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Lisa Holewa
Lisa Holewa
Publishing Credits
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Image Credits: p.5 Photos 12/Alamy Stock Photo; p.13 Heritage Image
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All companies and products mentioned in this book are registered

trademarks of their respective owners or developers and are used in this
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Teacher Created Materials

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ISBN 978-1-4258-4963-4
© 2018 Teacher Created Materials, Inc.
Table of Contents
All Around Us.............................4
Patterns.........................................6
Haiku Dos and Don’ts..............10
Do-It-Yourself...........................18
Picking Out Patterns.................26
Glossary......................................28

3
 All Around Us
Have you ever looked closely
at a pinecone, a leaf, or a flower?
If you have, you might have
seen patterns.
There are patterns in nature.
Patterns can show us how things
are made. Patterns also help us
make new things. Writers use
patterns, too. Haiku (hi‑KOO)
are an example of this. They are
poems based on patterns. They
are usually about nature.

4
Began in Japan
The art from of haiku is over 800
years old. It came from Japan. But
it was not popular right away. It
took hundreds of years for it to
catch on. Haiku masters like Matsuo
Bashˉo (mah-TSOO-oh bah-SHO)
helped it grow.

5
 Patterns
To find patterns, you must
look closely. Start by asking
questions. Can I see how this is
made? Do I see the same parts
again and again? If the answers
to these questions are yes, you
may have found a pattern.
Plants and seashells have
patterns. Trees and butterfly
wings have them, too. The
patterns may form triangles.
Or they may spiral out from
the center.

6
This shell spirals out from
the center to make room for
the growing animal inside.

7
 Patterns in Writing
Writers and poets use
patterns, too. Poets may repeat
words or sounds at the end of
each line. Writers may make
all of their sentences the same
length. Sometimes, a poem’s
structure can send a message.
These patterns can give words
more power. Haiku is based on
patterns. They help poets tell
strong stories.

8
 Play Day
maggie and milly and moll
y and may
went down to the beach (to
play one day)
—E. E. Cummings
Look at the names in the
first line of this
poem. They are all lowe
rcase, and they all
start with the same lette
r. Do you think
the girls might be the sa
me in other ways?

9
 Haiku Dos and Don’ts
Haiku does not have any
rules. But there are some traits
that most haiku poems share.

Do Give a Nod to Nature

Most haiku poems describe
scenes in nature. They may tell a
tale about animals. Or, they may
make the reader think of a time
of year. Flowers may make the
reader think of spring. Fireflies
may be used to describe a warm
summer night.

10
 First cherry blossoms
a cuckoo, the moon and snow:
another year closes
—translation of a haiku by Sanpu
What words does Sanpu use that make you
think of a certain time of year?

11
 Do Write Three Lines
Most English haiku are three
lines long. Each line follows
a pattern with sounds. These
sounds are called syllables.
Haiku usually have 17 syllables.
The lines follow this pattern:
The first line has five.
The second line has seven.
The third line has five.
Did you notice that was
a haiku?

bird lion elephant

1 syllable 2 syllables 3 syllables

12
 This haiku by Matsuo Basho
was written in 1694.

A Different Style
Japanese haiku have three
sections, like English haiku.
They are written in lines that
are read from top to bottom.

13
 Most haiku poets follow the
same patterns. There are also
traits that most poets try to avoid.

Don’t Just Say It

Haiku poets try not to just say
what they are feeling. Instead,
they describe a scene. This makes
the reader feel a certain way.
Most haiku poets would not write
“I felt so lonely.” Instead, they
would write about a frog alone in
a still pond.

14
15
 Don’t Make It Too Long
Most English haiku have 17
syllables. Japanese haiku always
have 17 ons. An on is a sound
that forms words. English haiku
poets try to follow the same
pattern with syllables. But they
do not have to do this.
In fact, there is only one rule
for the length of haiku poems. A
reader should be able to say the
whole poem in one breath. So do
not make it too long!

