“No, she doesn't love him. Of course, she doesn't!” Paul Veniza said, as though speaking to himself. He looked at Hawkins suddenly under knitted brows. “And she says she never saw that other man in her life before until he stepped into the car. She says she only went out to-night because they were so urgent about it up at the house, and that she felt everything would be perfectly safe with you driving the car. I can't make anything out of it!” Hawkins drew the sleeve of his coat across his brow. It was cool in the room, but little beads of moisture were standing out on his forehead. “I ain't brought her nothing but harm all my life,” he said brokenly. “I----” “Don't take it that way, old friend!” Paul Veniza's hands sought the other's shoulders. “I don't see how you are to blame for this. Claire said that other man treated her with all courtesy, and left the car after you had gone around the block; and she doesn't know how he afterwards came here wounded any more than we do--and anyway, it can't have anything to do with her marrying Doctor Crang.” “What's she doing now?” demanded Hawkins abruptly. “She's up there crying her heart out, ain't she?” Paul Veniza did not answer. Hawkins straightened up. A sudden dignity came to the shabby old figure. “What hold has that devil got on my little girl?” he cried out sharply. “I'll make him pay for it, so help me God! My little girl, my little------” “S-sh!” Paul Veniza caught hurriedly at Hawkins' arm. “Be careful, old friend!” he warned. “Not so loud! She might hear you.” Hawkins cast a timorous, startled glance in the direction of the stairs. He seemed to shrink again, into a stature as shabby as his clothing. His lips twitched; he twisted his hands together. “Yes,” he mumbled; “yes, she--she might hear me.” He stared around the room; and then, as though blindly, his hands groping out in front of him, he started for the street door. “I'm going home,” said Hawkins. “I'm going home to think this out.” Paul Veniza's voice choked a little. “Your hat, old friend,” he said, picking up the old man's hat from the table and following the other to the door. “Yes, my hat,” said Hawkins--and pulling it far down over his eyes, crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into the driver's seat of the old, closed car that stood at the curb. He started the car mechanically. He did not look back. He stared straight ahead of him except when, at the corner, his eyes lifted and held for a moment on the lighted windows and the swinging doors of a saloon--and the car went perceptibly slower. Then his hands tightened fiercely in their hold upon the wheel until the white of the knuckles showed, and the car passed the saloon and turned the next corner and went on.