A week passed, but Zion Hill settlement could not go back to its every-day vocations until somebody had been arrested for the robbery. The man Miller seemed to be wary prey, eluding his pursuers with the crafty skill of an old offender. It was a solitary week to ’Zeki’l. He had been completely ostracized by his neighbors. They openly shunned him, and no more work came to his forge. He stood in the empty shop one day, wondering what he should do next, where he should go, when ’Lizabeth walked slowly, quietly in. He flushed painfully. "You see I’m idle," he said, pointing to the dead coals in the forge. "They don’t think I’m worthy o’ doin’ their work any longer." "I wouldn’t mind," she said, tenderly, laying her hand on his arm. "They’ll see they are mistaken after a while, and be glad enough to come back to you." [Illustration: "THE SHERIFF, TWO DEPUTIES, AND MILLER."] "I don’t know," with a heavy sigh. "It’s the injustice that hurts me, an’ the lack o’ faith in my honesty. The years I’ve lived here count for nothin’ with them." "I have faith in you, ’Zeki’l." He laid his hand over hers. "If I had you, ’Lizabeth, if I only had you to help me bear it!" "That’s what I’ve come for, ’Zeki’l. I’m crippled. It may be that I’ll turn out to be more of a burden than a comfort to you, but I can’t sit down there any longer, knowin’ you are here slighted and sufferin’ all alone. ’Zeki’l, have pity on me, if you’ve none on yourself, and let me bear this trouble with you." He trembled before the future her words conjured up. "Could you, would you, be willin’ to bear my disgrace, share it, be shunned like a plague, have no company, no friend, but me?" "What are friends to the one we love, or company? I’d give up all the world, ’Zeki’l, willin’ly, willin’ly, for you." He looked into her deep, earnest eyes, realized the full truth of her words, and drew her closer to him. "It’s a great sacrifice, ’Lizabeth, an’ I’m wrong to let you make it; but—the Lord forgive me! I can’t hold out alone any longer. My will an’ my courage are all broke down. I need help; I need you." After a momentary silence he dusted a bench, and they sat down to talk over their plans for the future. The shop, black with charcoal and iron dust, was a queer place for such a conversation; but they paid little heed to their surroundings. "Marthy Ann will never get over your marryin’ me," said ’Zeki’l. "Then she can make the best of it."