did it!  Lord, I did it!"  Again came that wailing cry, startling in
its abject despair.  "Punish me no longer!  It is more than I can
endure!"

As Nathan listened and watched, there suddenly flashed into his mind
the meaning of all this.  Ned was struggling against the Lord!  His
soul was being terribly tortured, and in the spirit of revenge he had
burned the church.  Ah, it was all clear now!  His strange words about
the cross and his vision of the Master thereon, were explained.  Nathan
trembled as he thought of this.  Ned was receiving his punishment, and
it was the Lord's doing.  As he dealt with Saul of Tarsus so long ago,
so now, perhaps, he was dealing with Ned Preston.  The idea was
startling, and a feeling of awe swept through Nathan's soul.  As he
watched the agony of the man out there before the cross, he realised
that his punishment was more severe and effective than any that human
minds could devise.  Ned Preston was passing through a terrible ordeal,
he was well aware.  He was suffering for his evil deeds, and he could
not escape.  He had brought upon himself the misery he was now
undergoing.

For some time Preston remained before the cross, now silent and erect
as a statue.  At last he turned and gazed for a while upon the ruins of
the church.  Nathan longed to know what was passing through his mind.
But as he watched and waited, the distracted man suddenly turned, fled
back to the shelter of the bushes, and disappeared from view.

Nathan looked to see what had caused Ned's hurried flight, and at once
saw the form of Bill Tooke slinking among the trees near the edge of
the graveyard.




CHAPTER 24

Where Flows the Brook

The burning of the church caused great excitement throughout the entire
parish, and during the morning numerous teams rattled along the road.
People were anxious to see the ruins, and they came from far and near.
Nathan found it impossible to sleep, although he was very tired.  After
he had eaten his breakfast, he picked up his fishing-rod, and examined
it.  He then went outside and dug some bait.  He decided to spend the
day back in the hills, along the brook which flowed into the river a
short distance from his house.

There was a special reason why he wished to do this.  He wanted to be
alone that he might think over all that had taken place down by the
church.  He was in no mood to go there again this morning to listen to
what people would have to say.  There was no work calling for his
attention, and out in the woods he could think more clearly.  The
silence of the hills always strengthened him, and the rippling brook
was fascinating.

Having prepared a simple lunch, he started on his way, and noon found
him well inland, seated on the bank of the stream near a deep clear
pool, quietly smoking.  Several trout lay by his side, and also his
fishing-rod.  He was satisfied with his catch, for true sportsman that
he was, he took only enough fish for his immediate need.

At length he laid aside his pipe and leaned back comfortably against
the mossy bank.  The water murmured on its way, making the sweetest of
music in his ears.  Birds twittered and chirped as they flitted from
tree to tree, while an occasional squirrel scolded from some nearby
branch.  Nathan's upturned face noted several large birds sailing
overhead, and great fleecy clouds drifting across the vast expanse of
blue.  He thought of Preston and his agony of soul.  Helen, too, came
into his mind, and of her he meditated most of all.  Again he pictured
her as he had seen her last night at the church, seated at the organ.
How he longed for a quiet abode in just such a spot as here, away from
all distractions of the world and with Helen by his side.  He knew that
they would be happy together, for he was sure that she loved him, even,
perhaps, as much as he loved her.

And as he lay there, he drifted off into dreamland, and a beautiful
vision appeared to him.  He was really living in the woods, right by
the brook.  The house nestled on the hillside, in front of which was a
garden, and standing in the midst of the flowers was Helen with such a
happy expression upon her face, and the light of love in her eyes.  She
was gathering flowers, picking them with much care and pleasure.  He
could see her so clearly, and how young she seemed, and so graceful.

Then the sound of children's voices came to him, and he saw two little
white-clad figures playing by the brook, and laughing as they threw
sticks into the current.  The voices sounded louder now, and then there
came a cry of fear which aroused him.  Startled, he sat upright and
looked around.  At once he beheld two children but a short distance
away, standing close to each other, and staring at him with fear
depicted upon their faces.  This expression changed when they
recognized the man as the carpenter who had repaired the fence by their
house.  Nathan knew them, too, and his face brightened.

"Did I frighten you?" he asked.

"Yes, you did," the boy replied.  "We didn't see you till we were
almost on top of you.  Funny place to sleep, this, isn't it?"

Before Nathan could again speak, he caught sight of Helen coming toward
them, hurrying as fast as she could along the bank of the brook.  But
when she saw Nathan, her steps slackened, and the anxious expression
upon her face vanished.

"Oh, I am so glad that nothing is the matter," she began.  "I heard the
cry of fright, and imagined all sorts of things.  But we didn't expect
to find any one in this lonely place."

"Neither did I," Nathan replied, as he rose quickly to his feet and
advanced to meet her.  "This is a pleasure I wasn't looking for."

"He was asleep, mother," the boy explained.  "He was lying just there,"
and he pointed to the mossy bank which bore the impression of the man's
body.

"I certainly was asleep, my little man," Nathan laughed.  "If you had
been up all night as I was, you, too, would go to sleep at the first
chance.  It's a very restful place under the shade of this big tree.
Won't you all sit down?  You look tired," he added, turning to Helen.

"I am not so tired as I am hot," the woman replied.  "We came through
the woods and there was not a breath of wind among the trees."

"Have you been here before?" Nathan asked.

"Oh, yes.  This is our favorite retreat.  It is not far, straight over
the hill, and there is a fine old lumber road we follow.  The children
like the brook, and so do I.  This place is so restful."

Her face grew very serious and an anxious light appeared in her eyes.
Nathan believed that he knew the meaning, although he made no comment.
Instead, he picked up a piece of wood lying at his feet, and drawing
forth his pocket-knife, began to whittle it into shape.

"What are you making?" the boy asked.

"Just you wait and see," Nathan replied.  "But let us all sit down and
you can watch me."

In another minute they were seated upon the mossy bank, with the
children close around him, their eyes fixed intently upon the piece of
wood.  The way he handled the knife fascinated them.  But when they saw
that it was a boat he was carving, they shouted with delight.

"He's making a boat, mother!" the boy cried.

"He's matin' a boat, muvver!" the girl echoed.

Helen smiled as she sat watching a few feet away.  Nathan knew that her
eyes were fixed upon them, and he wondered what was passing through her
mind.  As for himself, he was supremely happy.  Helen was near, just
where he longed for her to be, and his dream was wonderfully fulfilled.
How surprised she would be if he told her about it.  But that would be
giving himself away, so he decided to remain silent.

When at last the boat was carved to his satisfaction, he went to a
birch tree nearby, stripped off a piece of bark, and from this he
shaped a tiny sail, which he fastened to a small mast.  When all was
finished, he placed the boat in the water.  The children were greatly
pleased, and sailed it up and down the edge of the pool.

Side by side upon the bank the man and the woman sat watching the
little ones.  For a few minutes they did not speak, so taken up were
they with their own thoughts.

"Happy days of childhood," Helen at length remarked.  "What a pity they
must pass so quickly."

"But would we be happy to be always children?" Nathan asked.

"I suppose not," and the woman sighed.  "But just think of the many
worries and responsibilities children escape."

"Perhaps we older ones are stronger for them, though.  Character is
developed in the stress and strain of life, that is, if we hold to our
high ideals."

"Then, you must be very strong, Nathan.  It is a great mystery to me
how you have come through your terrible trials with such a brave, true
spirit.  Why some men, if they had been treated as you have been, would
be brutes or raging fiends.  I cannot understand it."

"And so would I, Helen, but for a great light which has guided me, and
has been my inspiration.  Even, then, it has meant terrible battles in
which I nearly lost.  I have never been sure of myself.  The old
deceiver is still very powerful within me, and often drives me to the
verge of despair.  When he gets exceptionally busy I like to come to a
place such as this.  The quietness of the hills and the forest has a
calming and a restraining effect, and I am able to see things more
clearly and in their true light."

"Why, that is the way I feel," Helen replied.  "I come here for the
same reason.  My home life, as you must know, is sadly wrecked, and if
I stayed there all the time I am sure that I would go out of my mind.
Ned has had terrible moods lately, and there is no living with him.
Oh!  I do not know what will be the outcome of all this.  Sometimes I
wish----"

She ceased abruptly, and sat very erect, her hands clenched tightly
together, resting upon her lap.  Nathan longed to know about that wish
of hers, and hoped that she might explain.  This she did not do, but
remained silent, watching the children.

"Is Ned at home now?" Nathan asked.

"No.  He came home very early this morning, and left right after
breakfast in the car.  He was in a sad condition, his eyes so
blood-shot, and his face as white as death.  He seemed to be very much
afraid of something, although he would tell me nothing.  When I asked
him what was the matter, he glared at me like a wild beast, but made no
reply.  Oh, I don't know what to do!  I am completely distracted."

So overcome was she, that she bowed her head, and tears streamed down
her cheeks.  Her body shook with her suppressed sobs.  Nathan was at a
loss for suitable words, so he rose to his feet, and went over to where
the children were playing.  He tried to interest himself in what they
were doing, but he could not keep his mind from that grief-stricken
woman upon the bank.  He knew it was better that she should be alone
for a while until her grief had spent itself.  He longed to go to her,
to comfort her, but he felt that he could not trust himself.  He might
give way to words which he would regret.  He talked to the children,
and showed them how to sail the boat, but anger against Ned Preston was
strong in his heart.  He wanted to go to the villain, and deal with him
as he deserved.  But he could not forget Ned's agony before the cross,
and the apparent change that was coming over the man.  He could not
tell Helen anything about this, for he wished to keep from her the
knowledge that would only increase her trouble.  If he told her that
her husband had set fire to the church, what a terrible additional blow
it would be to her.  She had enough to bear now without that.

In a few minutes Helen joined them.  She was smiling, although tears
still gleamed in her eyes.  Nathan's heart quickened as she came and
stood by his side.  He admired her for assuming a bright appearance and
a courage she did not feel.  The children, tired of their play,
clamored for something to eat.

"I want a cookie, mother," the boy demanded.

"I want a tookie, muvver," the girl repeated.  "I'se hungie."

"Indeed you must be, dears," the mother declared, as she turned to the
bank where the lunch basket was lying.  "You will join us, will you
not?" she asked turning to Nathan.  "There is plenty for all."

"I shall be pleased to do so," Nathan replied.  "But may I share with
you my humble lunch?  There is a spring a short distance away where the
water is as cold as ice."

In a short time they were all seated upon the ground in picnic style,
the children doing most of the talking.  Helen and Nathan were content
to remain silent and listen to the chatter of the little ones.  But
when the meal was finished, and the children were again playing happily
by the water, the man and the woman remained seated.

"It has been a long time since I enjoyed such a meal as this," Nathan
remarked.  "When I left home this morning, I never expected to meet you
here.  This has really been my dinner, for it came next to breakfast
with me.  I am all mixed up to-day, anyway, owing to being up all
night.  You heard about the burning of the church, I suppose."

"Oh, yes.  The Parson told me all about it this morning.  The poor old
man is almost heart-broken.  I feel so sorry for him.  It will be hard
to build a new church.  There was some insurance, so he told me, but it
will not go very far.  How I wish that I could afford to erect a new
building.  What a joy it would be to see God's House restored."

