"And now she's dead," returned Callister, with an air of hardened indifference. "She was hopelessly mad, and a nuisance to herself and to us. She's dead, and it can't be helped. You let your temper get the better of you, and you killed her. That's all there is to be said." "For which act may God forgive me," groaned Rube again. "Oh, Lije, it seems but yesterday since I married her! Do you remember what beautiful girls they were when you and I and Frank Mansfield went a-courting them? Do you remember----" "No, I don't remember, and I don't want to. All the love I had for them was turned to hate long ago. She's dead, and let her go. What I'm interested in just now is the whereabouts of those papers. You thought she had them, and because she wouldn't give them up----" "I killed her. God forgive me! I killed her! Oh, Lije, if I had only listened to Maria's advice, I'd be a different man to-day from what I am!" A soft-hearted bank burglar, surely. A strange murderer, for a fact. The man had buried his face in his hand again, which rests upon the table now, and is crying like a child. "Rube Tisdale, you are a fool. If you give way like this, no power on earth can keep you from being nabbed. You thought Maria had old Mansfield's will and the paper telling where he buried his fortune. She refused to give it up, and you killed her with your fist. We searched her, and the papers were not to be found. No one suspects your connection with the woman. If you will but keep a stiff lip you are as safe in New York as anywhere else; but if you are going to give way like this, why the sooner you skip----" "Sun, Herald, Journal, World! Papers, gents--papers!" A head was thrust through the swinging door; a ragged boy, carrying a bundle of newspapers under his arm entered the room. "Get out, you young imp, or I'll throw this glass at you!" cried Callister, picking up the glass and swinging it above his head. The boy sprang back, the half-door, which worked on a spring, closing noiselessly after him. Then the leading light in the Tenth Baptist Church turned to the remorse-stricken man again. Now, if there was one thing upon which Mr. Elijah Callister prided himself more than another, it was upon his shrewdness at all times and seasons--no matter how engrossing the business for the moment occupying his mind. But if possessed of this quality to any startling extent, he surely has failed to display it now, for had he but taken the precaution to open the half door and look out into the bar-room, he would have perceived that the sleepy bartender, yielding to his sleepiness at last, was as firmly locked in the arms of Morpheus as any of the drunkards stretched upon the barrels, his head resting upon his hands, his hands upon the bar.