nform her the riot was over. They were just bringing in
some prisoners: he was very sorry, but one of them would have to come in
there. He was a prominent rioter whom they had captured trying to bring
off the body of his wife, who had been killed by a chance shot. It would
be only for a short time: the gentleman had gone for a carriage. He hoped
the lady wouldn't mind.

The lady, who had changed color slightly, said she should not mind. The
sergeant held the door back, and some men brought in something over which
had been flung an old blue-and-white shawl. They carried it on a shutter,
and the folds of a calico dress, torn and trampled, hung down over the
side.

Then came two policemen, pushing after the official manner a man covered
with dust and blood.

"Bailey!" exclaimed the countess. Their eyes met.

Bailey bent his head toward the table where the men had laid their burden.
"Lift that," he said hoarsely.

The countess lifted the shawl with a steady hand. There was an old white
straw bonnet flattened down over the forehead; a wisp of blue ribbon
string was blown across the face and over the red smear between the
eyebrow and the hair; the eyes stared wide and glassy. But it was the same
soft brown hair. The countess knew Martha Bailey.

"There was women and children on the sidewalk, but they fired right into
us," said Bailey. He spoke in a monotonous, dragging voice, as though
every word were an effort. "They killed her. I asked you to give me work
in your shop, and you wouldn't do it. Here's the end of it. Now you can go
home and say your prayers."

"I don't say prayers," answered the countess, "and you know I offered you
work. But don't let us reproach each other here. Where are your children?"

"Ain't you satisfied with what you have done already?" said Bailey. "Leave
me alone: you'd better."

"Gently now!" said one of the policemen.

"Whatever you may think of me," said the countess quietly, "you know Mrs.
Greymer was always your wife's friend. We only wanted to help her."

Bailey shook off the grasp of the policemen as though it had been a
feather: with one great stride he reached the countess and caught her
roughly by the wrist. "Look at _her_, will you?" he cried: "you and the
likes of you, with your smooth cant, have killed her! You crush us and
starve us till we turn, and then you shoot us down like dogs. Leave my
children alone."

"None of that, my man!" said the sergeant.

The two policemen