As Helen uttered these words, a thought flashed into Nathan's mind
which gave him a great thrill.  It was just the inspiration he needed,
and it was the woman he loved who had given it.  He had the means, or
he would have them, so why should he not do it?  Would it not be well
to spend some of Halton's money in such a good cause?  It would be his
to use, and he had little need for it himself.  He preferred to work
with his own hands for his living, and not lead a life of luxury and
ease.  It was a great idea, and as his eyes rested upon the children,
his mind was busy with his plans.

"I can never forget the old church."  It was Helen again speaking, and
her voice aroused Nathan from his reverie.  "It was there that I found
such rest and comfort."

"Neither shall I ever forget last night when we were there together,"
Nathan replied.  "It brought back memories of the past when we were so
happy and free from all cares."

"How little we then knew, Nathan, what lay ahead of us.  And we do not
know now.  I tremble when I think of what the morrow may bring forth.
This has been a blessed afternoon to me, but it is getting late, so I
must take the children home.  Thank you very much for your pleasant
company and inspiring words."

"I wish that we could have many such afternoons," Nathan fervently
declared.  "Remember, Helen, if I can help you in any way, let me know.
Although legally you belong to another, and that only through base
deception, yet I always consider you as mine, and that we were always
meant for each other.  But, please forgive me for speaking so plainly."

He rose abruptly to his feet, his whole body trembling.  Helen rose
also, and her face was unusually pale.  Side by side they walked down
along the brook, the children running on ahead, talking and laughing
with glee.  When they at length reached the old lumber road, Helen held
out her hand.

"We must part here," she said, "you to go your way, and I mine.  But I
feel stronger for your sympathy, and the brave way you have faced all
your trials.  Good-by."

Nathan grasped her hand, raised it for an instant to his lips.  He then
turned and hurried on his way without once looking back.




CHAPTER 25

For the Sake of a Child

Coming at length to a large maple tree overhanging the left side of the
brook, Nathan stopped and sat down upon the bank to rest.  His brain
was in a tumult, for he felt that he had overstepped the mark in what
he had said to Helen.  What must she think of his indiscreet words?
Although she might forgive him, he could not forgive himself.  But how
could he help being carried away by his overwhelming love?  The only
safe course was to keep away from her.  And yet, he had not sought her
that afternoon.  They had come together by accident.  But was it an
accident?  Was Fate overruling their destiny?  He recalled their
meeting at the church.  He had merely gone there after his plane, and
he had met Helen.  And so upon this simple fishing trip he had come
across her again.  Then he suddenly remembered a sermon he had heard
the Parson preach.  It was about Saul who went forth to find his
father's asses, and he found a Kingdom instead.  The clergyman had
enlarged upon this, showing that as we go about our common daily tasks
the Lord is really leading us to greater things; that we are in His
hands, and He is directing all our ways.  Was He doing the same now?
Nathan wondered.  Was there a definite purpose in the way he and Helen
had several times unexpectedly met?  It seemed so, and the idea gave
him considerable satisfaction.

As he thus sat and mused, he became gradually aware of the beauty and
the glory surrounding him.  Not a breath of wind stirred the air, and
the big maple at his side was clearly reflected in the deep placid pool
at his feet.  He looked up at the tree and noted its strength and
grandeur.  Although some of its roots had been torn and twisted by
raging torrents when the brook flowed full to the river, yet it stood
firm and unyielding.  It was good to watch it, and a great inspiration
came into his heart.  The roots of his own life had been terribly
bruised and torn, but he had tried to remain true and hold himself
erect in the face of all.  And he would do so still.  Although enemies
had assailed him, and he had lost the woman he loved, yet he would not
give way, but would remain faithful to the best that was in him.  He
had been with Helen that afternoon, he had talked with her, and he
believed that she really cared for him.  This thought gave him much
comfort, and he experienced a thrill of pleasure as he pictured her
sitting or standing by his side.  She, too, was somewhat like the
maple, firm, noble, and graceful, notwithstanding all she had endured.
It was well that Nathan stopped near that old tree for such a quiet
meditation.  He little knew that in a short time he would need every
particle of strength and inspiration he there received.

When he at last reached the highway, he walked slowly along, his
fishing-rod in one hand and his string of trout in the other.  As he
came in sight of his house, he saw his neighbor, Peter Martin, standing
by the back door.  He wondered what the man was doing there, as it was
unusual for him to visit his place at this time of the day.

"Where in the world have ye been?" Peter abruptly demanded as Nathan
approached.  "I've spent the hull afternoon tryin' to git me eyes on
ye."

"Your tongue, you mean," Nathan laughingly replied, as he laid aside
his rod and fish.  "What's the matter, anyway, Mr. Martin?  You look as
solemn as a funeral."

"An' I feel solemn, Mr. Stone.  I've got somethin' important to tell
ye, an' I want to git over with it as soon as I kin."

"Well, then, suppose we sit upon the verandah, Mr. Martin.  I'm tired
after my tramp, and hot, too."

"An' ye'll be hotter still when I tell ye what's goin' on in this
parish," Peter retorted, as he limped after Nathan.  "Dear me!" he
groaned, sinking wearily down upon a chair, "I don't know what the
world's comin' to, anyway.  Things ain't what they used to be around
here."

"Out with it, Mr. Martin," Nathan ordered, feeling certain now that
something out of the ordinary had taken place.  "Nobody killed, I hope?"

"Not yit, though some deserve to be.  It's about you, an' as ye've been
so very kind to me, I consider it my duty to stand by ye through thick
an' thin.  I'm in hot water already, but I'll stand it a great deal
hotter before I desert me best friend."

"About me!" Nathan exclaimed.  "Why, where do I come in?  Hurry up and
tell me."

"Yes, it's about you, Mr. Stone.  There is a report goin' the rounds
that you burned the church.  Jist think of that!"

Instead of expressing surprise or anger, Nathan laughed outright.
Peter did not expect this, so looked at his companion in astonishment.

"There's nuthin' to laugh at, Mr. Stone," he reminded.  "It's a very
serious charge."

"I know it is, Mr. Martin, and so serious that it oversteps the mark,
and becomes ridiculous.  No sane person would believe such a thing for
a minute.  Why, wasn't I doing my best to repair the church?  What
reason would I have for destroying it?"

"Quite true, an' that's what I've been explainin', sir.  But it makes
no difference what I say, fer all believe it."

"They do!  And after what I have done!"

"Oh, that doesn't count one bit.  They have never fergotten that you
were in the Penitentiary, an' if ye did wrong years ago, ye'll do the
same now.  It's in yer nature, so they say, an' it's bound to come out
sooner or later."

Nathan was becoming rather nettled now.  It was more serious than he
had at first thought.  He could hardly believe that his past record
would be thus brought up against him in connection with the burning of
the church.  But there must be some reason for all this.

"Who started such a rumor?" he asked.  "Did anyone see me?"

"Bill Tooke says he did, an' that he rang the bell when you ran away."

Nathan rose suddenly to his feet, every muscle in his body quivering
with excitement.  He towered above his neighbor, his hands clenched and
his eyes blazing.

"Are you sure Bill Tooke told that?" he demanded.

"Sure, fer I heard him with me own ears.  I called him a liar, an' he
was goin' to knock me down when several men interferred an' stopped
him.  But he is a liar, an' I know it."

"He is, Mr. Martin.  I never burned that church.  Why, it is the last
thing in the world I would think of doing."

"I believe ye, sir, I believe ye from the bottom of me heart.  But that
wasn't all of Bill's lies.  He said that he saw you an' Mrs. Preston
alone in the church that very evenin'."

"He did!"

"Yes, that's what he said, an' that you had yer arm around her while
she was settin' at the organ, an' that ye kissed her."

With a groan Nathan sank back into his chair, his face very white.  He
tried to be calm, to think clearly that he might know what to do.  But
the overwhelming spirit of revenge pounded at his heart.  The blood
coursed madly through his body, and the veins on his forehead stood out
like whip cords.  He had been patient for so long.  He had tried to do
what was right, and he had been as merciful as possible to those who
had injured him.  But this last was more than he could endure.  He had
lived a quiet life among the people of the parish, and had done all in
his power to help them.  But now they were willing to believe such a
rogue and a liar as Bill Tooke.  What had it all amounted to, anyway?
he asked himself.  He would change his manner of living, and if people
would not respect him, he would make them fear him.  If they believed
him to be a miserable criminal, capable of even burning the House of
God, he would let them be satisfied.  But first of all he would deal
with Bill Tooke.

"Do all the people believe these lies about me?" he asked.

"Most of 'em do, so fer as I know.  Word has gone all over the parish,
so I understand, an' some heard of it last night at the fire.  Bill
told 'em then.  Of course, the Parson won't believe sich nonsense,
neither will the Fletchers, nor Widder Watters.  An' mebbe there are
others, fer all I know."

"Most likely there are," Nathan replied, as Helen came into his mind.
The thought of her and that big maple tree had a restraining effect.
He recalled his quiet meditation that afternoon, and his determination
to be strong and noble.  How little he knew then of the test that was
just ahead.  But he was not going to allow his name, and the name of
the one he loved, to be defamed and made a byword throughout the
parish.  For Helen's sake he would face Tooke, the liar, and compel him
to deny the charges he had made.

He rose to his feet, and laid his right hand upon Peter's shoulder.

"I am going to see Bill at once," he announced.  "This slander must be
stopped, and there is only one way it can be done."

"Don't do anythin' rash, sir," Peter pleaded.  "Bill is a hard man, an'
he never fergives an injury."

"I am not worrying about that, Mr. Martin, as I am well able to take
care of myself."

Together they walked up the road, and when they reached Peter's gate,
Nathan stopped.

"I wish to thank you, Mr. Martin, for your interest on my behalf," he
said.  "You have done me a good service to-day."

"I hope so, Mr. Stone, I really hope so.  I did hate to tell ye,
though.  But I felt ye should know jist what is goin' on."

It did not take Nathan long to come in sight of Tooke's house, and to
his surprise he saw no children about the place.  But when a few yards
away, he heard angry voices within the building.  Stepping quickly to
the door, which was open, he looked in, and there he saw a stranger
standing in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by the entire Tooke
family.  Nathan's presence was at once noticed, and Bill's face grew
blacker than ever.

"What d'ye want here?" he roared.  "Are ye comin' to make more trouble?"

"That was my intention," Nathan replied.  "But it seems to me you've
got all the trouble you can attend to at present.  What's the matter,
anyway?"

"That man's come to take my only cow," Bill explained.  "But he won't
git it, h---- if he will."

"Pay what you owe, then," the stranger replied.  "You bought that cow
from Dan Perkins two years ago, and you haven't paid him a cent.
You'll pay me now, or I'll take your cow.  I'm only doing my duty as a
constable."

"I can't pay, fer I ain't got the money," Bill declared.  "An' if ye
take our cow, what'll the baby do fer milk?  It'll die."

"I'm sorry, Bill, but I can't help it.  The cow must go, then."

