"It's a long walk up from the station," he said, carefully removing the abundant perspiration from his craggy forehead. "Pretty road, though," he added. Judith was content to let him take his own time. But Roger was more impatient. "You have something to say to us?" "Yes," he admitted, "I have." "Well...?" Mr. Good looked from brother to sister. An expression of half-humorous dismay crossed his face, an expression which both of them caught, but neither understood. Then he drew a long breath and carefully folded his handkerchief. One long, lean forefinger shot out suddenly toward Judith, and the quizzical little smile vanished from his lips. "You know, Miss Wynrod, of the terrible situation down in the Algoma mines. You know of the bloodshed, the pitched battles between strikers and mine-guards. And worst of all,"--With a rapid gesture, contrasting strongly with the languorous slowness of his movements before, he drew a folded newspaper from one of his bulging pockets--"You must have read this morning of the burning to death of twenty-two women and children--the families of the striking miners." Judith had read the story. That is, she had glanced at the headlines, and realising the horror of their import, and at the same time feeling that there was no particular interest for her, had passed on to closer and less unpleasant interests. She remained silent before the tall stranger's accusing finger. Her curiosity was more piqued than ever. But Roger was angered. "Well--and what of it?" he demanded with ill-concealed truculence. The tall man turned his serious gaze on Roger. "I suppose you are familiar with this terrible situation, too," he said, half interrogatively. "Suppose I am. What of it. I say?" Roger knew nothing whatever about it, of course, and from the other man's sudden, half-veiled smile, it was perfectly obvious that he knew that he did not. He turned suddenly from Roger with a faint gesture of his long hand that seemed to sweep that young man totally out of the discussion. Then Judith, offended, although Roger himself was hardly conscious of the rebuff, spoke for him. "Yes," she said with deliberate coldness. "We know all about it. But what of it?" "Simply this, Miss Wynrod," said Good crisply, and with a hint of hostility in his manner. "You are a large stockholder in several of the Algoma mines. The blood of those murdered miners is on your head--and those innocent women and children burned to death by your hirelings. Whether you know it or not, you have a responsibility for the situation, and I have come here to-day to find out what you are going to do about it all?" "Do about it?" cried Judith, amazed by the suddenness of his attack. "I'm afraid I don't understand." The stranger's mood softened and his voice became quieter.