“I heard you cry out in the night, Arthur.  What was it?”

“Nothin’—­I didn’t cry out las’ night, I tell ye.”

“I heard you!”

“Oh, well, I—­I was only dreamin’, I guess.”

“Why have you acted so strangely lately?  You don’t eat, you don’t go out; you sit around staring and seem to be listening—­almost as if you were afraid—­”

“I ain’t—­I ain’t afraid.  Who says I’m afraid?  An’ I don’t want you to go worryin’ y’self sick over me—­I ain’t a kid no more.”

“No, I’m afraid you’re not.”  And sighing, she turned away.  But as she crossed the room, her step slow and listless, he spoke, his head down-bent and face hidden between clenched hands, voicing, almost despite himself, the questions that had tortured him so long.

“Say, Hermy, where’s—­Geoff?  How is he—­I mean you—­you ain’t—­heard anything—­have you?”

“No,” she answered softly, without turning, “what should I hear?  I only know he’s—­gone.  How should I hope to hear anything any more?”

“I—­I thought he was—­goin’ t’ marry you.”

“So he was, but I—­couldn’t let him—­marry—­a thief’s sister,” she said in the same low, even voice.

“Ah!” cried Spike, writhing, “why did he go an’ tell ye about me after he told me he never would—­why did he tell ye?”

“He didn’t tell me!” cried Hermione, with curling lip.

“Didn’t he—­oh—­didn’t he?” said Spike, his voice high and quivering, “didn’t Geoff tell ye?  Then—­say, Hermy, who—­who did?”

“It was Bud M’Ginnis, and for once it seems he told the truth!”

“Bud!” cried Spike, stumbling to his feet.  “Oh, my God!” At sound of his voice she turned, and seeing his face, cried out in sudden fear:  “Arthur—­oh, Arthur, what is it?”

“Bud told ye?” he gasped.  “Wasn’t it Geoff—­oh, wasn’t it Geoff?”

“No!”

Spike was down on his knees.  “Oh, God!  Oh, Geoff—­dear old Geoff, forgive me!” He was huddled upon the floor, his face pressed to the worn rug, his clenched fingers buried in his curls, while from his lips issued gasping sobs harshly dry and awful to hear.

“Forgive me, Geoff, forgive me!  I thought you told her!  I thought you meant t’ steal her from me!  Oh, forgive me, Geoff—­I wish I was dead like you.”

“Arthur!”

She was down beside him on her knees, shaking him with desperate hands.

“Arthur!  Arthur!  What—­are you saying?”

“Nothin’—­nothin’!” he stammered, staring up into her face, suddenly afraid of her.  “Nothin’, I—­I was only—­thinkin’—­I—­”

“What did you mean?” she cried, her grasp tightening.  “Tell me what you meant—­tell me, tell me!”

“Nothin’,” he mumbled, trying to break her hold.  “Lemme go, I—­I didn’t mean anything—­”

“Tell me what you meant—­tell me, tell me!”

“No—­I can’t—­I—­”

His voice failed suddenly, his whole frame grew tense and rigid, and lifting a stiff arm he pointed a trembling finger toward the open doorway.