Barkswell led the way to the cottage, and a little later the woman
revived. When questioned by Jounce she refused to make any explanation.
"Confound it," growled the tramp, "that man of yours'll kill you some
time, Iris, and you'll let 'im do it 'ithout making complaint."
"I should not care to see Andrew in prison."
"He may go thar yet."
"Anything new?"
"Somebody's got ter swing fer the crime at Ridgewood; why mayn't it be
Andy?"
The woman started and grew pale as death.
Her brother thought she was on the point of fainting again.
"Don't worry," he cried, quickly. "It may never be fetched home to Andy."
"Do you believe he is guilty?"
"Don't you?"
He sought to evade the question.
"I--I cannot say. I have thought--"
"That _I_ had a hand in it, eh?"
The eyes of the tramp regarded his sister's face fixedly.
But Mrs. Barkswell refused to make reply. She shuddered and drew her
shawl about her as though experiencing a sudden chill.
All this time her husband sat on the porch enjoying a cigar, his busy
brain dwelling on the latest scheme it had conjured up.
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