"I could," said the other, "but it wouldn't do any good. She cain't read er write. Besides, if I was you, I wouldn't risk anything like that. It might fall into Hawk's hands, and the fust thing he would do would be to turn it over to Lapelle,--'cause Martin cain't read himself." "I was only wondering if she could find out a little more about this man Suggs,--just when he lived there and--and all that." "He's purty close-mouthed, she says. Got to be, I reckon. He fell in with Martin ten er twelve years ago, an' there was a price on his head then. Martin hid him for awhile an' helped him to git safe away. Like as not Suggs ain't his real name anyhow." Kenneth was a long time in deciding to speak to Rachel Gwyn about the man Suggs. He found an opportunity to accost her on the day that the Paul Revere came puffing up to the little log-built landing near the ferry. Viola had left the house upon learning that the boat had turned the bend in the river two or three miles below town, and had made no secret of her intention to greet Lapelle when he came ashore. This was Gwynne's first intimation that she was aware of her lover's plan to return by the Paul Revere. He was distinctly annoyed by the discovery. Rachel was in her back yard, feeding the chickens, when he came up to the fence and waited for her to look in his direction. All week,--in fact, ever since he had come up there to live,--he had been uncomfortably conscious of peering eyes behind the curtains in the parlor window. Time and again he had observed a slight flutter when he chanced to glance that way, as of a sudden release of the curtains held slightly apart by one who furtively watched from within. On the other hand, she never so much as looked toward his house when she was out in her own yard or while passing by on the road. Always she was the straight, stern, unfriendly figure in black, wrapped in her own thoughts, apparently ignorant of all that went on about her. She turned at last and saw him standing there. "May I have a word with you?" he said. She did not move nor did she speak for many seconds, but stood staring hard at him from the shade of her deep black bonnet. "What is it you want, Kenneth Gwynne?" "No favour, you may be sure, Rachel Carter." She seemed to wince a little. After a moment's hesitation, she walked slowly over to the fence and faced him. "Well?" she said curtly. "Do you remember a man at home named Jasper Suggs?" "Are you speaking of my old home in Salem or of--of another place?" "The place where I was born," he said, succinctly. "I have never heard the name before," she said. "Why do you ask?" "There is a man in this neighbourhood,--a rascal, I am told,--who says he lived there twenty years ago." She eyed him narrowly. "Well,--go on! What has he to say about me?"