“I have heard all,” she said faintly. “I couldn't help it. I was here when you came in. But I want to tell you that I am content to know you only as you seem to be,--as I have always found you here,--strong and loyal to a duty laid upon you by those who had a full knowledge of all you had been.” “Did you? Do you know what I have been?” Mrs. Martin looked frightened, trembled a moment, and, recovering herself with an effort, said gently, “I know nothing of your past.” “Nothing?” he repeated, with a mirthless attempt at laughter, and a quick breath. “Not that I've been a--a--mountebank, a variety actor--a clown, you know, for the amusement of the lowest, at twenty-five cents a ticket. That I'm 'Johnny Walker,' the song and dance man--the all-round man--selected by Mr. Barstow to teach these boors a lesson as to what they wanted!” She looked at him a moment--timidly, yet thoughtfully. “Then you are an actor--a person who simulates what he does not feel?” “Yes.” “And all the time you have been here you have been acting the schoolmaster--playing a part--for--for Mr. Barstow?” “Yes.” “Always?” “Yes.” The color came softly to her face again, and her voice was very low. “And when you sang to me that day, and when you looked at me--as you did--an hour or two ago--while you were entertaining--you were--only--acting?” Mr. Twing's answer was not known, but it must have been a full and complete one, for it was quite dark when he left the schoolroom--NOT for the last time--with its mistress on his arm. IN A PIONEER RESTAURANT. CHAPTER I.