A hubbub followed this statement; some of the children crying, while
others screamed at the constable.  For a few minutes it seemed as if
they would attack him and do some bodily harm.  He, too, realised the
danger, and edged toward the door.

Nathan in the meantime was looking at Mrs. Tooke in one corner of the
room, who was holding the baby in her arms, trying to soothe its cries.
She was a worn and tired-looking woman, slovenly dressed, and appeared
to have lost all interest in life.  The baby was a poor miserable
little thing, half fed and scantily clothed.  Of a sympathetic nature
to the weak, Nathan's heart went out to this tiny creature.  What would
become of it should the cow be taken?  No matter how much Bill deserved
to be punished, a helpless child should not be allowed to suffer.  He
stepped over to where the woman was standing.

"Do you depend upon the milk from your cow for the baby?" he asked.

"It's all he gets," was the reply.  "My own breasts have been dry fer
months."

"But won't you be able to get some milk from the neighbors?"

"Neighbors!  We ain't got none.  Bill settled that long ago."

Nathan knew only too well the truth of this.  It was Bill's fault,
without any doubt, that they had no neighbors who would assist in time
of need.  The thought angered him, and yet he could not allow this
infant to suffer for lack of food.  He turned to the constable.

"How much is the bill?" he inquired.

"Twenty dollars.  It's more than the cow's worth, though she'll be
better than nothing."

"Will you be satisfied if I settle the account?"

"You!"

"That's what I said.  I happen to have some money with me, so if you
agree, let us get through with the business at once.  Where is the
bill?"

The constable looked at Nathan as if he had not heard aright.  Then his
right hand moved slowly to his pocket and brought forth a slip of paper.

"Here it is.  But, say, do you realise what you are about to do?
You'll never get a cent of your money back."

"That's my own outlook.  Here is the money, so please receipt that
bill."

While the constable was laboriously signing his name with a blunt stub
of a lead pencil, Nathan counted the bills and held them in his hand
until the writing was finished.  He then gave the constable the twenty
dollars for which he received the receipt in return.  This he at once
passed over to Tooke.

"You had better hold on to that," he advised.  "The account is settled,
so you need not worry any more about it."

Bill took the piece of paper and looked at it.  His face was still
sullen, and his eyes defiant.  No word of thanks did he offer, but
shoving the paper into a pocket, he went to the door and stepped out.
The ingratitude of the man annoyed Nathan, and he was upon the point of
following and settling the account he had against him.  He changed his
mind, however, and as he again glanced at Mrs. Tooke, he noticed the
expression of relief upon her face.

"Oh, thank you, sir," she said.  "I cannot tell you how grateful I am
for what you have done for us.  Don't mind Bill; he's got no heart."

Nathan was touched by the woman's words, so thrusting his hand into his
pocket, he brought forth a five dollar bill and gave it to her.

"Use this for the baby, Mrs. Tooke, and don't let your husband get hold
of it."

"He'll never see it," the woman replied, as her thin, toil-worn fingers
grasped the money.  "It's the most I've had fer years.  God bless ye,
sir!  I'm sure yer not as bad as Bill tries to make out.  I'll not
believe any of his yarns about ye after this.  I told Bill once that ye
couldn't be so bad after what ye done to the Fletchers.  But he swore
at me an' hit me; that's what he done, an' me his own wife, too."

Just then the baby set up a howl, and as the mother's attention was
thus diverted, Nathan took advantage of the opportunity and left the
house.




CHAPTER 26

The Vision

Strange feelings possessed Nathan's soul as he walked slowly down the
road.  He had started forth that evening with the express intention of
teaching Bill Tooke a severe lesson.  But instead, he had done just the
opposite, and had befriended him by saving his cow.  He had done
nothing to compel the villain to refute the serious lies he had told,
so people would continue to believe the stories about the burning of
the church, and his action toward the wife of Ned Preston.  Nathan
called himself a fool for being turned from his purpose through mere
sentiment.  And yet, his heart was filled with a wonderful peace at
what he had done.

The thought was with him all through the evening and far on into the
night.  The picture of that helpless babe and the poor bedraggled
mother was ever before him.  He had helped them, at any rate, and that
was a satisfaction.  Let Bill do what he might to defame him, he could
not remove the glow which thrilled his soul.  To be of some comfort to
ones in trouble, especially women and children, was a reward in itself.
He felt ashamed of his anger that evening, and resolved never again to
lose control of himself.  He would be like that tree by the brook,
strong and upright, no matter what might happen.  He repudiated his
resolve to act the villain people believed him to be, and he determined
to prove to them that he was a man with a true heart, even though he
was a jail-bird.

With this desire, Nathan longed to be up and doing.  He could not
account for it, but there came suddenly into his mind the words Helen
had uttered that afternoon in connection with the re-building of the
church.  He rose from his chair and paced rapidly up and down the room.
This was something he could do, and to what better purpose could he
devote Halton's money?  It would please Helen, he well knew, and it
would show the people of the parish that he was not as bad as they had
been led to believe.  This idea was inspiring, and he walked the floor
like a conqueror, unheeding the time as it slipped silently by.

It was late when he went to bed, but he could not sleep; his brain was
too active for that.  He planned what he should do, and the kind of
church he would build.  It must be much better than the old one, modern
in design, graceful in form, and of considerable architectural beauty
within and without.  It would be a lasting monument to him, and it
would give him great favor in the eyes of all.  What a joy it would be
to Helen to behold such a beautiful building, and to know that he had
done it for her sake.

And as he lay there, with the picture of the new church in his mind and
what it would mean to him, a strange thing happened.  It seemed as if a
mysterious presence pervaded the room, and that a wonderful message was
being communicated to him without the sound of any voice.  It was
startling and filled him with awe.  And stranger still, he saw words
most distinctly, and gradually below them there appeared the image of a
church, beautiful in design and workmanship.  "In My Name only.  For My
Glory only."  Such was the message standing out in letters limmed with
fire.  It faded, disappeared, returned clearer than ever, and then
vanished entirely.

The perspiration was standing out in beads upon Nathan's forehead, and
he was trembling violently.  He arose, lighted his lamp, and gazed
around the room.  But nothing out of the ordinary could he see.

"I must have been dreaming," he muttered.  "But, no, I am certain that
I was wide awake.  A dream never affected me like that.  What was the
meaning of it all, I wonder?  In My Name only.  For My Glory only.
What a strange message.  And the church underneath.  What a wonderful
building it was."

He paused, and his heart beat faster than ever.  He grasped the
bed-post for support.

"I know now!" he cried.  "I understand the meaning!  It was a message
of reproof from the Lord Himself.  I was planning to build the church
for my own satisfaction and for my own glory.  But I was wrong.  I see
it now!  I see it now!  Thank God, my eyes are open at last!"

He dressed, went out of doors, and walked up and down the drive-way at
the back of the house.  The fresh balmy air cooled his hot forehead.
But it did not lessen the burning of the fire in his heart.  The
stillness of the night, and the great starry vault overhead impressed
him deeply.  The presence he had felt in the room seemed to be still
surrounding him.  He understood the meaning of the vision now, and it
had been vouchsafed for his guidance.  He had been working along wrong
lines in the past, but henceforth it would be in His Name and for His
Glory alone.  Only in that spirit would he build the church.

As he thought of this in his rapid pacing, the principle gradually
expanded.  There was more than the church to be considered.  He must
include his dealing with others, especially Ned Preston and Bill Tooke.
He had spared them both, the former for Helen's sake chiefly, and the
latter because of a little child.  But his motive should have been
higher and nobler than that.  "In My Name only.  For My Glory only."
Again the words came to him, and there in the darkness he bowed his
head, and breathed a prayer for help to follow the message he had
received.  And with the prayer came a new strength and inspiration such
as he had never known before.  When he went back again into the house
he felt like a man from which a heavy burden had been suddenly removed,
and in its stead was a wonderful sustaining power.

Nathan went to the city on the early morning boat.  He had much to do,
and little time in which to do it.  He visited Mr. Black, and outlined
his plans as briefly and concisely as possible.  The lawyer was greatly
interested, and told him that there would be no trouble about the
money, even though the Halton estate would not be settled until next
year.

"You are a remarkable man, Mr. Strong," he said, "and I admire you for
your noble resolve.  How people will honor you for doing such a work."

"I am not going to do it for my own glory, Mr. Black.  I see things in
a different light now.  It is for the glory and honor of Another I am
going to build that church.  I have been on the wrong track too long.
When I came out of the Penitentiary the spirit of revenge was strong
within me.  I intended to find the guilty ones and have them punished.
But when at last I found the real criminal, I changed my mind, took a
different course and forced him to make some restitution.  I did it
merely because it would benefit the ones he had injured, protect his
wife and children, and also a punishment to himself."

"That was far greater revenge, Mr. Strong, and nobler in every way.  It
was better than brute revenge."

"Yes, I suppose so.  But even then I did not go far enough, as it was
not the true revenge as set forth by the Master Himself."

"And what is that?"

"Forgiveness.  That is the Master Revenge, and I pray God that I may be
able to forgive Ned Preston for what he has done to me.  Henceforth
that shall be my ruling spirit in all I undertake and do."

Nathan spoke these words very quietly, but with great emphasis.  The
lawyer looked into his client's eyes and then sighed.

"I believe you mean what you say, Mr. Strong, and I wish that I could
feel the same as you do.  If we could only put into practice such a
principle as that, what a difference it would make to the world.  But
on the other hand, think how many rogues there are who would take a
mean advantage of us.  A noted man once said, 'Let me remember, when I
find myself inclined to pity a criminal, that there is likewise a pity
due to the country.'  Yes, the Master Revenge might work out
satisfactorily in an ideal Christian age, but I have serious doubts
about applying it now."

"That is just the trouble, Mr. Black.  It has not been fully tried, as
people are afraid to put it into effect.  But I have the courage of my
conviction, and am going to test it, anyway.  So far, I have met with
no success, but I have not gone far enough."

When Nathan left the lawyer he went at once to a prominent architect
and spent over an hour with him, stating just what he needed in the way
of church plans.  He then visited the Stairs, and found that they were
getting along very well.

"Henry has a good job now," Mrs. Stairs informed him, "and we are quite
happy.  But we can never thank you enough for what you have done for
us.  The Lord will surely reward you."

"You need not thank me, Mrs. Stairs," Nathan replied.  "I only did what
I believed was right.  I guess there was Another Who had a hand in
this.  We can truly thank Him for the outcome of it all."

"We do, sir, every day of our lives.  It was the Lord alone Who cured
our child when the doctors had given up all hope."

After a busy day in the city, Nathan was glad to turn his face once
more homeward.  He had many things to think about, so he needed the
quietness of his own house.  As he left the steamer and stepped upon
the wharf, several neighbors spoke to him in an unusually friendly
manner.  This was different from their silent attitude toward him that
morning, and he wondered what had caused the change.  As he walked up
to the main road, he saw several men reading a paper tacked to the
store door.  He knew that notices of sales and entertainments were
always placed there, and in such things he was not interested.  This
was merely another, so he thought; the people's local bulletin,
informing them what was about to take place in the parish.

