Hawkins' watery blue eyes under their shaggy brows traveled miserably in the direction of the staircase. “I--I ain't got the right,” he choked. “You go up and talk to her, Paul.” Paul Veniza ran his fingers in a troubled way through his white hair; then, nodding his head, he turned abruptly and began to mount the stairs. Hawkins watched until the other had disappeared from sight, watched until he heard a door open and close softly above; then he swung sharply around, and with his old, drooping shoulders suddenly squared, strode toward the door that shut him off from Doctor Crang and the man he had recognized as his passenger in the traveling pawn-shop earlier that night. But at the door itself he hesitated, and after a moment drew back, and the shoulders drooped again, and he fell to twisting his hands together in nervous indecision as he retreated to the center of the room. And he stood there again, where Paul Veniza had left him, and stared with the hurt of a dumb animal in his eyes at the top of the staircase. “It's all my fault,” the old man whispered, and fell to twisting his hands together once more. “But--but I thought she'd be safe with me.” For a long time he seemed to ponder his own words, and gradually they seemed to bring an added burden upon him, and heavily now he drew his hand across his eyes. “Why ain't I dead?” he whispered. “I ain't never been no good to her. Twenty years, it is--twenty years. Just old Hawkins--shabby old Hawkins--that she loves 'cause she's sorry for him.” Hawkins' eyes roved about the room. “I remember the night I brought her here.” He was still whispering to himself. “In there, it was, I took her.” He jerked his hand toward the inner room. “This here room was the pawn-shop then. God, all those years ago--and--and I ain't never bought her back again, and she ain't known no father but Paul, and----” His voice trailed off and died away. He sank his chin in his hands. Occasionally he heard the murmur of voices from above, occasionally the sound of movement through the closed door that separated him from Doctor Crang; but he did not move or speak again until Paul Veniza came down the stairs and stood before him. Hawkins searched the other's face. “It--it ain't true, is it, what she said?” he questioned almost fiercely. “She didn't really mean it, did she, Paul?” Paul Veniza turned his head away. “Yes, she meant it,” he answered in a low voice. “I don't understand. She wouldn't give me any explanation.” Hawkins clenched his fists suddenly. “But didn't you tell her what kind of a man Crang is? Good God, Paul, didn't you tell her what he is?” “She knows it without my telling her,” Paul Veniza said in a dull tone. “But I told her again; I told her it was impossible, incredible. Her only answer was that it was inevitable.” “But she doesn't love him! She can't love him!” Hawkins burst out. “There's never been anything between them before.”