ndow. And I hit him. I wish--I wish I'd----"

"If there's anything worse than a hardened criminal," snorted McPherson,
"it's a silly, sentimental one. You say you want to go in and see him?
Go ahead then. You don't have to ask _my_ leave. It's your own house,
isn't it?"

"No," answered Frederik, "it isn't."

"Huh? Oh, I remember now. You said last night you were going to give it
to Kathrien. Don't worry. A promise like that isn't binding in law. And
you'll repent of it almost as soon as you'll stop repenting for Willem."

"Perhaps so," agreed Frederik. "But it will be too late then. Here," he
went on, pulling a long envelope from his pocket, "take charge of this,
will you, and give it to Kathrien for her signature in case I don't see
her?"

"What is it?" asked McPherson, mechanically taking the envelope as
Frederik thrust it into his hand.

"Before I went to the hotel for a room last night," answered the other,
"I called on Colonel Lawton and got him to draw it up. All it lacks is
her signature."

"What----?"

"It is a deed for the house and the twelve-acre 'home plot' it stands
on. That includes the two cottages over on McIntyre Street. They're both
rented and in good condition. They'll bring her in nearly eight hundred
a year. It's less than my uncle would have left her if he'd known----"

"He knew," interrupted McPherson decisively. "And that's why you did it.
As you said last night, 'somebody has been doing your thinking for
you.'"

"I'm glad for your own peace of mind that you aren't forced to give _me_
credit for it," said Frederik in lifeless irony. "I'll go in now, if I
may. I shall not stay long. And then for New York. It's the best place I
know of for hastening one's journey through and out of the 'man-built
hell' you spoke about. Oh, and I gave Lawton directions about Anne
Marie, too. She can come home now if she wants to without being
dependent upon any one for her support. You're quite right, Doctor.
Somebody _has_ been doing my thinking. I'm glad it stopped before I went
broke."

With something of his old jaunty air he mounted the steps and went into
the house. McPherson stared after him with a glower that somehow would
not remain ferocious. Then he got up, stretched his great shaggy bulk,
yawned, and started homeward for breakfast.

On the way he met Mr. Batholommey, hastily awakened and hurrying to the
house of mourning.

"Doctor!" exclaimed the clergyman in agitation. "This is very
dis