When he reached home, he prepared and ate his supper.  He next went out
upon the verandah and smoked for some time.  His mind was busy with his
plans, and he was eager to begin work as soon as possible.  But he had
to see the Parson first, and obtain his permission to go ahead with the
building.  He was quite sure that the clergyman would be much pleased,
and would give a ready consent.  He longed, also, to see Helen that he
might talk it all over with her, and receive any suggestions she might
have to offer.  He was happier this evening than he had been for a long
time, and he felt like shouting aloud with joy.

As a relief to his feelings, he went into his workshop, and busied
himself with a rustic chair which was partly completed.  He had not
spent much time here of late, so it was good to be back again, and he
hummed a song as he shaped the various pieces of wood and fitted them
into their proper places.  In a few days he would be so busy upon the
church that he would have no time for anything else.

And as he worked, he heard approaching footsteps, and the next minute
Bill Tooke stood in the doorway.  Nathan gave a start of surprise at
seeing this unusual and unexpected caller.  He merely bade him
good-evening, and went on with his work.  Bill entered, sat down upon a
box, and watched him intently.

"Busy, eh?" he at length queried.

"Yes, I'm trying to do something to keep me out of mischief," Nathan
replied.

"Nuthin' like it, I guess," and Bill gave a deep sigh.  "Wish
t'goodness I had the habit."

Nathan turned and looked keenly at his visitor.  A change had evidently
come over the man, judging by his face and the expression in his eyes.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

"Why, what makes ye think there is?"

"Oh, several things, but chiefly your coming to see me, of all men."

"No doubt ye do wonder at that.  But, look here, I've done dirty by
you, an' I ain't afraid to tell ye so.  But I've decided to do
different after this."

"Had a change of heart, Bill?  Been to some revival meeting?" Nathan
queried.  He was not altogether sure of this man, thinking he might be
acting in this manner with some special design in view.

"The only revival meetin' I've attended was the one held last night at
my house," Bill explained.  "You was the preacher, an' what you done
had more effect on me than all the gospel-slingers I've ever heard."

"Well, that's interesting.  What did I do to make such a remarkable
change?"

"Ye saved me cow fer the baby's sake, that's what ye done.  Now, I've
been a regular devil, in a way, an' don't deny it.  But I'm fond of
that kid; it has sich cute ways, an' I guess I think more of it than of
all the rest.  Then, when the constable came to take the cow, an' I
thought how hard it would be on the baby to do without milk, there was
murder in me heart.  I saw red then more'n any time in me life, so if
you hadn't happened along jist when ye did, I might have killed that
man there an' then.  It must have been the Lord that sent ye."

"It was the devil, I guess, from the way I was feeling," Nathan
replied.  "I went to your house to have it out with you for the lies
you have been telling about me.  I intended to give you the biggest
thrashing you ever got, and you deserve it, too."

"I know it, I know it," Bill hastily agreed.  "I saw it in yer eyes
when ye came into me house last night.  But I didn't care then fer you
or anyone else.  I was ready to fight the hull d---- world fer the sake
of the kid.  But when ye acted as ye did, why, it took the starch right
out of me, an' made me as limp as an eel; that's what ye done.  What
made ye do it, anyway, sir?  Ye've keep me guessin' ever since."

"Something here," and Nathan placed his right hand over heart.

"Ah, heart-trouble, eh?  Had it long?"

"Yes, heart-trouble," Nathan laughed in spite of himself.  "It's
something you have never been much bothered with, Bill, except,
perhaps, when it comes to your baby.  It's a peculiar disease, and one
never knows just how and when it will affect him."

"Oh, I see," and Tooke's eyes opened wide with understanding.  "It does
make a man act queer sometimes, doesn't it?  Why, I can't begin to tell
ye how it's made me feel about that kid of mine.  When I see the little
cuss layin' in the cradle, with its blue eyes starin' up straight at
me, an' listen to its squeaks, a funny feelin' hits me, an' then I
allus want to do better."

"But the effect has not been very lasting, from all appearance, Bill,"
Nathan reminded.

"It hain't been in the past, sir, but, by G----, it will now.  D'ye
know what I done to-day about them lies I told?"

"No, I haven't heard anything."

"Ye haven't!  Well, that's queer.  Why, I wrote out a notice, an'
tacked it on the store door, statin' that what I said about you burnin'
the church an' yer connection with Mrs. Preston, was a pack of lies.
It's there now, an' I writ it meself, fer I'm purty good with the pen
when once I git started."

A feeling of relief came into Nathan's heart as he listened to this
confession.  He now understood the meaning of the group that evening in
front of the store.  Then something else thrilled him.  It was worth
while, after all, to put into practice the Master's command about
forgiving one's enemies.  It had more effect than "an eye for an eye,
and a tooth for a tooth."  He turned suddenly to his visitor.

"Say, Bill," he began, "this is great news to me.  We have been enemies
too long already.  Let us henceforth be friends.  Here's my hand on it."

"Sure thing," Bill exclaimed, as he reached out his big right grimy
paw.  "I'm only too glad to be a friend of sich a man as you.  Yer as
much ahead of Ned Preston as day is of night.  Why, he's a snake, an'
he's treated me dirty."

And there in that little workshop the two former enemies clasped hands.
To both it meant a great deal, although one saw much more in it than
the other.  Nathan had tested the spirit of the Master Revenge, and it
had not failed.




CHAPTER 27

What the World Needs

The vision of the new church was constantly before Nathan during the
remainder of the evening.  He was anxious to receive the architect's
plans that he might see what it looked like on paper.  But nothing
could ever surpass the picture he had beheld the previous night, and of
which he had thought a great deal.  And closely connected with the
vision was the woman he loved.  She seemed to be an integral part of
the church of his fancy, permeating it with an indefinable grace and
beauty.  He knew that it was love which worked the mystic charm, and he
was not ashamed to confess it to himself.  Somewhere he had read that
in olden days churches had been built to the sound of sweetest music,
and he understood the meaning now.  This new church he would erect to
wonderful heart music, the harmony of love to his Master, and love for
a noble woman.  Such would be his continuing inspiration, and a secret
which he would never divulge.

And mingled with all this was a deep sense of gratitude for the change
that had evidently come over Bill Tooke.  It had been so sudden that he
could not for an instant doubt the divine guidance.  The Master had
overruled all things for good, and had turned his visit to Tooke's
house into a marvellous victory.  Nathan was well aware of the anger
that had filled his heart, and that the devil had driven him forth to
wreak a brute revenge upon his enemy.  But it must have been the Lord
who defeated Satan and brought about the remarkable result.  This
thought gave him great comfort, and caused him to review his past life
with all its strange vicissitudes.  Perhaps, after all, they had been
for the best, and his training in the school of affliction had been for
some great purpose.  He began to think that it was so, although there
were some things he could not yet understand.  He needed more light
upon the mysteries surrounding his past career.

In the morning he went over to the church site and viewed the ruins.
Nothing but ashes and charred timbers remained where once a fair
building had stood.  Formerly he would have compared the scene to his
own life--a sad desolation of shattered hopes.  But not so now.  He saw
things in a different light, and as he beheld a new and a better
building in place of the old, so with his own broken life.  From the
wreck of each there would come forth something far grander and nobler
in every way.  Not in his own strength could this be accomplished, but
through the power of Him he had taken as his Guide and Upholder.

That afternoon he visited the saw-mill up the road, and obtained the
prices of the different kinds of lumber he would need.  There was an
abundance on hand for his purpose, so he returned home, his heart
filled with peace and joy.  He longed to see Helen that he might
discuss his plans with her.  He pictured her animated face as she
listened to his words.  Once during the evening he was strongly tempted
to go to her.  He might find her alone, and, perhaps, she would be
pleased to see him.  He resisted this, however, and decided to await a
more favorable opportunity.

The Parson was the only other person he wished to see, for without his
consent he would not think of going ahead with the work.  But he wished
to have the architect's plans before speaking to the clergyman.  By
means of them he could explain his ideas far better than by mere words.

The next day the plans arrived by mail.  Nathan could hardly wait until
he reached home, so anxious was he to open the package and examine the
contents.  But when he saw the plans he was delighted.  The architect
had done the work quickly and well.  Everything was just as Nathan had
suggested, and he was most anxious to be off to show them to the
Parson.  But in this he was saved the trouble, for he was about through
with his dinner when he heard the rumble of wheels upon the road.
Looking out of the front window, he saw the clergyman jogging leisurely
homeward.  Hurrying to the door, he hailed him, and asked him to wait
for a few minutes.  The Parson looked surprised at Nathan's excited
manner, and glanced curiously at the papers he was holding in his hand.

"What's all this about?" he inquired.  "Is that a summons against me?
One never knows what to expect next these days."

"It is a summons, sir," Nathan laughingly replied, "but nothing to
cause you any worry.  It's merely a summons to obtain your consent to a
plan I have in my mind.  Look, perhaps this will explain my meaning."

"Why, it's a church!" the clergyman exclaimed, peering down upon the
drawings.  "And those look to me like plans.  What is this all about,
anyway?"

"Simply, that I wish to build a new church, and these are the plans I
have had drawn.  But I do not want to do anything without your consent.

"But a church like that will cost more than we can afford," Mr.
Westmore declared.  "There was only a little insurance, and that will
not go far."

"I know it will cost more than you can afford, sir, so that is why I
wish to build it."

"You wish to build the church!  But how can you do it without money?"

"I do not intend to try.  It will certainly take money, so I am willing
to go ahead if you will give your consent."

"Dear me! dear me! this is so sudden and startling, Mr. Stone.  You
have my consent, all right, but I am doubtful whether I should let you
do it.  Why should you spend so much money upon the church?"

"Because I have it to spend.  It was left to me, so I wish to use some
of it in a worthy cause."

The clergyman's eyes were misty as he fixed them intently upon Nathan's
face.  He was silent for a minute, lost in thought.

"I can hardly believe my senses," he murmured.  "A new church! a new
church!  And you will build it!  I must be surely dreaming.  Nothing
like this ever happened in this parish before."

"It is no dream, Mr. Westmore.  I mean everything I have said.  If you
are willing to wait for a few months you will see what I shall do."

The clergyman impetuously reached out and seized Nathan's hand in a
strong, firm grip.

"God bless you, sir," he said.  "My heart is too full to express my
thoughts.  This is all wonderful!"

"And it will be more wonderful when you see the church completed,"
Nathan replied.  "I am very anxious to get to work at once.  But you
must go over these plans with me, as you may have some suggestions to
make."

"Quite right, quite right, Mr. Stone.  But suppose you come home with
me now, and after dinner we can discuss the matter.  My wife will be
greatly pleased to see you."

"I have just finished my dinner," Nathan explained, "but I shall go
with you, nevertheless.  The sooner we get busy, the better it will be.
Please wait until I get my coat and hat."

As the horse jogged along the road the two men talked most earnestly
about the building of the church, and by the time the rectory was
reached, the clergyman was well informed as to the undertaking.

"This has turned out to be a wonderful day for me," he quietly
remarked, as he drew up the horse by the barn door.  "How delighted my
wife will be when she hears about your plans.  She has been much
worried over the loss of our church."

