"I think I know what you started to say," she faltered. "And it is very, very sweet of you when you have known us such a short time. Isn't it strange that it should be like this? I know I can trust you--something makes me feel sure of it--and you have impressed my father the same way, and even critical Aunt Zilla." He leaned on his hoe-handle. He now felt more sure of his utterance. "I want to help you," he cried. "I know how terribly you must feel over this matter. You are too young and gentle and frail for this dastardly thing to rest on you. I must do something to beat it off. I--" "There really is nothing," she half sobbed. "As much as I love my brothers I'd rather see them dead than on trial for murder. Why, Mr. Brown, the sheriff wants to put them in that dirty jail at Carlin! I saw it once. The cells are iron cages in the center of big rooms walled about with brick. Oh, oh, oh!" He longed to comfort her, but there was nothing that he could say. The keenest pain of his entire life seemed to be wrenching his heart from his body. The still fields, the slanting sunlight on the long rows of cotton-plants, the cloud-draped mountains, grimly mocked him in their placid inactivity when it seemed to him that the very universe ought to be striving in her behalf. "Oh, it will be only a question of time," she moaned. "They can't hide in the mountains long, and if Tobe Keith dies--oh, oh! if he dies--" She had suddenly noticed a horseman dismounting at the gate. He was fat, rather gross-looking, of medium height, and middle-aged. His hair and eyes were dark, and he had a heavy brown mustache twisted to points, which was after the manner of the mountaineers. "It is Albert Frazier, the sheriff's brother," Mary explained. "The sheriff's brother!" Charles started. "We needn't be afraid of him," Mary said, somewhat confused. "In fact, I think he has come to try to help me. He--he is a--a friend of mine. He has been paying attention to me for almost a year. He sees me. He is coming here. Wait. Don't go to work yet. I want you to meet him." "Paying attention to you!" Charles's subconsciousness spoke the words rather than his inert lips. It may have been the sheer blight in his face and eyes that caused the girl to offer a blushing explanation of her words. "I don't mean that we are engaged--_actually engaged_," she said. "It is only a sort of--of understanding. He says he loves me. He has done us a great many favors. You see he has influence in various ways. But I have never really encouraged him to--to--You know what I mean. But he is very persistent and very hot-tempered, domineering, too. But, oh, what does that matter--what does anything matter? Right now he may be coming to tell us that--that Tobe Keith is dead."