"Is that you, Hope?" She had promised Liza to bide with her when her hour came, but it was not Hope who replied: "This is Martin Morley, ma'am. Me and lil' Molly." The door was opened at once and closed after the two. "Now," said the little doctor, stirring the fire to greater effort and seeing that her callers had the easiest chairs in the room, "now, then, Mr. Morley." Molly followed every motion of Marcia Lowe with unchildlike interest. Fear was gone from the girl's face, but an alert sharpness marked it. "Can you give her," Martin nodded toward Molly, "a bed for--for to-night? I have something to tell you." Marcia Lowe sensed that something serious lay behind the request, and rose at once and went to Molly. "Come into my bedroom," she said; "I can make you very comfy, I'm sure. Will you sleep with me?" Molly nodded and followed meekly. After a time Marcia Lowe came back and, standing in front of Morley, said quickly: "What is it?" The haggard, haunted face was raised to her. "I've--I've done killed Mary!" he said simply. The little doctor shuddered, but controlled her features; her eyes did not fall from the wretched man's face. "Tell me!" was all she said. Then Martin slowly in a hushed voice, described all that had passed, even the vision of Sandy. "The Lord-a'mighty, He knows I didn't mean to kill," Martin quivered; "but who-all will believe that? I meant to stay clean and fair for the boy's coming back, Miss Lowe, ma'am, deed I did, and now he'll come back to----" Martin could not frame the hideous truth in words; he gulped miserably and went on; "please, ma'am, keep--her, Molly, from Teale and them-all!" "And you?" So simply did the question come that the man replied in kind. "I--I can't let them-all cotch me, ma'am. Come morning, I'll be past hurting any one, more." The childlike pathos in this criminal's voice and attitude confused the listener. For the life of her she could not deal with the situation in any ordinary fashion; it seemed like a dramatic incident bungled by amateurs. Presently she asked gently: "Are you _sure_ she is dead, Mr. Morley?" The unreality held Martin, too. "I reckon she is," he faltered; "I--I couldn't hear her heart--and she laid right still. I expect she is dead." The ludicrous overpowered even the turn of possibility, and the little doctor said: "You just mustn't kill yourself or harm Sandy unless it is necessary, you know. If you will go out and harness my horse to the buggy, you and I will make sure." By the time Morley had mechanically fulfilled these commands, Marcia Lowe had decided, from the sound of Molly's breathing, that she might safely be left alone, and, cloaked and hooded, joined Martin outside. It was a dreary ride, and the two spoke seldom.