slowly rose and
looked down at the planks he had been sitting on, seemingly seeing them
for the first time. Then he continued the survey, letting his eyes,
already bloodshot with excitement and misery, scan the narrow place.

"So," he said finally, in a low, hoarse whisper, smiling up into the
officer's face with an expression that almost started the tears even to
those hardened orbs, "So, you're going to bury us both--Bill and me. Him
in a grave and me in a tomb--Bill and me. I never thought 'twould be
like that--Bill and me. Buried together--Bill and me." He continued to
mutter the words over and over, and when the keeper left the building he
shook his head sadly.

"Poor Nate! It's touchin' him in the brain, I reckon. Hope he won't lose
his reasons afore the trial comes on, though. He'll need 'em then if he
ever does. Blarst his foolishness! What did he mix in for, anyhow?"

CHAPTER XX.

SORROW.

Joyce had just returned from a half day in the city with Camille, whom
she had been treating to some first-class music, and was just crossing
the lawns to her own door, when she saw George Dalton come swiftly
across the road from the park. She turned towards the walk to greet him,
but her happy face fell as she saw the perturbed expression upon his.

"What is it?" she asked, looking down upon him from the ascending walk,
which led somewhat steeply up to her veranda steps. "There is some
trouble?"

"Yes." He gained her vicinity with a long stride, and said gently, "It's
trouble beyond even your helping, this time. Lucy Hapgood's father is
dead."

"Dead? Why, has he been ill? I didn't know. Why wasn't I told sooner?"

"No, not ill. He was killed--struck down in anger by Nate Tierney."

"By Nate? Good Nate, who has been so kind; who was such a friend? I
can't believe it!"

"Nor I, hardly. Only poor Bill is dead with a broken skull, and Nate in
the lock-up. The man--Hapgood, of course--came home drunk, and began
abusing Lucy. Nate saw her running from him and snatched the billet of
wood that her father was chasing her with. Then they fought, and Bill
was finished. It happened not two hours ago."

You will perceive that Dalton told the story as he had heard it, not
just as it happened. But his version was the one generally accepted at
that time. Joyce clasped her hands together with a passionate movement.

"Dreadful! Dreadful! Poor Lucy; poor Nate!"

"You don't say poor Bill, Miss Lavillotte."

"No, it