Mrs. Westmore was a bright, motherly-looking woman, who listened with
intense astonishment as her husband related to her the good news.
Tears of gratitude and joy came into her eyes as she stepped forward
and took Nathan's hand in hers.

"We can never thank you enough for what you are planning to do," she
said.  "It will mean a new lease of life to both of us.  I am sure the
Lord has guided you, and it teaches us another lesson of faith.  We
should never again doubt His goodness."

Nathan was invited to join the worthy couple at dinner.  But he asked
to be excused, and requested that he might spend the time in the study,
a glimpse of which he had caught though an open door on the right of
the hall.

"I am eager to look over your books," he told Mr. Westmore.  "I hope
you do not mind."

"Not at all, Mr. Stone.  I am afraid, though, that you will not find
much there to your liking.  Most of my books are old, but they are all
treasures to me, and friends of long years."

When once in the study, Nathan lost himself in examining the various
volumes all neatly arranged on their shelves.  There were commentaries,
Church Histories, and other works of a theological and devotional
nature.  These he passed by, and turned his attention to essays and a
few scientific books.  Coming at length to a set of "The World's Best
Classics," he chose at random one volume, settled himself in a big
comfortable chair, and began to turn over the pages.  In a few minutes
he was deeply engrossed in one of Huxley's lectures, and had just
finished when the Parson entered the room.  The clergyman smiled when
he saw what his guest was reading.

"A fine work, that," he remarked, sitting down by his side.  "I am glad
to know that you have discovered one of my treasures."

"A treasure it is, indeed," Nathan replied.  "I must get this set, as
it is a library in itself."

"Yes, and a choice selection from the masters, Mr. Stone.  I often turn
to them when wearied and depressed.  In reading their noble thoughts
and the mighty deeds of the past, I am always strengthened.  They
struggled, toiled and conquered, and have passed on to us an
inspiration which we greatly need.  I know that I need it, at any rate."

From books the conversation gradually turned to the building of the
church, and there in the quietness of that little room the two men
discussed every detail of the architect's plans.  When Nathan at length
rose to go, he glanced around the room, and motioned to a picture on
the wall above the Parson's writing-desk.

"I like that," he said.  "I had a small print of it when I was in the
Penitentiary, and it meant a great deal to me.  It was given to me by a
very beautiful young woman who once visited the place."

"Ah, yes, 'The Good Shepherd' is a favorite picture of mine," the
clergyman replied.  "When I see Him on that steep, rugged cliff
reaching down and risking His own life to rescue that sheep, I am
reminded that I must spare no efforts to do the same in my humble way.
I am afraid, though, that I come far short, as there are so many sheep
going astray in this very parish and I am not doing what I should to
save them.  But what impresses you most of all about that picture, Mr.
Stone?"

"It is the love of the Master," Nathan replied in a low, earnest voice.
"It was love alone which caused Him to come down to this world to save
mankind.  And it is only such love that can really uplift and save."

"I believe you are quite right, sir.  The world needs love more than
anything else to-day."

"More love and less law," Nathan fervently declared.  "I have seen and
experienced more than most men, and I believe that the majority of
criminals were once not hopelessly bad at heart.  If some of them had
been treated differently, given another chance, for instance, they
would have become good and reliable citizens.  But when once the prison
door closes upon them, they lose heart, knowing that they are criminals
in the eyes of the world, and that the blot can never be removed.  They
become hardened, and when they are at last free, they go from bad to
worse."

"But that was not the way with you, Mr. Stone," the clergyman reminded.

"Perhaps not, but it might have been.  You have no idea how near I came
to being a criminal in reality for the rest of my life.  I was an
innocent man, charged with an offense I never committed.  My heart was
full of anger and rebellion against the world for the way I had been
treated.  But, thank God, I was led to see things in a different light.
It was love alone which did it--love to my Great Master, and love for
one of his fairest and noblest beings.  More than that I cannot tell
you without exposing the deep secret of my heart."

"I am grateful to you for telling me this much," Mr. Westmore replied.
"I am thankful to know that you have escaped, and that love did it.
Yes, I believe we need more love in the world to-day.  You are
practicing it, at any rate, Mr. Stone, and I admire you for it."

Nathan made no reply, but turned toward the window and looked out
across the field sloping from the house down to the road.  As he did
so, he gave a start, for walking slowly up the driveway he saw Helen
Preston.  He did not wish to meet her just then, as he knew that he
would feel embarrassed, and no doubt she would, too.  The clergyman
also saw her, and his face brightened.

"Here comes Mrs. Preston now," he said.  "How delighted she will be
when she hears the good news.  You must meet her, Mr. Stone.  Her visit
is most timely."

"I would rather not meet her just now," Nathan emphatically declared.
"You can tell her what you like, but I do not wish to be present.  Let
me out by the back door, please."

The clergyman was about to remonstrate with Nathan, and urge him to
remain.  He looked keenly at him and, seeing the anxious expression
upon his face, he refrained.

"Do not think me ungrateful, sir," Nathan added, "but a jail-bird such
as I am often has peculiar views about meeting people.  You will do me
a great favor if you let me slip quietly away."

Feeling certain that his visitor had some special reason for his
request, the clergyman led him silently to the back door.  As Nathan
passed out, he seized him by the hand.

"I do not understand why you are afraid of a woman, Mr. Stone," he
said.  "It is none of my business, of course.  But some day I hope you
will meet Mrs. Preston, and when you do, you will meet one of the
noblest women God ever made."




CHAPTER 28

Face to Face

As Nathan made his way up across the fields after he had left the
Rectory, he meditated upon his conversation with the clergyman.  He
thought, too, of Helen, and knew that she would hear about the plans
for the new church.  He pictured to himself the expression of pleasure
upon her face and the delight of interest in her eyes as she listened
to the news.  He wondered, too, what had become of Ned, and how he was
enduring his agony of soul and mind.

Coming at length to the edge of the woods, he stepped upon an old
lumber road.  He believed that this led to the brook back in the hills,
and was the one that Helen was in the habit of using.  He decided to
follow it and spend the rest of the day at the very place where he had
met her and her two little ones.

Along the road he slowly moved, for he was in no hurry.  He wished to
have this quiet time alone, as to-morrow he would enter upon his new
work, and there would be then little opportunity for rest and
meditation.  The old way was conducive to serious thought.  In some
places great trees lifted their stately forms, and through their
branches the sun's rays sifted softly down upon the mossy ground.
Birds chirped and twittered on all sides, while active squirrels
scampered to and fro, at times scolding the intruder into their
rightful domain.  It was here that Helen had walked on that bright
afternoon, with her children dancing along by her side.  What a joy it
would be to have her with him now, and how many things they would have
to talk about.  It seemed almost sacred ground to him because she had
been there.  Perhaps she had been thinking of him on that day,
recalling sweet memories of the past.  He abandoned himself to the
pleasure of such thoughts, even though he was well aware that she was
the wife of another.  But that was as far as he would go, so he told
himself.  She was his in spirit, he felt certain, and that was some
consolation.

From the summit of the hill, which he at length reached, the road
dipped to the brook.  It was easier walking now and his steps
quickened.  The murmur of flowing water reached him as he advanced, and
in a few minutes he caught sight of the stream as it wound its way like
a silver thread through the forest.  He found the very spot where he
had met Helen, and here he sat down to rest.  It was good to be in such
a place, and idly he watched the brook before him.  The water was low,
in keeping with the dry season of the year.  But he knew that in a few
months, and perhaps sooner, that brook would be a raging torrent, full
from bank to bank.  It was just like his life, he mused; seasons of
peace and rest, and again times of fierce, overwhelming passions when
the heart was greatly stirred.  Such had been his experience.  Now it
was summer, with the terrible storms over, for a time, at least.

Gradually his mind turned to the years he had spent in the Penitentiary
with all the brightness of nature shut out.  And there were thousands
of people to-day leading the same life.  Some deserved their fate, he
well knew, and had to be punished for their offenses.  Such treatment
did not lessen evil, but increased it, and made people hard and
indifferent to suffering.  He thought of Ned Preston, and although the
man deserved severe punishment, what would have been accomplished had
he been sent to the Penitentiary?  No restitution would have been made
for the wrongs he had done.  It would have brought misery upon his
family, while he himself would have become more brutal and degraded.
He knew from men he had met just what such treatment meant.

He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of footsteps, and glancing
down the brook, he saw a man slowly approaching, carrying a fishing-rod
in his hand, although he was not fishing.  At once he recognized the
very man of whom he was thinking.  It was unusual for Ned to be in such
a place, and Nathan wondered what had brought him here to-day.  Fishing
was evidently not his object.  He was somewhat annoyed that the man he
least desired to see had come to disturb his quietness.  In fact, he
did not wish to meet him at all.  And yet he was not going away.  Would
Ned speak to him? and if so, what would he have to say?

And all the time Preston was drawing nearer, and when but a few yards
away he looked up and saw Nathan lying upon the bank.  He started, and
his haggard face flushed with anger when he beheld his enemy.  For a
few seconds the two stared silently at each other, one with the
calmness of a clear conscience and complete self-possession; the other,
restless and uneasy, his eyes ablaze with defiance.

"So this is how you spend your valuable time, eh?" Preston at last
queried.

"I couldn't spend it in a much better way, Ned," Nathan replied.  "It's
a very nice place here, and I am sorry that you have disturbed me."

"Don't lie to me," Preston roared, stepping quickly forward.  "You've
been spying upon me; that's what you've been doing."

"What makes you think so, Ned?  Do I look like a spy?  Or is it your
own guilty conscience that's troubling you?"

"Conscience! conscience!  How I hate that word.  Why, it's driving me
mad.  It's hell within me.  Why did the Lord ever devise such a
diabolical thing as conscience?"

Nathan was surprised at this confession, and he looked keenly into
Preston's eyes.  The angry light of defiance had disappeared, and in
its stead was an expression of unutterable anguish and despair.  He
could not help feeling sorry for this wretched man, and his heart
softened a little toward him.

"Perhaps the Lord is trying to make a better man of you, Ned," he
suggested, "and only through a troubled conscience can He succeed.
Have you thought of that?"

"I have thought of everything, but it is no use.  Ever since that day I
nearly shot you I have had no peace.  I've been like a fugitive fleeing
from justice.  Oh, it's terrible! terrible!"

"You brought it upon yourself, though," Nathan reminded.  "Think how I
suffered for long years in the Penitentiary."

"But you had a clear conscience, Nathan.  You were innocent.  But with
me--O Lord!"

Preston flung himself upon the ground and gazed moodily at the brook.
The sparkling water and the glory of the day had no charm for him.  To
a tortured soul nature appeals in vain.

"Ned."  Nathan spoke sharply, causing the unhappy man to turn and look
at him.  "My conscience was clear, no doubt, when I was in the
Penitentiary.  But do you think I was happy?  Far from it.  For a long
time the anger and rebellion that filled my heart drove out everything
else.  My one great desire was to be free that I might find the guilty
ones and wreak a terrible revenge.  I shudder now when I think of what
I might have done had I obtained my freedom then."

