n--"

The time between the present and that night the student had left her in
bitter sorrow faded. In her imagination she was alone in the rain, with
the child upon her hands, offering it up to the dark God for a blessing.
The same uplifting faith was upon her. The Crucified Savior would
protect her.

"I believe! I believe!" she ejaculated. No soul-desiring thought of
Frederick interrupted her uprising faith. She needed him no more to pray
for her.

"A mustard-seed air--a--a mighty little thing, ain't it, Ben Letts?"

Tess stood up, looking beyond him like one in a dream.

"Yep," grunted the fisherman, staring.

He had never understood the moods of Tess. She was as incomprehensible
to him as the myriads of stars that strung themselves through the sky.

But his inability to understand her made him desire the girl the more.
He had come at an hour when he was sure Tess would be alone. He would
force her to come to his cabin, to marry him even before her father was
hanged. Ben's eyes settled again upon the basket. Through his heavy
senses sifted a wave of hatred for the miserable child, whining for the
milk Tess had stolen. Ben moved his great feet, tearing up a long
splinter from a broken board with his worn-down heel. It startled Tess
from her reverie. In upon her faith came the sickening thought of
Frederick, his confidence in her blasted and gone; it choked a prayer
that lingered upon her lips. Ben rose to his feet, an oath belching from
his ugly mouth.

"Put down that basket. Put it down, I says!"

Never had it entered her mind before to conciliate the dark-browed
fisherman who had pestered her with his attentions, but her frightened
womanhood caught at the idea.

"Wait till I gives him somethin' to eat," she said stolidly. "If he
yaps, someone'll hear him."

Ben sat down and watched her narrowly. Tessibel had grown so beautiful
in the last few months that the brute force in the man rose in his
desire to possess her. There was one way to bring the girl on her knees
to him, one way to bow the proud red head--the little child made no
difference to him. And some day he would get even with the student, too.
The small bare feet of the squatter girl noiselessly plied their way
from the smoking stove to the sugar-bowl, thence to the basket. Tess
held the warm, sweet milk to the infant's lips, lifting the withered
chin that the child might drink the better. Her mind was working
rapidly. How should she escape and