"Many would not blame you. Neither do I blame you, not knowing that life or those people," said Phebe. "But there was One who turned away from the evil-speakers, and wrote upon the sand." "But those evil-speakers spoke the truth." "Can a lie be stopped by a pistol-shot? But we need not argue." "No; I see how it is. I shall be to you only another of the wretched sons of Cain." "I am thy sister," she said, and gave him her hand. He held it in his strong, cold, trembling clasp. "Darling, do you know where I am going? I shall never see you, never again--unless you are like the sainted women of your faith who walked the prisons, and preached to them in bonds." "Thy bonds are mine: but I am no preacher." The drowsy lights swayed and twinkled, the wheels rang on the frozen rails as the wild, white wastes flew by. "Father shall never know it," Phebe murmured. "He shall never know, if I can help it, why you called yourself unhappy." "Is it such an unspeakable horror to you?" He winced. "He has not many years to live; it would only be one disappointment more." She was leaning back in her seat; her eyes were closed; she looked dead weary, but patient, as if this too were life, and not more than her share. "Has your father any money, dear?" She smiled: "Do we look like people with money?" "If they would only let me have my hands!" he groaned. "To think of shutting up a great strong fellow like me"-- It was useless to go on. He sat, bitterly forecasting the fortunes of those two lambs who had strayed so far from the green pastures and still waters, when he heard Phebe say softly, as if to herself,-- "We are almost there." Mr. Burke began to fold his newspapers and get his bags in order. His hands rested upon the implements of his office--he carried them always in his pockets--while he stood balancing himself in the rocking car, and the porter dusted his hat and coat. The train dashed past the first scattered lights of the town. "Po-catello!" the brakeman roared in a voice of triumph, for they were "in" at last. The porter came, and touched Ludovic on the shoulder. "Gen'leman says he's ready, sir." He rose and bent over Phebe. If she had been like any other girl he must have kissed her, but he dared not. He had prayed for a sign, and he had won it--that look of dumb and lasting anguish in her childlike eyes. Yet, strange passion of the man's nature, he was not sorry for what he had done. Mr. Burke took his arm in silence, and steered him out of the car; both doors were guarded, for he had feared there might be trouble. He was surprised at Ludovic's behavior. "What's the matter with him?" the car-conductor asked, looking after the pair as they walked up the platform together. "Is he sick?" "Mashed," said the porter, gloomily; for Ludovic had forgotten the parting fee. "Regular girl mash, the worst I ever saw."