But the young man was not so hopeful about Miss Murray's verdict. She had put Billy in his care, and it was but a sorry report he had to make of her trust. He was wondering if he dared call at Rosemount and explain his part in the case, when he met her in Willow Lane. It was a clear wintry evening, and the pines cast long blue shadows across the snowy road ahead. Roderick was hurrying home to take supper at the farm, and Helen was coming out of the rough little path that led from the Perkins' home. She was feeling tired and very sad. She had been reading a letter from the husband in prison, a sorrowful pencilled scrawl, pathetically misspelled, but breathing out true sympathy for his wife and children, and the deepest repentance and self-blame. And at the end of every misconstructed sentence like a wailing refrain were the words, "I done wrong and I deserve all I got, but it's hard on you old girl, and I thought that Old Angus's son might have got me off." Whether right or wrong, Helen felt a sting of resentment, as she looked up and saw Roderick swinging down the road towards her. He seemed so big and comfortable in his long winter overcoat, so strong and capable, and yet he had used his strength and skill against Billy. Her woman's heart refused to see any justice in the case. She did not return the radiant smile with which he greeted her. In spite of his fears, he could not but be glad at the sight of her, with the rosy glow of the sunset lighting up her sweet face and reflected in the gold of her hair. "I was so sorry to have such news of Billy I was afraid to call," he said as humbly as though it was he who had stolen and been committed to prison. "Oh, it's so sad I just can't bear it," she burst forth, the tears filling her eyes. "Oh, couldn't you have done something, Mr. McRae?" Roderick was overcome with dismay. "I--I--did all I could," he stammered. "It was impossible to save him. He stole and he had to bear the penalty." "But you were on the other side," she cried vaguely but indignantly. "I don't see how you could do it." "But, Miss Murray!" cried Roderick, amazed at her unexpected vehemence. "I was acting for the company I represent. It's unreasonable, if you will pardon me for speaking so strongly, to expect I could sacrifice their interests and allow the law to be broken." He was really pleading his own case. There was a dread of her condemnation in his eyes which she could not mistake. But her heart was too sore for the Perkins family to feel any compunction for him. "I don't understand law I know," she said sadly. "But I can't understand how your father's son could see that poor irresponsible creature sent to jail for the sake of a big rich company. His wife's heart is broken, that's all." She was losing her self-control once more, and she hastily bade him good-evening, and before Roderick could speak again she was gone.