"I _hate_ them!" said Mary aloud. Then she thought of Pippin, and blushed again. Pippin did not hate wicked or weak people. He seemed to love them. How was it? Mary, cool, kind, a little aloof, did not understand it. They had talked together a good deal during these past two weeks, and she had wondered at the glow in his eyes, the thrill in his voice, when he spoke of his religion. Mary was a good Congregationalist; she went to church, and said her prayers, and read her Bible. She supposed--why, of course she loved the Lord; she would be a wicked girl if she didn't; but--well, she was different, that was all. Of course, with all he had gone through--how bright his eyes were! How strong his faith must be! She supposed she was cold-hearted; yet when Pippin sang a hymn, she felt as if Heaven was close by. It surely was a privilege to know a person like that. And to think that he had once been--how to believe it? How not to believe anything he said, with those bright eyes looking straight into her? Perhaps the Lord would soften her heart-- Pippin was right down there in the shed--think of it! She hoped he wouldn't lie cold; it felt so safe, having him there! She put an extra comforter--she did hope he would sleep well-- At this point Mary went to sleep herself. * * * * * She slept peacefully for some hours, lying still and straight as Saint Ursula herself; then she began to dream. Pippin was not sleeping well, out there in the shed; likely it had come up cold in the night. He had got up and come into the house, for warmth, of course. She heard him stumbling about among the chairs and tables; if she had only shown him the switch! Hark! He was whistling, calling out--_hark!_ Mary sprang up, broad awake. Something was going on downstairs. Voices, low and angry, hasty steps--the house on fire? She was up in an instant, slipped on the blue kimono and over it a heavy cloak, ran down the back stairs just as John Aymer ran down the front. Opening opposite doors quietly, they came upon a strange sight. In the middle of the kitchen was Pippin, at grips with another man of slighter build than himself; at one side stood a third man, older and heavier than either, watching the two.