tials branded on its handle. His last words to
Eve had been a threat to kill her husband.

And Elia had done this hideous thing. A weak, sickly boy. It was
terrible, and he shuddered. What hatred he must have had for the dead
man. He found himself almost sympathizing with the lad's feelings.
Yes, Will had certainly brought this thing upon himself. He--deserved
his fate. Yet Elia--the thought revolted him.

But suddenly a fresh significance came to him. He had missed it
before. What would this mean to Eve? Elia's guilt. What would Will's
death mean to her? But now his thoughts ran faster. Elia's guilt? Eve
would never believe it. Besides, if she did it would break her heart.
The boy was something like a passion to her. He was almost as though
he were part of herself. She loved him as though he were flesh of her
own flesh.

No, even if it were possible to convince her, she must never be told.
His crime must be covered up someway. But how?

The man stood lost in thought for nearly half an hour. They were the
thoughts of a man who at last sees the end of all things earthly
looming heavily upon his horizon. There was no cowardly shrinking,
there was very little regret. What he must do he felt was being forced
upon him by an invincible fate, but the sting of it was far less
poignant than would have been the case a few months ago. In fact the
sting was hardly there at all.

At all costs Eve must be protected. She must never know the truth. It
was bad enough that her husband was dead. He wondered vaguely how far
her love had survived the man's outrages. Yes, she loved him still. He
could never forget her the night he had volunteered to carry the
warning to Will. Strange, he thought, how a woman will cling to the
man who has once possessed her love.

Ah, well, he had never known the possession of such a priceless jewel
as a good woman's love. And now he was never likely to have the
chance, he admitted with a simple regret. It seemed pretty hard. And
yet--he almost smiled--it would be all the same after a few painful
moments.

And only a brief hour ago he had been yearning to fight, with his back
to the wall, against the suspicion and feeling against him in the
village. He smiled with a shadow of bitterness and shook his head.
Useless--quite useless. The one-way trail was well marked for him, and
he had traveled it as best he knew how. As Peter said, there were no
side paths. Just a narrow road, and the obstructions and