I could have repeated them exactly, but I hesitated, for the last words he had let slip had sounded oddly in my mind--"If I had known you were there I should have managed it differently." He seemed to make himself so absolutely responsible for what had happened! And when I thought how Mr. Dingley had twisted my words about I was afraid--afraid that if I repeated the ones that this man had spoken they would somehow get twisted into a meaning--perhaps not the true one--that would be bad for him. I was so upset, I said, and so startled by the man's speaking to me at all I hardly thought I could repeat them word for word. Father put my coat around me and said, "I hope that is all," very coldly. "Yes," the Chief said, "except that this young lady must understand that she is not to speak of what she saw this morning." "Remember, Ellie," father said, "if your friends talk to you about it, you have heard and seen nothing." I murmured, "Of course," and followed father out of the prison with a very strong conviction that nothing was real. As we walked home again all the familiar surroundings seemed dreamlike to me--the Plaza, with its high iron railing, and the shops facing upon it, and our own green palm farther up the street, fluttering on the sky. Father himself, so silent and walking on without ever turning his head to look at me, seemed quite a different person from the father who had gone with me the day before, merrily, to buy my bracelet. The thought of the man with the dark eyes and the chain between his wrists filled all my mind. Who could he be? The sense of warmth that had come with his smile, and that very curious sensation I had had when he had come up close to the bar and spoken to me, were with me yet. His voice had been pleading and deferential, surely nothing in it to resent. The memory of his face made me forget the chain between his wrists; as if he himself had been greater than any of the people around him. We had reached our own door, but before father could put his key in the lock, the door opened from within, and there in the hall stood Hallie Ferguson, her new blue bonnet on one side, her face crimson with haste and excitement. "Oh, Ellie," she gasped, "have you heard? I've been waiting the longest time for you. Isn't it awful? Johnny Montgomery has shot Martin Rood, and they say it's about the Spanish Woman." CHAPTER III THE RUMORS Hallie's facts dashed so coldly and so suddenly upon the warm fancies which had been taking possession of my mind, that for the moment I could only stupidly gaze at her. Then, without any reason that I could account for, I burst into tears.