He shook his head. "Impossible! That's one thing you really mustn't ask of me." "Yes, I feared you would think of it in that way! But, as for me, this is my place--I've made my bed here, and I must lie in it. I know the people of this town--I know what they'll all do to me now. You see, you don't know these things yet." "No," said he, "but you and Miss Julia both will be paid back--the money part of it--some time. As for me, I'm not going to have any home." She sat silent for quite a time, the meager breakfast now being ended for both. "Oh, can't you forget her, Don? Can't you give her up?" she said finally. "I can't forget her, Mother, but I'll have to give her up. It all happened there on the car--just at once--in public." "I'm glad you never kissed her, Don," said she. "You're both so young." She shook her head slowly as she went on. "Love has to be loved in any case. That means--I suppose it means--that for the very young, if it be not one, it may later be another." He only smiled bitterly at this. "It all comes to the same thing in any case," said he. "I'll have to tell her what I know, and we'll have to part. It would be the same with any other woman, if there could be any other. There can't be." "I've been frank with you, Don, and I don't know whether to be glad or sorry for that. I'd love nothing so much in the world as to see you happily married--but nothing in the world could so much hurt me as to see you marry Anne Oglesby." "No fear of it!" "You'll tell her?" "Yes. Today." CHAPTER X THE MURDER Once more the strident call of the telephone broke in, and Aurora Lane stepped aside. "It's Miss Julia," said she excitedly, turning upon her son eyes suddenly grown large. "Why, it's something awful! Don--a terrible thing has happened--last night." "What's wrong--what's happened?" he demanded. "Mr. Tarbush--the city marshal--why, you know--he was killed--murdered--last night--found this morning! It was about one o'clock, as near as they can tell, Miss Julia says. It's all over town." An exclamation left the young man's lips. "What's that? Murdered?" "Yes, yes--wait----" She spoke on into the telephone. "Yes, Julia, Don and I were just at breakfast--no, we've not been on the street yet--one o'clock, you said? That was when we were just coming home from the library!" "Mother," said Don, "that's right! It must have been just about one o'clock, wasn't it?" She looked at him steadily for a time, as she dropped the receiver, her own face a trifle pale. "Yes--we hadn't gone to sleep at the time it happened. He was killed right in front of his own house, Miss Julia says." "And where is that?--you see, I don't know much about the town." "Beyond the square, about three blocks from the farther corner--the little house with the low fence in front, and the deep front yard." "We didn't pass that when we came up from the station?" "No, we came another street. But, Don----" "Yes?"