"What made the change?" Preston asked, his curiosity a little aroused.

"There were several things, Ned.  But the most important was the
teaching I had received in childhood from my parents.  When my soul was
in the blackest depths of despair, and I was cursing God and man alike,
I happened to open a copy of the Great Book I had with me in my cell.
I began to read in order to repudiate the sayings of the Master, and to
prove by the way I had been treated that His words were wrong.  But as
I read, my eyes were opened, and as His wonderful messages of promise
were unfolded to me, I saw things in a different light.  I read how He
was scorned and rejected by men, and that His sufferings were far worse
than mine.  That was the beginning of the change which came over me,
and it brought a great peace into my soul."

"Bah!" Preston retorted.  "That's all bosh.  I've heard all that before
from canting preachers, and don't believe a word of it.  Religion is
all nonsense."

"It's because you have never tried it, Ned.  But for the grace of God
in my heart, do you think I would be sitting here talking to you in
this quiet way?  Why, I would have killed you when I found out what you
had done to me, or I should have had you placed in the Penitentiary.
It's because your heart is bad, and you have done what is wrong that
you are so wretched now.  Don't blame religion for your own evil deeds."

"Why, you talk just like the Parson, Nathan.  You've missed your
calling.  You should be a preacher."

"I might do far worse, Ned.  But I am merely a carpenter, an ordinary
repairer, and expect to be so to the end of my life.  If I can do some
good that way, it is all I ask."

"And build a new church, so I hear.  That's going the limit."

"Yes, that's what I am planning to do.  But you should be the last
person to sneer at such a work as that."

"Why?"

"Because you destroyed the old church."

With a muttered oath Preston sprang to his feet, and faced his accuser.

"How dare you say such a thing as that?" he demanded.  "What right have
you to say that I destroyed the church?"

"Keep cool, Ned, and don't get so excited.  You know very well that you
did it.  You wished to be revenged upon the Lord, and set His House on
fire out of spite.  You can't deny it."

"B-but, how do you know all this?" Preston stammered.  His face was
very white now, and his body was shaking.

"Oh, never mind how I know!  But it is true, and when you expected to
gloat over the deed, you went nearly crazy when the cross fell to the
ground.  Isn't that so?"

"Good heavens! are you a man or a devil?" Preston exclaimed in
amazement, shrinking back as if from a blow.  "How did you find out all
about this?"

"It doesn't matter, Ned, how I found out.  But it is true,
nevertheless.  In your wild rage at your troubled conscience, you
turned your hand against the church, the symbol of the Lord's presence
in this parish.  You defied Him by destroying His House.  But the
outcome has been altogether different from what you expected.  That
charred, fallen cross filled your superstitious heart with a terrible
and nameless fear, and you grovelled before it like a man bereft of His
senses."

"And you knew of all this, yet didn't expose me!  My! what a chance for
revenge."

"What kind of revenge, Ned?"

"To have me arrested, of course.  It's a wonder you didn't do it.  Why?"

"You deserved it, no doubt.  But that would have been only brute
revenge.  There is a greater revenge than that, the revenge of
forgiveness.  As for punishment, you are getting all that you can stand
now, and from outward appearance, nothing could be more terrible."

Preston looked at Nathan, and slowly the meaning of it all dawned upon
his mind.  He placed his right hand to his forehead in an abstracted
manner.

"And is that why you spared me?" he gasped.

"Partly, Ned.  At first I did it because I wanted you to make all the
restitution you could for the wrongs you had committed, and for Helen's
sake."

"Ah!  I see.  I understand now.  You love her; that's it."

"I do, Ned, and you knew that I loved her when you took her from me.
You lied to her, and forged my name to a letter you sent her.  Oh, I
know all about it."

Nathan rose suddenly to his feet as the past swept strongly upon him.
He could easily control himself when speaking about other wrongs he had
suffered.  But when it came to Helen, it was difficult for him to
remain calm.  And this Preston noted.

"Helen never loved me," he muttered.

"But she's been a true wife to you, Ned, and a good mother to your
children.  You can't deny that."

"I don't.  But she never loved me."

"Did you ever give her any chance to do so?  Why, almost any other
woman would have left you long ago.  It's a wonder to me that Helen
didn't."

"She loves you, Nathan, more than she does me.  I know it, and that
makes me mad.  You're her style, I guess, fond of religion, going to
church, and such stuff.  Why, she'd rather spend the day at the Rectory
with old Parson Westmore and his wife than with me."

"And for a mighty good reason, Ned.  But, there, we've talked enough.
I have told you some plain things to-day, but it's no use.  I did hope
that you might see the error of your ways and change your course of
living.  But you are just the same as ever.  My fond hopes are doomed."

Nathan was becoming afraid of himself.  To have Preston so near, and to
see the pettiness and wretchedness of his soul was most disgusting.
The stuff of which true manhood is made did not seem to be in the
fellow.  It was strange that he had even a conscience to trouble him.
He was about to walk away, when he turned suddenly around.

"If you are a man, Ned, why don't you square yourself with the world?"

"In what way?"

"Make a full confession of what you did to me.  Am I to bear your guilt
for the rest of my life?  In justice to me why don't you do it, as well
as for your own honor?"

"Oh, I couldn't think of doing such a thing.  It would ruin me."

"Or in other words, Ned, you are a coward, and a most contemptible one,
at that."

Nathan stood for a minute looking keenly at the unhappy man's downcast
face.  Then, receiving no reply, he walked rapidly away down along the
bank of the brook.




CHAPTER 29

As a Man Soweth

The following days were busy ones for Nathan.  He plunged into his new
undertaking with great enthusiasm, and inspired with zeal all who
worked with him.  Peter Martin was the first to offer his assistance in
hauling lumber from the mill.  He did it freely, refusing to be placed
on the pay-roll.

"After the blessin's I've received, me conscience wouldn't give me any
peace if I took pay," he declared.  "An', besides, it's my Father's
House an' mine I'm helpin' to build, so why should I take money fer
doin' sich a thing?"

He had just arrived with another load, and had drawn up his team on the
church grounds as he uttered these words.  Nathan was standing by his
side, his notebook and pencil in his hands, ready to enter his name.
He smiled as he slipped them back again into his pocket.

"It is good of you, Mr. Martin, to consider this as a duty," he
replied.  "It will help a great deal."

"Not as a duty, Mr. Stone," Peter corrected.  "It's because I love to
do it.  D'ye think my wife an' me ever think of duty when we look after
our home an' care fer our little ones?  Not a bit of it.  It's love,
an' nuthin' else.  Ye never think of duty when yer heart's filled with
love."

Nathan looked at his neighbor's bronzed, rugged face, his honest gray
eyes, and a great respect for him came into his heart.  Notwithstanding
his simple humble life, Peter was truly a noble man, for he
comprehended that real service is love and not duty alone.

"I am glad that you look upon it in such a light as that, Mr. Martin,"
he said.  "It makes a wonderful difference when we work for love and
not mere duty."

"Indeed it does, sir.  An' I'm not the only one.  There's Fletcher, fer
instance.  He's goin' to begin haulin' to-morrow.  He's never fergotten
what ye did fer him, an' the cross ye made an' put upon the grave of
his little child.  An' there are others, too."

He ceased and looked over to where several men were clearing away the
rubbish for the foundation of the new church.

"Now, jist look there at Bill Tooke," he continued in a low voice.  "I
kin hardly believe me eyes.  If anybody had told me a week ago that
he'd be doin' an honest day's work, an' at the church, of all places, I
would have called him a fool.  But there he is, diggin' away fer all
he's worth.  An' he seems to enjoy it, too.  Wonders will never cease."

"Bill was the first man to apply for work," Nathan explained.  "So far,
he's been doing very well.  I hope he will last.  It may make a new man
of him."

"It will, it will, Mr. Stone," Peter declared, as he scrambled to the
ground, and began to unfasten the chain which bound his load.  "Why,
he's a different man already, an' it's due to you, sir, fer what you
done fer him."

The entire parish was intensely stirred by the building of the new
church, and the praise of Nathan was on the lips of all.  He heard
nothing, however, of what they were saying, but went on steadily with
his work, directing and supervising everything.  He made several trips
to the city to order window frames, doors, mouldings and other material
needed.  All this kept him very busy, and he was happier than he had
been for years.  As the building rose from the ground, took shape and
stood forth in graceful outlines among its setting of verdant trees,
his heart was filled with joy and gratitude.  His dream was at last
coming true.

Many were the visitors who came to view the work, for word of what was
being done had extended far beyond the parish.  All were enthusiastic
at what they beheld, and heartily congratulated Nathan.  But he needed
none of their praise, for the peace and satisfaction of his own heart
were reward enough.  He was working not for the approbation of men, but
for the glory of his Great Master.

But of all who came, the Parson was the most interested.  Not a day
passed that he was not there, and sometimes more often.  To him it
seemed almost too good to be true.  He would stand and watch the men as
they worked, and more than once his eyes grew misty as he gazed upon
the structure.

"What a day it will be in the parish when the Bishop comes to
consecrate the church," he one day remarked to Nathan.  "When do you
suppose it will be ready?  The hall where we are now holding service is
overcrowded every Sunday.  I am anxious to be once more in a building
set apart for worship."

"I hope the church will be ready early next summer," Nathan replied.
"We are working hard to get the outside finished before the cold
weather arrives.  We can work all winter at the interior, for I have
already ordered the stoves, so the building will be comfortable."

"I am rejoiced to hear this, Mr. Stone.  It will also please Mrs.
Preston, for she asks so often about it.  She takes a great interest in
the work, and I have to report to her every day.  It gives her much
joy, and, poor woman she needs it, as she has many burdens to bear
these days."

"Why, what's the matter now?" Nathan asked.

"It's her husband again.  He has been very strange of late, and
sometimes I fear he is mentally unbalanced.  He eats little, so I
understand, and is but a shadow of his former self.  I do not know the
cause of it all.  Perhaps he has overworked his brain with his business
affairs.  Anyway, he is a great trial to his wife.  And, by the way,
she has offered to give a new organ for the church, 'In memory,' so she
said."

"In memory of whom, Mr. Westmore?" Nathan inquired, much interested.
"Of her parents?"

"I do not know.  She merely said 'In memory of the past,' whatever she
means by that.  I have thought over these words, and they puzzle me.
If she had mentioned her parents in connection with the past, it would
be quite clear.  But she never said a word about them.  It must refer
to some incident in her past life.  Anyway, she offered no explanation,
and I did not care to question her."

Nathan's heart quickened as he listened to the clergyman's words.
Could it be possible that Helen wished to present the organ in memory
of those happy days when they were so much together?  Did she so
cherish their love?  It could mean nothing else, he felt certain.

He thought much about this during the days and weeks that followed.
Although he seldom saw Helen now, the idea that she was thinking of him
and his work was a great inspiration.  He mused over this during the
evenings as he sat with book in hand before his fire, for the late
September nights were cool.  The church was now completely enclosed,
shingled, the windows all in, and the stoves set up.  He could thus
rest with a contented mind, knowing that no matter how rough or severe
the weather, he could work upon the interior.

