es of his jaw trembled.

The stranger observed his host's agitation, but put away his pipe with
slow and steady hand. He said nothing, and yet an observer would have
declared he held the other and weaker man in the grasp of an inexorable
hypnotic silence. Finally he fixed a calm, cold glance upon his host, as
if summoning him to answer.

"Yes," the miner confessed, "there is always a woman in the
case--another and more fortunate man. The woman is false, the man is
treacherous. You trust and they betray. Such beings ruin and
madden--they make outlaws such as I am--"

"Love is above will," asserted the millwright, with decision.

The other man fiercely turned. "I know what you mean--you mean the woman
is not to be condemned--that love goes where it is drawn. That is true,
but deceit is not involuntary--it is deliberate--"

"Sometimes we deceive ourselves."

"In her case it was deceit," retorted the miner, who was now so deeply
engaged with his own story that each general observation on the part of
his guest was taken to be specific and personal.

The room was growing dusky, and the stranger's glance appeared keener,
more insistent, as his body melted into the shadow. His shaggy head and
black beard all but disappeared; only the faint outlines of his forehead
remained, and yet, as his physical self faded into the gloom, his
personality, his psychic self, loomed larger. His will enveloped the
hermit, drawing upon him with irresistible power. It was as if he were
wringing him dry of a confession as the priest closes in upon the
culprit.

"I had my happy days--my days of care-free youth," the unquiet man was
saying. "But my time of innocence was short. Evil companions came early
and reckless deeds followed.... I knew I was losing something, I knew I
was being drawn downward, but I could not escape. Day and night I called
for help, and then--_she_ came--"

"Who came?"

"The one who made me forget all the others, the one who made me
ashamed."

"And then?"

"And then for a time I was happy in the hope that I might win her and so
redeem my life."

"And she?"

"She pitied me--at first--and loved me--at least I thought so."

As his excitement increased his words came slower, burdened with
passion. He spoke like a prisoner addressing a judge, his voice but a
husky whisper.

"I told her I was unworthy of her--that was when I believed her to be an
angel. I promised to begin a new life for her sake. Then she promi