The shock of it caused a sudden revulsion in the girl’s heart. Her fingers gripped the little revolver that lay in her apron pocket. The sheriff’s voice was still sounding in her ear; her lips were at the mouthpiece—she had only to speak to give Tom up—a murderer whom the law demanded. And then something within her—some tiny voice of nature—whispered to the girl that she loved Tom Hawley. And that he had thought it was the right thing to do—only because he loved her—because he wanted her for his wife—wanted to make her happy. If she gave him up he might be sentenced and hung. The man she loved, to be killed by the law. The right thing! The words of her creed came back to her. Which was the right thing now? Her tired brain groped at the question wearily. The right thing! The words she had said to Tom flashed through her mind: “Not the thing that may look best for me, but the right thing in the eyes of God. And something—some law we don’t understand—will make it work out all right.” Beth dropped the telephone receiver to the end of its dangling cord and put her hand over the mouthpiece. Then she whirled to face the boy who still stood watching her expectantly. “They’ve found it out, Tom.” Her voice came low, but vibrant and tense. In the hand she held outstretched a bit of polished steel glistened in the lamplight. “They know it’s you.” At sight of the revolver she pointed at him the boy started forward. Amazement, incredulity were on his face. “Beth! Why, Beth, what—” “We’re going to do the right thing, Tom—the right thing in the eyes of God.” He was hobbling forward, and her voice rose suddenly: “Tom—Tom Hawley. Don’t you hear me? Don’t you understand?” She waved the revolver toward the wall nearer the telephone. “Stand over there—over there against the wall. No, I mean it”—as he continued coming forward. “Not a word now, Tom, or I’ll shoot. Don’t you understand? Can’t you see I mean it?” she ended almost with a sob. The boy hesitated; stared into her gleaming eyes an instant, and then drew himself up against the wall, silent. Holding the revolver leveled, Beth took her hand from the mouthpiece and lifted the receiver again to her ear. The sheriff was still speaking in the phone. “This is Beth—Beth Rollins,” she interrupted. Her voice sounded almost casual. She heard the sheriff’s gasp of astonishment, his profane exclamation, and went on evenly: “I’ve been listening, Sheriff Williams. I—you’re looking for Tom Hawley—well, he’s here—here with me now. He’s—he’s going to stay here until you come.” She waited through an instant of silence, and then the sheriff’s voice said with seeming contrition: “I’m mighty sorry, Miss Beth. I was coming over to see you tonight—I clean forgot you were on this line in the excitement. Your stepfather—he—”