“Who was this other man?” There was no difficulty in solving this question. There were plenty who remembered the stranger who had spent a part of the previous evening in the barroom of the tavern, and his evident curiosity as to the wealth of the hermit was also remembered. The real state of the case was now pretty well understood. This stranger had suddenly resolved to rob the hermit and had secretly found his way to the cavern. But how did he happen to find the fisherman there and what was the object of the latter? Then it was remembered that Trafton also had seemed much interested in the supposed hoards of the hermit, and, when his own want of money was considered, it was suspected that he, too, went on an errand similar to the burglar. But he was dead, and his neighbors, who knew that he must have yielded to the force of a sudden and new temptation, did not care to speculate upon his object. They were disposed to spare their old neighbor and charitably drop a veil over his attempted crime, which had brought upon him such fearful retribution. Of course the hermit was released from custody, and there was not a person in the village who did not acquit him of all wrong except Mrs. Scott, who could not forgive him for proving her suspicions groundless. “You may say what you will,” she said perversely, “I know the man’s a burglar, or a murderer, or something else bad.” “He couldn’t have murdered John Trafton, for we traced the murderer’s steps on the beach. There is no doubt it was that stranger we saw in the barroom.” So said her husband. “I don’t care whether he murdered John Trafton or not,” said Mrs. Scott. “I’m sure he’s murdered somebody, and I’m ready to take my Bible oath of it.” “What makes you so prejudiced against the poor man? He hasn’t done you any harm, Mrs. Scott.” “I don’t like the airs he puts on. He looks at you jest as if you were dust beneath his feet. What right has he to look down upon honest people, I want to know?” But Mrs. Scott did not succeed in creating a prejudice against the hermit, whose courageous and dignified bearing had impressed all who observed his manner in this trying crisis. When the funeral was over the hermit called in the evening upon the widow of John Trafton. It was the first he had ever made upon any of his neighbors and it excited surprise. Robert brought forward the rocking-chair and invited the visitor cordially to sit down. “Mrs. Trafton,” said the hermit, “I want to thank you and Robert for the confidence you showed in me at a time when all others suspected me of a terrible deed. You were the ones most affected, yet you acquitted me in your hearts.” “Just for a moment I suspected you when I saw you standing by the dead body of my uncle,” said Robert, “but it was only for a moment.” “I respect you for your fearless candor, my boy. You were justified in your momentary suspicion.” “I am ashamed of it. You had been such a kind friend.”