“God bless her!” said Hawkins softly again, as he gained the front door without raising any alarm and stepped outside--and then Hawkins halted as though his feet had been suddenly rooted to the spot. At the curb in front of the house was an old closed motor car. Hawkins stared at it. Then he rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at it again. He stared for a long time. No; there was no doubt about it--it was the traveling pawn-shop. Hawkins' mind harked back to the preceding evening. He had met two men in the saloon around the corner, whom he had seen there once or twice before. He had had several drinks with them, and then at some one's suggestion, he could not recollect whose, there had followed the purchase of a few bottles, and an adjournment to his room for a convivial evening. After that his mind was quite blank. He could not even remember having taken out the car. “I--I must have been bad,” said Hawkins to himself, with a rueful countenance. He descended the steps, and approached the car with the intention of running it into the shed that served as garage behind the house. But again he halted. “No,” said Hawkins, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at the front door; “if I started it up, Mrs. Hedges would hear me. I guess I'll wait till I come back.” Hawkins went on down the street and turned the corner. He had grown a little dejected. “I'm just an old bum,” said Hawkins, “who ain't ever going to swear off any more 'cause it don't do any good.” He spoke aloud to himself again, as he approached the door of Paul Veniza's house. “But I _am_ her daddy,” whispered the old man fiercely; “and she is my little girl. It don't change nothing her not knowing, except--except she ain't hiding her face in shame, and”--Hawkins' voice broke a little--“and that I ain't never had her in these arms like I'd ought to have.” A gleam of anger came suddenly into the watery blue eyes under the shaggy brows. “But he ain't going to have her in _his!_ That devil from the pit of hell ain't going to kill the soul of my little girl--somehow he ain't--that's all I got to live for--old Hawkins--ha, ha!--somehow old Haw-kins 'll----” Hawkins' soliloquy ended abruptly. He was startled to find himself in the act of opening the front door of the one-time pawn-shop. He even hesitated, holding the door ajar--and then suddenly he pushed the door wider open and stepped softly inside, as the sound of a voice, angry and threatening in its tones, though strangely low and muffled, reached him. He knew that voice. It was Doctor Crang's. It was dark here in the room that had once been the office of the pawn-shop, and upon which the front door opened directly; but from under the door leading into the rear room there showed a thread of light, and it was from there that Hawkins now placed the voice.