nds against the wall behind
her to steady herself. In the half-light she seemed crowding away from
some terror that confronted her.

"I don't believe it. They won't do anything to him right away; it
wouldn't be fair. They don't know what paw done. I"--

Her voice broke. She looked about piteously, biting her lip and trying
to remember what she had said.

Ulysses was not a critical listener. He had enjoyed his little
sensation, and was ready for another. From the talk downstairs he knew
that Sterling had acknowledged the killing to the men at the camp. His
excitement made him indifferent as to the source of Melissa's
information.

"I'm go'n' to the hangin'," he said, doggedly boastful.

Melissa looked at him vacantly.

"How'd they find out who done it?" she asked, dropping her hands and
turning toward the window.

"He told it hisself,--blabbed it right out to the men at the camp; then
he went on down to Loss Anglus, big as life, an' blowed about it there.
He's cheeky."

Melissa turned on him with a flash of contempt.

"You said they ketched him."

The boy felt his importance as the bearer of sensational tidings ebbing
away.

"I don't care," he replied sullenly. "They'll hang 'im, anyway: the
cor'ner said so."

He clutched his throat with his thumbs and forefingers, thrusting out
his tongue and rolling his eyes in blood-curdling pantomime.

His companion turned away drearily. The boy's first words had called up
a vaguely outlined picture of flight, pursuit, and capture, possibly
violence. This faded away, leaving her brain numb under its burden of
uncertainty and deceit. She had an aching consciousness of her own
ignorance. Others knew what might happen to him, but she must not even
ask. She shrank in terror from what her curiosity might betray. She must
stand idly by and wait. Perhaps Lysander would know; if she could ask
any one, she could ask Lysander. There had sprung up in her mind a
shadowy, half-formed doubt concerning the wisdom of her silence. He had
told it himself, Ulysses had said; and this had chilled the little glow
at her heart that came from a sense of their common secret. If she could
only see him and ask what he would have her do; but that was
impossible. Perhaps, if he knew she had seen it, he might say she must
tell, even if--even if-- She gave a little moan, and leaned her forehead
against the sash. Below she could hear the subdued voices of the men,
and the creaking of the kitchen f