he broken gate, whose openings and closings had worn a deep rut in the
ground. He was about to untie his horse when the figure of a man
appeared walking clumsily along the orchard fence.

"Wait there," the fellow called. "I want to see you!"

The heavy frame of Tom Hewlet came on, and no other word was spoken
until he stopped three feet away. Swaying slightly, and looking into
Brent's face with a simpering leer, in an undertone he said:

"Come over some evenin' next week."

"What for?"

"I might say it's 'cause you're so purty to look at," he guffawed at
this bit of humor. "But, fact is, it's on fam'ly matters."

"You're coming apart, Tom. Go in and get some sleep!"

"I was sleepin', till a empty whiskey bottle come sailin' through the
air an' hit me on my hand."

A cold shiver crawled up the engineer's spine, but he turned to unhitch
the horse, saying casually:

"You'll have blue mice sailing through the air if you don't sober up."

"Don't be in a hurry," hiccoughed Tom. "Don't leave yoh would-be
step-pappy without some kind of reminder. A fiver 'd go mighty fine
jest now, an' you wouldn't never miss it!"

Brent had wheeled on him.

"You're getting in mighty dangerous ground, Tom," he warned sharply.

"'Tain't half as dangerous as that orchard back there, if you didn't
come into it honest!--an' if you did come honest, there ain't no reason
why I can't borry a fiver--bein' a fam'ly matter, as you might say!"

"I came honest, and I'm leaving honest, you drunken fool," Brent raved
at him. "And don't try any blackmail dodges on me or I'll beat your head
off!"

"Blackmail!" Tom stepped back, not so much in surprise at the word as at
Brent's threatening attitude. "Well, I'll leave it to the Cunnel, an'
Miss Jane, an' them folks over there, if this ain't a fair an' squar
proposition--all in the fam'ly, as you might say;--bein' as you come
honest! For if fine gentlemen like you don't come honest, they'll say
Gawd pity the gal!"

They'll say: God pity the girl! It smote his soul like a whip. Why
should they not say it anyhow of the half-read country girl whom he
slipped around by back roads to meet at night? Heretofore, he had been
more the adventurer than criminal, but now he felt the brand of both.
Some day, after his work was finished and he had gone, Zack would tell
of the messages and notes, and all the sacred oaths of all the creeds
would not convince Arden and Flat Rock one little mite of her innocence