That would be to play the double traitor. She had saved him
(she believed) from himself; with utterly wrong-headed loyalty she had
devoted her life to this. The other debt was irredeemable, but this at
any rate could be paid.

He evaded her question. "My dear," he said, "what was done has been
atoned for by her, and is being atoned for by--by us. Let us think of
her without bitterness."

Miss Bracy shook her head "I am a poor sort of Christian," she
confessed; "and if she has taught this boy to hate us--"

"Mr. Victor Bracy," announced Deborah from the garden-porch behind them,
and a tall youth in black stepped past her and came across the turf with
a shy smile.

The pair turned with an odd sense of confusion, almost of dismay.
They were prepared for the "Victor," but somehow they had not thought of
him as bearing their own surname. Mr. Frank had felt the shock once
before, in addressing an envelope; but to Miss Bracy it was quite new.

Yet she was the first to recover herself, and, while holding out her
hand, took quick note that the boy had Frank's stature and eyes, carried
his clothes well, and himself, if shyly, without clumsiness. She could
find no fault with his manner of shaking hands; and when he turned to
his father, the boy's greeting was the less embarrassed of the two.
Mr. Frank indeed had suddenly become conscious of his light suit and
bird's-eye neckcloth.

"But how did you come?" asked Miss Bracy. "We sent a cart to meet you--
I heard no sound of wheels."

"Yes, I saw it outside the station; but the man didn't recognise me--
quite a small crowd came by the train--and of course I didn't recognise
him. So I bribed a porter to put my luggage on a barrow and come along
with me. Half-way up the hill the cart overtook us--the driver full of
apologies. While they transhipped my things I walked on ahead--yes,
listen, there it comes; and--Oh, I say, what a lovely spot!"

Miss Bracy was listening--not for the wheels and not to the story, but
critically to every word as it came from his lips. "The woman has
certainly done wonders," was her unspoken comment. At Victor's frank
outburst, however, she flushed with something like real pleasure. She
was proud of her cottage and garden, and had even a sort of proprietary
feeling about the view.

They sat down around the little tea-table; the boy first apologising for
his travel-stains (he was, in fact, as neat as a pin) and afterwards
chatting gai