The man passed the lady with the quaint, shy bow that used to be habitual with him towards women, (he still used it to the jailer's wife,) and held his hands over the blaze. His brother followed him: his wife had never seen him so nervous or excited: he stood close to the convict, smoothing his coat on the shoulder, taking off his cap. "Why, why! this cloth's too thin, even for summer; I--Oh, Stephen, these are hard times,--hard! But I mean to do something for you, God knows. Sit down, sit down, you're tired, boy," turning off, going to the window, his hands behind him,--coming back again. "We're going to help you, Judith and I." Soule did not see the look which the convict shot at the woman, when he spoke these words; but she did,--and knew, that, however her husband might contrive to deceive himself, he never would his brother. If Stephen Yarrow's soul went down to any deeper depth to-night, it would be conscious in its going. What manner of man was he? What was his wife, or long-ago home, or his old God, now, to him? It mattered to them: for, if he were not a tool, they were ruined. She stitched quietly at her soft floss and flannel. Soule was sincere; let him explain what his wish was, himself; it would be wiser for her to be silent; this man, she remembered, had eyes that never understood a lie. Yarrow did not sit down; his brother stood close, leaning his unsteady hand upon his arm. "I knew you would not fail me, Stephen. To-morrow will be a turning-point in both our lives. Circumstances have conspired to help me in my plan." He began to stammer. The other looked at him quietly, inquiringly. "You remember what I told you on Tuesday?" more hastily. "I have dealt heavily in stocks lately; it needs one blow more, and our future is secure for life. Yours and mine, I mean,--yours and mine, Stephen. This paper old Frazier carries,--he Is going to New York with it. If I can keep it out of the market for a week, my speculation is assured,--I can realize half a million, at least. Frazier is an old man, weak: he crosses the Narrows to-morrow morning on horseback." He stopped abruptly, playing with a shell on the mantel-shelf. "I understand," in a dry voice; "you want him robbed; and my hands came at the right nick of time." "Pish! you use coarse words. A man's brain must be distempered to call that robbery; the paper, as I said, is neither money nor its equivalent." There was a silence of some moments. "I must have it," his eye growing fierce. "You could take it and leave the man unhurt. I could have done it myself, but he's an old man, I want him left unhurt. If I had done it--Well," chewing his lips, "it would not have been convenient for him to have gone on with that story. He knows me. Is the affair quite plain now?" Yarrow nodded slowly, looking in the fire. "If I were not strong enough to-morrow, what then?"