d faces. 'Dick alone knew who did
the cruel deed. During the delirium of illness his nurses were keenly
attentive to every word he uttered, hoping he would mention the name of
his assailant. But no! All through the dangerous fever, and all through
the suffering, he never gave the smallest hint as to who the man was, or
what the quarrel (if there had been one) was about. On recovering his
senses he made his father and mother understand, in the halting speech
which was all he could manage, that he wished to keep the name of the
man a secret; that, should he have mentioned it during his fever, he
begged they would respect his desire, and not permit the name to escape
them. 'Give him a chance,' he said. He always feared that the knowledge
of what he had done might some day drive the man to desperation, and
make him become more wicked through horror at his own action.'

'Don't his father and mother know even now who did it?' asked Georgie,
with wide-open eyes of wonder.

'No, as Dick never told them, they will not press him to do so against
his will.'

'I could have understood it,' said Alan, 'if the man had fought him
fairly, face to face. But to set on him unawares! That's what the
scoundrel seems to have done!'

'Yet Dick forgives him!' replied his aunt, gently.

'I don't think,' said Marjorie, 'that Dick is quite right all the same.
It is fair enough that Dick should forgive injuries to himself if he
chooses, but it is hardly just to his father and mother not to have that
man punished as he ought to be.'

'I can't see how it would help Peet even if the man were caught' said
Estelle, thoughtfully. 'If he is a sailor, he would not have enough
money to pay any of Dick's doctor's bills. I thought sailors were so
poor, Aunty?'

'They generally are, dear, and most probably this man was. We know
nothing about him, however, nor what it was that led to the terrible
thing he did. Let us hope, as Dick does, that the unhappy fellow has
repented.'

'Then he would have to come back to say so,' said Alan.

'I don't know that. First, he may think he has killed Dick, and be
afraid to show himself. Or he may not be able to find Dick now that Peet
has left Cornwall, without betraying why he was inquiring for him. A
deeply repentant man would give himself up to justice, certainly; that
is, one would think so. But we know absolutely nothing to help us in our
judgment of him, and can but hope and pray for him as Dick does.'

Lady