d reason."

"Then it is as I thought. Your offer of ten thousand dollars reward
has incited the crime of attempting to convict an innocent man. Again
I ask you, how did you come by this astounding information?"

"By the word of an eyewitness. Sit still, Mr. Ballard, until you hear
the whole; then blame me if you can. A few years ago you had a Swede
working for you in your garden. You boarded him. He slept in a little
room over your summer kitchen; do you remember?"

"Yes."

"He saw Richard Kildene come to the house when we were all away--while
you were with me--your wife with mine,--and your little daughter
alone. This Swede heard all that was said, and saw all that was done.
His testimony alone will--"

"Convict a man? It is greed! What is your detective working for and
why does this Swede come forward at this late day with his testimony?
Greed! Elder Craigmile, how do you know that this testimony is not all
made up between them? I will go home and ask Betty, and learn the
truth."

"And why does the young man come here under an assumed name, and when
he is discovered, claim to be my son? The only claim he could make
that could save him! If he knows anything, he knows that if he
pretends he is my son--laboring under the belief that he has killed
Richard Kildene--when he knows Richard's death can be disproved by
your daughter's statement that she saw and talked with Richard--he
knows that he may be released from the charge of murder and may
establish himself here as the man whom he himself threw over the
bluff, and who, therefore, can never return to give him the lie. I
say--if this is proved on him, he shall suffer the extreme penalty of
the law, or there is no justice in the land."

Bertrand rose, sadly shaken. "This is a very terrible accusation, my
friend. Let us hope it may not be proved true. I will go home and ask
Betty. You will take her testimony before that of the Swede?"

"If you are my friend, why are you willing my son should be proven a
murderer? It is a deep-laid scheme, and Richard Kildene walks close in
his father's steps. I have always seen his father in him. I tried to
save him for my sister's sake. I brought him up in the nurture and
admonition of the Lord, and did for him all that fathers do for their
sons, and now I have the fool's reward--the reward of the man who
warmed the viper in his bosom. He, to come here and sit in my son's
place--to eat bread at my table--at my wife's right hand--