“Hello, Hermy, ain’t tea ready yet?” he enquired, tossing aside his straw hat and opening a newspaper he carried, “say, the Giants are sure playin’ great ball this season—­what, are ye asleep?”

“No, dear!”

“Why, Hermy,” he exclaimed, dropping the paper and clasping an arm about her, “Oh, Hermy—­what is it?”

“Oh, boy—­dear, dear boy—­you didn’t, did you?” she cried feverishly.  “You are a little wild—­sometimes, dear, just a little—­but you are good—­and honourable, aren’t you?”

“Why, yes, Hermy I—­I try t’ be,” he answered uneasily; “but I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re not a thief, are you?  You’re not a burglar?  You never broke into any one’s house.  I know you didn’t, but—­tell me you didn’t—­tell me you didn’t!”

“No—­no, o’ course not,” stammered Spike and, averting his head, tried to draw away, but she clung to him all the closer.

“Boy—­boy dear,” she whispered breathlessly, “oh, boy, look at me!”

But seeing he kept his face still turned from her, she set a hand to his cheek and very gently forced him to meet her look.  For a long moment she gazed thus—­saw how his eyes quailed, saw how his cheek blanched, and as he cowered away, she rose slowly to her feet, and into her look came a growing horror; beholding which Spike covered his face and shrank away from her.

“Oh, boy—­” her voice had sunk to a whisper now, “oh, boy—­say you didn’t!”

“Hermy—­I—­can’t—­”

“Can’t?”

“It’s—­it’s all—­true.  Yes, I did!  Oh, Hermy, forgive me.”

“Tell me!”

“Oh, forgive me, Hermy, forgive me!” he cried, reaching out and trying to catch her hand.  “Yes, I’ll tell ye.  I—­I got in—­through th’ winder, an’ Geoff caught me.  But he let me go again—­he said he’d never tell nobody if—­ah, don’t look at me like that!”

“If—­what?”

“If I’d bring him back here with me—­Hermy, don’t!  Your eyes hurt me—­don’t look at me that way.”

“So it—­is—­all—­true!”

“Oh, forgive me, forgive me!” he pleaded, throwing himself on his knees before her and writhing in the anguish of remorse.  “They doped me, Hermy, I—­didn’t know what I was doin’—­they didn’t give me no time t’ think.  Oh, forgive me, Hermy; Geoff forgave me, an’ you must—­oh, God, you must, Hermy!” Again he sought to reach her hand, but now it was she who shrank away.

“I loved you so—­I—­loved—­you so!” she said dully.

“Hermy,” he cried, catching hold of her dress, “forgive me—­just this once, for God’s sake!  I ain’t got nobody in the world but you—­forgive me!” And now his pleading was broken by fierce sobs, and he sought to hide his tear-stained face in the folds of her dress, but she drew it quickly from him, shrinking away almost as if she feared him.

“A thief!” she whispered, “oh, God—­my brother a thief!  I don’t seem—­able to—­think.  Go away—­go away, I—­must be—­alone!”