He was sitting thus quite late one stormy night, reading a book he had
purchased the last time he was in the city.  He had seen favorable
notice of it in a recent paper, and decided to obtain it at the first
opportunity.  It was David Grayson's "Adventures in Contentment," and
as he read, he lost himself in the pages, and unheeded the time as it
slipped by.  Here was a writer who appealed to his own soul.  He had
been confined like himself, although in a different kind of prison,
which the world calls "office," and when he was at last free he
revelled in his new adventures upon his farm.  From the opening
chapter, "The Valley of Vision," he read on to "The Marsh Ditch."  How
delightful this was, where the author relates about digging a ditch on
his farm by the sweat of his brow.  He revels in the sounds he hears,
the things he sees, and the invigorating odor of the fresh, upturned
earth.


"Often as I work," Grayson says, "I stop to see; really see: see
everything, or to listen; and it is the wonder of wonders how much
there is in this old world which we never dreamed of, how many
beautiful, curious, interesting sights and sounds there are which
ordinarily make no impression upon our overfed and pre-occupied minds."


Several times Nathan read these words, and then laid the book upon the
table by his side.  The rain beating against the window, and the kettle
humming upon the stove sounded like music to his ears.  It was good to
be in such a cosy place on such a night.  How Grayson must have enjoyed
his quiet farm.  He would like to meet the man who found such pleasure
in his common occupations.

The storm increased in fury as he sat there, and the windows rattled.
The house shook at times, although it was partly protected by trees.
In the midst of a more violent gust than ever, a heavy knock sounded
upon the kitchen door.  Wondering who could be calling on such a night,
Nathan hastily rose, opened the door and peered out into the blackness.
For a few seconds he could see nothing.  Then the dripping form of
Parson Westmore appeared before him, his face and beard wet with rain.
In one hand he was holding the reins, trying to restrain his restive
horse.

"Quiet, Jerry," he ordered, turning to the animal.  "What's the matter
with you, anyway?  It's the storm, Mr. Stone," he explained.  "And no
wonder, for this is a wild night."

"What brings you here, then?" Nathan asked.  "Is anything the matter?"

"Yes.  Mr. Preston is very ill, and keeps calling almost incessantly
for you.  He starts up in bed at every sound and asks if you are there.
Nothing else will satisfy him.  Will you go with me?  Mrs. Preston will
be most grateful if you will."

"Certainly I shall go, Mr. Westmore," Nathan assured.  "Just wait a
minute and I shall be with you."

On the way the clergyman explained how Preston had been found by a
neighbor lying by the side of a backland road, in a very weak
condition.  He had caught a severe cold and owing to his run-down
condition the doctor was afraid that he would not survive.

"He is in a very bad shape, now," Mr. Westmore continued, "and is quite
flighty.  Sometimes he doesn't even know his wife.  He raves a great
deal, and has peculiar notions about missing bonds, and he often
mentions your name.  The mind is a strange thing when deranged, isn't
it, Mr. Stone?"

"When was he found on the road?" Nathan asked, unheeding the question.

"Night before last.  Mrs. Preston sent for me, and I went at once for
the doctor.  A trained nurse is coming from the city in the morning.
Poor Mrs. Preston is almost worn out with anxiety and lack of sleep.
She must get some rest."

It did not take them long to reach the Preston house, and while the
clergyman drove home to stable his horse, Nathan entered by the front
door without knocking.  Helen, who had been awaiting his coming, met
him, and without a word she held out her hand.  As Nathan grasped it,
he noticed how white and strained was her face, although her eyes were
unusually bright.  She seemed so frail standing there, that he longed
to place his arms around her for support.  To him she resembled some
angelic being, so quiet and dignified was her manner, her dark hair
forming a striking contrast to her white face.

"I am glad you are here, Nathan," she told him.  "It is good of you to
come on such a night as this."

"I am thankful that I am needed, Helen.  Ned is very bad, so the Parson
said."

"I believe so.  But, lay aside your coat and come upstairs.  You can
hear him calling for you.  He may not know you, but it is comforting to
have you here."

Nathan detected the note of relief in her voice, and it thrilled him.
It meant much to be by the side of Helen when she needed him.

In another minute they were at the bedroom door, and as Nathan looked
in he was startled by the appearance of the man lying upon the bed.  He
could hardly believe that it was Ned Preston, his unshaven face and
wild eyes giving him a ferocious expression.  He was beating the air
with his hands, as if trying to ward off some imaginary enemy.  His
head kept moving incessantly upon the pillow, and the perspiration
stood out in beads upon his forehead.

"Nathan, Nathan, where are the bonds?" he asked "I can't find them.
Yes, there they are.  Look, over there in that box.  Ah, I've got
them!" he cried as his hands clutched the air.  He emitted an insane
chuckle which was hard for the watchers to endure.

"I can't stand this!" Helen moaned.  "It is terrible!"

"Suppose you go downstairs, and leave me with Ned," Nathan suggested.

"No, no, I must remain here.  It is my duty.  Look!"

Nathan turned quickly and saw that Preston had lifted his head and
shoulders from the pillow, and was staring straight before him.

"You'll never get me!" he cried.  "I'll die first!  I won't go, I tell
you!  Take your hands off me.  Oh!  Oh!"

Quickly Nathan stepped to his side, and as gently as possible forced
him back upon the pillow.  He then placed his hand upon the unhappy
man's forehead.

"There, there, Ned, nobody is going to take you," he soothed.  "We
won't let anyone harm you."

The words and the cool touch calmed Preston for a few minutes.  He
remained still as if trying to comprehend something.

"Where is Nathan?" he asked.  "I want Nathan.  He won't let them take
me.  Nathan!  Nathan!" he shrieked.  "Save me!  Save me!  Don't let
them get me!"

With a stifled moan, Helen left the room, and Nathan was alone with the
demented man.  He spoke to Preston, telling him that he was near, and
that no one would get him.  This, however, made no difference, so
Nathan sat down by the bed while Ned continued his ravings.  He was
living over again his past life of infamy, and with all pretenses
removed, he was exposing to the very one he had deeply wronged the
terrors which had been haunting him.  There was hardly anything that he
did not mention, from the stolen bonds to the burning of the church,
and Nathan was thankful that Helen was not present to hear all that he
said.  Twice she came into the room, but as there was nothing she could
do, she obeyed Nathan's request that she should let him keep watch.

"You lie down and get some rest," he advised.  "One is enough here, and
I will call you if necessary."

"But I cannot sleep, Nathan.  It is impossible with Ned raving like
this."

"Lie down, anyway.  You may be able to get a little rest."

Nathan spoke quietly, but his heart was beating fast.  How strange it
seemed that he should be so near Helen, in her own house, telling her
what to do.  That she was depending upon him now, gave him considerable
satisfaction.  Oh, if he could be always with her, to help and protect
her!  He thought of all this after she had left the room.  What a
dismal failure had been her life, and it was all due to the man lying
upon the bed.  What trouble Ned had caused both of them.  Little did he
ever imagine during those terrible prison days of impotent rage and
despair, that the one responsible for his imprisonment would be so near
and in such a helpless condition.  But as Ned had sown, so was he now
reaping.  The wheel had turned completely around, and punishment in a
most terrible form had come at last.  He often shuddered as he listened
to the ravings of the wretched man.  Far better a life-time
imprisonment with a clear conscience than such tortures as Ned was
undergoing.

About midnight he went downstairs for a brief respite.  He glanced into
the sitting-room where a light was dimly burning.  And there he saw
Helen lying upon a sofa, fast asleep.  Only for a few seconds was he
constrained to watch her.  How beautiful she looked to him, and the
impression lingered in his mind as he returned slowly upstairs.  He
stopped at the landing to look at several pictures upon the walls.
One, especially, attracted his attention.  It was Watts's "Hope," of
which Nathan was very fond.  As he looked at the blindfolded woman
seated upon the world, with her head bent low to catch the faint sound
from the one unbroken string of the lyre she was grasping in her left
hand, he wondered if Helen had hung the picture there.  He imagined her
standing before it.  Had it inspired her in times of darkness and
distress?  Did she find in it the story of her own life?

For some time he remained there, his mind busy with many thoughts.  He
then went back into the bedroom, and took up again his solitary watch
by the side of the restless man.




CHAPTER 30

The Completed Revenge

When the nurse arrived from the city, Nathan went home, knowing that he
was no longer needed that day.  He was tired, but he thought little
about that, for Helen's thanks thrilled his entire being.  She had
accompanied him to the door and told him how grateful she was for his
kindness.  He had tried to say something in reply, to speak words of
encouragement.  But he felt that he had miserably failed, although he
believed that Helen understood his meaning by the look in her eyes.

Several times during the week he went to inquire after Ned, and learned
that he was slowly improving.  When at last Preston came to himself,
and one day heard Nathan's voice downstairs, he asked to see him.  As
the visitor entered the room, the invalid tried to rise from the bed.

"What are you doing in my house?" he demanded in an angry voice.

"I have come to find out how you are getting along, of course," Nathan
replied.

"Then, you can save yourself the trouble after this.  How dare you come
here?  Get out of my house at once."

Knowing that further talk would be useless, Nathan left the excited man
and went downstairs.  There he met Helen, her face very white.

"Oh, don't mind Ned," she whispered.  "He does not fully realise what
he has said.  He has insulted you, and I am so sorry."

"Do not let this worry you, Helen," Nathan replied.  "I understand."

"But you will come back, Nathan?"

"I will if you want me."

"Certainly I want you."  Helen's voice was low, and her eyes were
misty.  She held out her hand.  "Good-by now.  I must go back to Ned."

During the following days Nathan kept steadily at his work upon the
church.  But his thoughts turned often to the house down the road.  He
learned from Mr. Westmore that Ned was improving, and as soon as he was
able to be around the family would return to the city.  This was
disturbing news to him, for then Helen would be much farther away.  He
saw her again at service in the hall.  He met her as she was leaving
the building.

"We are going away this week," she informed him.  "Ned is much better,
and is anxious to leave the country."

"Is he as restless as ever?" Nathan asked.

"He is just the same; seldom talks, and takes very little interest in
anything.  Sometimes I fear that his mind is affected.  You will come
to see us in the city, will you not, Nathan?"

"I am not sure about that, Helen.  It would only make Ned angry, so,
perhaps, I had better stay away."

Nathan never forgot the startled look that Helen gave him, and her
faltering "good-by."  He thought of them as he walked slowly homeward.
He needed no words to tell of the agony of her soul, and what it meant
for her to return to the city with her husband in such a condition.
She was made for brightness and joy.  But instead, her whole married
life had been a lonely struggle, a constant misery and gloom.  The idea
that she needed him, and that he could do so little for her, was hard
to endure.  At times there swept upon him the great temptation which
had come to him before.  Why not speak to her, tell of his love, and
urge her to flee with him to some distant country?  He crushed back
this longing, as he had done in the past, and chided himself for even
thinking about such a thing.  Helen would never consent, he felt
certain, and, besides, it would not be right.  She was another man's
wife, and so long as she was bound to Ned, she must remain by his side.
He would wait, and let events shape themselves.  All things would come
out right at last, so he believed, if he could only be patient.

