With an expression of questioning bewilderment and rebuke on his haggard face, the man also turned to the mountain girl beside him. “I found him in er John-boat what done come ashore last night, down there in the eddy,” Judy explained to Auntie Sue. To the man, she said: “This here is Auntie Sue, mister; but, I don't reckon as how she's got ary licker for you.” “'Liquor'?” questioned Auntie Sue. “What in the world do you mean, child?” Then quickly to the stranger;--“My dear man, you are wringing wet. You must have been in the river. Come, come right in, and let us do something for you.” As she spoke, she went toward him with outstretched hands. But the wretched creature shrank back from her, as if in fear;--his whole body shaking with emotion; his fluttering hands raised in a gesture of imploring protest;--while the eyes that looked up at the saintly countenance of the old gentlewoman were the eyes of a soul sunken in the deepest hell of shame and humiliation. Shocked with pitying horror, Auntie Sue paused. The man's haggard, unshaven face twitched and worked with the pain of his suffering. He bit his lips and fingered his quivering chin in a vain effort at self-control; and then, as he looked up at her, the sunken, bloodshot eyes filled with tears that the tormented spirit had no power to check. And Auntie Sue turned her face away. For a little, they stood so. Then, as Auntie Sue faced him again, the stranger, with a supreme effort of his will, gained a momentary control of his shattered nerves. Drawing himself erect and standing steady and tall before her, he raised a hand to his uncovered head as if to remove his hat. When his hand found no hat to remove, he smiled as if at some jest at his own expense. “I am so sorry, madam,” he said,--and his voice was musically clear and cultured. “Please pardon me for disturbing you? I did not know. This young woman should have explained. You see, when she spoke of 'Auntie Sue,' I assumed, of course,--I mean,--I expected to find a native woman who would--” He paused, smiling again, as if to assure her that he fully appreciated the humor of his ridiculous predicament. “But, my dear sir,” cried Auntie Sue, eagerly, “there is nothing to pardon. Please do come into the house and let us help you.” But the stranger drew back, shaking his head sadly. “You do not understand, madam. It is not that my clothes are unpresentable,--it is I, myself, who am unfit to stand in your presence, much less to enter your house. I thank you, but I must go.” He was turning away, when Auntie Sue reached his side and placed her gentle old hand lightly on his arm. “Please, won't you come in, sir? I shall never forgive myself if I let you go like this.” The man's voice was hoarse and shaking, now, as he answered: “For God's sake, madam, don't touch me! Let me go! You must! I--I--am not myself! You might not be safe with me! Ask her--she knows!” He turned to Judy.