“A clergyman who fell from grace, killed a friend, and was sentenced to prison for life.” “His name?” “I care not to speak of it,” said the judge, with a shudder. “It matters not; I am that man.” “You! impossible, and yet----” and Judge Hale turned the hue of a corpse. “It is not impossible, Andrew Hale. We were boys together, and devoted friends; we married sisters, and became brothers-in-law; you became a famous lawyer, and I a minister, until I at last, as you expressed it, fell from grace, and, taking the life of a fellow being, was sent to prison for life. My wife having died, I left you in full control of my large property, and the guardian of my son, and for some years all went on well. “You met with financial embarrassments just at the time I escaped from prison, and was reported killed by the guard as I reached the river. I was not touched by his bullet. A man in convict’s dress being found some time after, floating in the water, was said to be me, and so was buried. Believing me dead, you used the property of my son to squander in speculation, and, to escape his just anger, you fled with your child. Do you doubt my identity now, Andrew Hale?” “You are certainly Mathew Kingsland,” said the judge, in a hoarse tone. “I certainly am. And Kent King, the Gambler Guide, as men call him, is my son Kenton, and the first cousin of your daughter Mary.” “The power he held over me, and which forced me to say Mary should be his wife, was because he held my secret,” groaned the judge. “Well, the boy you know now in a different light, for he is the chief of the outlaw band known as the Nighthawks.” “And he is free to do my poor child harm! God grant that these dashing Texans take him.” “Oh, the boy can take care of himself! You will soon receive a call from him in some disguise or other, for he is determined to marry your daughter.” “Heaven forbid! Why should he persecute her thus?” “Simply because she is rich. He wishes to give up this wild life, and seek safety in another land, where he can live off of her money, as you did off of his,” answered the man, in a sneering tone. “Marry rich! why, man, all I have in the world is in this cabin and this ranch.” “Ah!” “What! Do you doubt me?” “I know to the contrary.” “I say you are mistaken. Had I money, do you think I would have come to this wild land to live?” angrily asked the judge. “Yes. Dread of punishment for your crime, and a fear that the world would learn of it, brought you here. Now you are believed only unfortunate. Were the truth made known, it would be shown that you squandered a fortune left to your keeping, Andrew Hale.” “Alas! that I was ever tempted; but look at me now, a man at my years building up a new home, and penniless almost.” “You need not so remain, Andrew Hale,” said the parson, in a meaning way. “What do you mean, Mathew Kingsland? You have not come here and made yourself known to me without a purpose, I feel confident.”