The weeks slipped rapidly by, and so engrossed was Nathan in his work
that Christmas season was upon him almost before he was aware of it.
He had made several business trips to the city, but had not seen Helen.
He longed to go to her, to hear her voice, to look upon her face, to
find out how she was getting along.  But he did not go, knowing that
Ned would be away from home.  That would be too much like a sneak and a
coward.

The day before Christmas was cold.  For some time he had been turning
over in his mind what he might do in the way of Christmas cheer for
some of the children in the parish.  At last his mind was made up, so
visiting the store, he gave orders for nuts, candy, and such toys as
the store contained.  These were to be sent to a number of little ones,
including the Watters and the Martin children.  His gifts to the Tooke
family were larger, consisting principally of a liberal supply of
provisions.  Bill was now deserving of such help.  He had worked
faithfully and well at the church, and never once had he shown the
least desire to return to his former manner of living.

Christmas Eve shut down cold and dismal.  A wind from the north east
raced over the land, and the telephone wires along the road hummed
their weird prelude of an approaching storm.  Nathan placed a couple of
hardwood sticks in his heater and settled himself back in his easy
chair for a pleasant evening's reading.  That day the Parson had
presented him with a set of "The World's Best Classics," and he was
eager to sample the contents.  He chose one of the volumes and began to
read.  He turned on purpose to Dickens' "Christmas Carol," and read it
through.  He then laid the book aside, as memories of the past swept
upon him.  He was a child again in his old home, with his parents,
brothers and one sister there.  He recalled the happy faces and the joy
that prevailed.  Now they were all gone and he alone was left, and a
jail-bird, at that.  He stirred, as a violent guest of wind shook the
house and rattled the windows.  It was pleasant to be in his
comfortable room on such a wild night, even though alone.  If only he
had Helen by his side, his happiness would be complete.  He wondered
what she was doing this night.  Perhaps she was preparing the Christmas
presents for her little ones.  How he would like to be there to help,
or, at least, to watch the animated expression upon her face.  But what
was Ned doing?  Most likely he was away carousing with some of his boon
companions.  The thought brought an angry gleam into Nathan's eyes and
caused him to clench his hands firmly together.

"The brute!" he muttered.  "Perhaps I have made a mistake in dealing
with Ned.  The Penitentiary is the best place for him.  And, yet----"

He ceased abruptly as Preston's words and actions since the burning of
the church came to his mind.  The man puzzled him.  He sighed and
reached out for the book he had laid upon the table, when a loud rap
sounded upon the door.  Wondering who could be visiting him on such a
night, he rose to his feet, threw open the door and looked out.  And
there he saw Peter Martin, holding something in his hand.

"Come in, Mr. Martin," he invited.  "I am glad to see you."

"I can't stay, sir," Peter replied.  "This is Christmas Eve, so I must
git home at once.  I've jist come from the store, an' was asked to give
ye this phone message.  It's from the city.  Good-night, sir, an' a
happy Christmas."

Before Nathan could thank him, Peter was gone.  Closing the door,
Nathan tore open the envelope.  Whom could it be from? he asked
himself, as he drew forth the paper, and unfolded it.


"Ned died suddenly in his office to-day.  Come quick.  I want you.

"Helen."


That was all, and for a few seconds Nathan stood staring at the
message.  He then dropped into his chair, trembling violently.  "Ned
died suddenly in his office to-day.  Come quick.  I want you."  The
words pounded through his brain.  So Helen had turned to him!  He must
go to her at once.  But how could he get there?  He rose from his
chair, opened the door once more and stepped out.  The blackness lifted
up itself against him like a wall and he could feel the snow upon his
face.  But it mattered little to him what the night was like.  Helen
had sent for him, and that was sufficient.  There was no one to whom he
could now turn for assistance.  Peter Martin had two horses, but they
were so slow that it would take them a long time to reach the railway
station ten miles away.  And, besides, he did not wish to ask his
worthy neighbor to leave home on Christmas Eve.  He, accordingly,
decided to walk, feeling certain that he could do it in time to catch
the midnight express.

Going back into the house, he was not long in preparing himself for the
journey.  With a glance at the stove, to see that all was safe, he
seized his lighted lantern and started forth.  The wind swept upon him
as he reached the highway, but as it was in his back, it proved an
assistance instead of a hindrance.  The snow, thicker now, swirled
about his body and flung itself across the road.  But the light of the
lantern guided his steps and rapidly he sped onward.  A sense of
exhilaration possessed him.  He was on his way to Helen.  She needed
him and had sent for him.  Passing the Preston house, he glanced in its
direction, but all was in darkness there.  Never again would Ned visit
the place which his ill-gotten money had purchased.  He had lived a
fast, reckless life, and was considered a keen business man.  The world
knew nothing about his past deed of infamy, and no doubt the papers
would now laud him to the skies.  He had escaped earthly punishment,
but not the stern avenger within him.  And the end had come in an
instant while in his office, and he had made not the slightest effort
to clear the name of the man he had so grievously injured.  Now it was
too late, for Nathan was determined that no word of his should ever
reveal the deed.  He would let it rest and bear the disgrace to the
grave.  Helen knew, and so did Mr. Black, the lawyer.  But neither
would divulge the secret without his consent, he felt sure.

Such was the burden of his thoughts as he plodded steadily forward.
The storm increased in fury, and the travelling became more difficult.
At times he was protected by stretches of woods, and here he obtained a
much needed respite from the fierceness of the wind.  But when he again
passed into the bleak open country, he found it difficult to keep his
lantern from being blown out.  Often he was compelled to shelter it as
much as possible beneath his coat.  With the light thus dimmed, or
hidden altogether, he found it almost impossible to follow the road,
and several times he floundered off into the ditch.  The snow was
becoming deeper all the time, which made the travelling harder.

At length Nathan became very weary and longed to sit down by the side
of the road to rest.  But the thought of Helen awaiting his coming
urged him forward.  Lights from various houses along the way twinkled
dimly through the storm.  He knew that parents were busy preparing for
Christmas morning, loading trees or filling little stockings.  The
storm did not affect them in their cosy homes, and they knew nothing of
the lonely wayfarer plodding so wearily along the road.  But Nathan
thought of them, and visions rose before his mind of those scenes of
quiet contentment.

The snow was steadily increasing in depth, and the wind seemed more
intense in its fury.  Step by step he struggled bravely onward.  An
hour passed, then two, and still he was several miles from the station.
Then another hour, and midnight was drawing near.  He must catch that
train.  Helen must not be disappointed.  Often he stumbled now, and
several times the lantern almost dropped from his benumbed hand.  This
always sent a fear through his heart, and for a few minutes aroused him
to renewed energy.  This, however, soon passed, and he staggered on as
before.  Midnight came and still he battled with the fury surrounding
him.  He gave up all hope of reaching the station in time.  He had only
another half mile to go, but it seemed a great distance to him now.  He
shuffled his feet mechanically through the snow.  He peered keenly
ahead, and ere long saw the station light.  This gave him new courage,
for there he would find warmth and shelter, at any rate.  But even as
he looked, the shrill shriek of an engine sounded through the storm.
It was the express, he well knew, and excitedly he dashed forward, and
leaped upon the platform just as the blazing headlight of the belated
train came into view around a bend in the track.  In another minute the
hissing snow-bedecked engine thundered past, and drew up its long train
of cars in front of the station.  Nathan scrambled on board with a
number of other men, made his way into the smoking-room, and sank down
exhausted upon one of the seats.  Never was rest so sweet to any man
nor the warmth more pleasant.  And there he stayed, huddled in a corner
seat rousing up only to pay his fare when the conductor made his
appearance.

By the time the train reached the city Nathan was a little rested.
Notwithstanding the storm and the lateness of the train there were
coaches at the station, so, boarding one, he was driven to his
destination.  When he reached the Preston house, he stepped out, paid
the coachman and walked up the steps.  His hand was raised to ring the
bell, but ere he could press the button, the door opened and Helen
stood before him.

"I knew you would come," she quietly said, as she closed the door and
held out her hand.  "It is good of you, and on such a night!  But, oh!
how tired you look," she added, observing Nathan's weary face.  "Let me
help you off with your coat."

But Nathan held her hand in his and looked longingly into her eyes.  He
wanted to speak, to express his sympathy, but words would not come.  He
knew that she was very tired, and her noble courage touched him.
Slowly he released her hand, removed his hat and coat and followed her
into a cosy room, where a fire was burning brightly in the grate.  Then
side by side before the glowing coals Helen told him the brief story of
her husband's death.

"The shock was terrible," she said.  "Ned had spent the day at his
office, and did not come home to dinner.  During the evening, while I
was reading here to the children, the news came.  The janitor making
his rounds, found Ned dead at his desk.  It was heart trouble, so the
doctor decided."

"I am glad you sent for me, Helen," Nathan replied.  "But I am afraid
there is little that I can do."

"There is a great deal, Nathan.  It is something very important, and
that is why I sent for you.  It is in connection with a letter Ned
wrote and sent to the newspaper for publication.  The editor found it
in his mail yesterday afternoon, but owing to Ned's death, he did not
wish to publish it without my consent.  He left the letter with me, and
that is why I sent for you.  Here it is."

From a nearby table she lifted a folded paper which she handed to
Nathan.  The latter took it, and as he began to read his eyes opened
wide in amazement.  It was Ned Preston's complete confession of his
theft of the bonds!  He had evidently written and mailed it during the
morning of the day of his death.  Nathan could hardly believe his
senses.  Carefully he read every word, and some things which hitherto
had been a mystery were now explained.  So Ned had at last really
confessed his crime!  What a sensation it would have made.  But it was
not too late yet.  A great longing came into Nathan's heart to see that
confession in print and to have his own name vindicated.  It was only
just that such a thing should be done.  After long years of suffering
it was but right that the world should know that he was an innocent
man.  His heart beat fast as he thought of all it would mean, and his
hand holding the paper trembled.  Helen, watching, surmised the
struggle, but remained silent.

Presently Nathan rose to his feet and paced rapidly up and down the
room.  What should he do?  What a revenge it would be to allow that
confession to be published.  The animal nature within him demanded it.
Then suddenly, as if a voice spoke, there came into his mind the
greater revenge upon which he had determined.  He stopped short and
glanced at the woman gazing thoughtfully into the fire.  And for her
sake, too, he had resolved to be a man far removed from the mere brute
creation.  For years she had inspired him, and he had tried to be true.
He must not fail now in the time of temptation.  Swiftly he stepped
toward her and held out the paper.

"Helen, do you want this published?" he asked.

"Only that your name might be cleared," was the low reply.  "It should
be published in justice to you.  Do as you like about it."

At once Nathan turned to the fire-place, slowly tore the paper to bits,
and threw the pieces into the glowing coals.  The storm raged outside,
and the ashes of the burnt paper whirled up the chimney.  But in
Nathan's heart there was a peace, the peace of victory after battle,
the triumph of the spirit over the beast.  The Master Revenge was now
complete.




[End of _The Master Revenge_ by H. A. Cody]
