"No, boy, I'll never believe that--never! If you had stayed awake until the time came, you couldn't have done it. And, besides, I am to blame. I planned it--planned it purposely: I didn't even hope to find a nurse when we were supposed to be looking for one. I knew how you felt, and I wanted to make you show yourself that you didn't really hate him bad enough to let him die. But I don't care; it doesn't matter--nothing matters, now." "Wait," he said. "There was murder in my heart that night, and it was there again this evening--just a little while ago. Miss Farnham and Galbraith were not the only ones I had to fear; there was another; the teller who got here from New Orleans on the seven-forty-five train. You didn't know about him, did you? He came, and an old newspaper friend of mine was with him. I stumbled upon them on the sidewalk in front of the Winnebago House; and Broffin was there, too. We were introduced, the teller and I, and Broffin was so sure he had me that he got his handcuffs out and was opening them." Margery shuddered and hid her face again. "And I--I didn't know!" she gasped. "Luck was with me again," he continued. "Johnson didn't remember me; refused to do so even when Broffin stopped him and tried to tell him who I was. I had a pistol in my pocket, and it was aimed at Broffin. If he had made a move to take me, I should certainly have killed him." She sat up suddenly. "Give me that pistol, Kenneth--give it to me _now_!" "I can't," he confessed, shamefacedly. "When it was all over, I smashed the pistol with a stone and threw it away." She drew a long breath, "Is that all?" she asked. "All but one thing; the worst of them all ... that day in the bank vault----" The daughter of men buried her face on his shoulder again at that. "Don't!" she begged. "You couldn't help it, boy; I made you do it--meaning to. There! and I said that wild horses should never drag it out of me!" Again he said, "Wait," and covered the shining head on his shoulder with a caressing hand. "It wasn't love, then, little girl; that's what it breaks my heart to tell you: it was just madness. And it wasn't clean; you've got to know that, too." She nodded her head violently. "I know," she murmured; "I knew it at the time, and that was what made me cry. But now it's--it's different, isn't it, boy? now you--are----" "You have heard it all, Margery. You know what I thought I was, and what I have turned out to be. I'm afraid I am just a common crook, after all; there doesn't seem to be standing-room anywhere else for me. But every living fibre of me, the good and the bad, loves you--loves you!" "What do I care for anything else?" she flashed back. "You are you, Kenneth, dear; that is all I know, and all I care for. If you had stolen all the money in the world, and had killed a dozen men to make your get-away, it would be just the same. Only----" "Only what?" he demanded jealously.