chair again, and he obeyed her helplessly and with
a sigh of weariness.

"But----" he protested feebly, raising his hand.

"Trouble for me!" she interposed; "I am not afraid of trouble."

"You are indeed a Good Samaritan," he said in a voice which sounded
less forlorn. "If I wasn't a jailbird, I'd thank you in my prayers."

He smiled crookedly. "You know, convicts' prayers don't seem to rise
very high, miss--don't seem to reach anywhere. We haven't got the
stand-in with the Boss that others seem to have," he said in some
bitterness.

"Hush!" she whispered. "You must not say that, for it isn't true.
Those men might have caught you,--but they didn't. But, but," she
added seriously, "surely you are not a convict; not a criminal, I
mean?"

He turned his hands outwards with a shrug.

"You don't look like one who loved doing wrong. If you have ever done
wrong, I am sure it was done in a moment of rashness; maybe
thoughtlessness." She clasped her hands in front of her. "You would
never do it again."

He shook his head.

"No,--never, never again!" But his voice had no sound of contrition in
it.

"When you are free--really free--you will try to be what God meant you
to be; a real man; good, honest and earnest."

He moved uneasily, then he got up once more, went over to the window
and looked out into the night. He remained with his back to her for
some time, and she did not seek to break into his thoughts.

Finally he turned, and, as he leaned against the wall by the door, he
gazed at her curiously.

"They nick-named me 'Silent' in jail, because I wouldn't talk," he
said in a husky tone. "God knows!--what inducement had a man to
talk--there?"

"Maybe I shouldn't talk now--but I might feel better if I did, and you
cared to listen."

"Yes, oh yes!--please tell me," replied the girl earnestly.

"I have never committed any crime against anyone. The only wrong I
have done is to myself. Like a fool, I took the blame to save the
other fellow, because, oh, because I thought I was better able
to--that was all. But that other fellow skulked away, deserted
me;--the low coward!"

The man's voice rose in the quiet of that little bungalow upon the
hill where the only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the
quick breathing of an anxious listener.

"God help him when we meet!"

"Hush!" cautioned the girl again.

"When I took on his troubles," he continued, more quietly, "I did not
think of anything more th