16
Make sure readers can say your
haiku without losing their breath!

17
 Do-It-Yourself
Now that you know the
patterns of haiku, you can try
writing your own.

Step 1: Look Outside

If you are near a window, look
outside. What do you see? If
you cannot see nature right now,
think. Did you notice something
the last time you were outside?
Maybe you saw leaves blowing in
the wind. Or, maybe you saw a
squirrel running up a tree. Try to
capture the scene in your haiku.

18
 From the Desk
You can wri
Of…
te haiku wit
in nature. Ju hout being
st imagine w
might see. hat you
These poem
desk haiku. s are called
They are no
from an actu t written
al moment
an imagined but from
or remembe
red one.

19
 Step 2: Write It All Down
After you have picked a
scene you want to share with
the reader, start by writing a
sentence. Describe what you
saw. Try to make the reader see
the same thing.
Do not worry if it does not
look like a haiku yet. Just get
your thoughts down on paper.

20
21
 Step 3: Rearrange
Now that you have written
about your image, you can
make it into a haiku. Try
splitting it into three lines. You
might need to add or change
a thought.
Next, count the syllables
in each line. Can you make
your idea fit in 17 syllables? If
not, do not worry! Just make
sure the reader can say it in a
single breath.

22
23
 Step 4: Share Your Scene
After you are done, share
your haiku with friends and
family. Ask if they feel the same
thing you felt when you wrote
the poem. If not, go back and
revise your work. When you are
done, write your haiku on a new
sheet of paper. Then, display
your work!

National Haiku Writing Month

Write one haiku each day in February.
That is when National Haiku Writing
Month takes place. The event started in
the United States. But it has spread all
over the world.

24
 My Haiku
a n d c o o l b reeze
Bright su n
u p an d d ow n trees
Squirrels run e r s sway
Ga r d e n fl o w

25
 Picking Out Patterns
As you have read, patterns
are all around us. They are in
nature and in writing. Poets use
them to make their writing more
powerful.
You can find and use patterns,
too. Read some haiku. See if you
can spot any patterns. Then, try
to add some to your writing. Pretty
soon, you will be a pattern pro!

26
 Winner!
The World Children’s Ha
iku Contest
takes place ever y two
years.
Children can send in th
eir own
drawings and haiku. Th
e winners
get prizes. They also ge
t published
in a book.

27
 Glossary
patterns—things that are repeated
revise—to make changes to correct and
improve something
structure—the way something is built
or organized
syllables—the parts that words are split
into when they are said out loud
traits—things that make people or
things different from others

28
Other documents randomly have
different content
longer visible, she sank into a chair and brushed her hand across her
eyes.
The lips which but a short time before had curled into smiles were
now set and determined.
"And that's the end of that foolishness!" she muttered. "The end!"
 Chapter XIV
In spite of Elisha's indignation toward Stanley Heath, and his
resolve to go to the Homestead with the break of dawn, it was noon
before he and Eleazer got under way.
In the first place, the two men disagreed as to the proper method
of arresting the alleged criminal.
"You can't take him on no warrant, 'Lish," Eleazer objected,
"'cause you ain't actually got proof he's guilty."
"Proof? Ain't I got a clear case? Ain't I roundin' him up with the
loot on him?" blustered Elisha.
"Mebbe. Still, it's my opinion you can't do more'n take him on
suspicion."
"Suspicion!" Elisha repeated scornfully. "Suspicion! Would you call
a fistful of diamonds suspicion? I wouldn't."
"P'raps—p'raps you didn't really see the jewels," Eleazer quavered.
"Sometimes folks get to imaginin' things—seein' what ain't there. Are
you plumb certain you saw them things?"
"Certain?"
"Come, come! Don't go up in the air, 'Lish. I ain't doubtin' your
word. Nothin' of the sort. I just want to make sure we don't take no
missteps an' make jackasses of ourselves," Eleazer explained. "This
is a big affair. We've got to move careful."
"Humph! You're shifty as the sands. You didn't talk like this
yesterday."
"No, I didn't. But after sleepin' on the matter, I've thought more
'bout it."
"Sleepin' on it! You were lucky if you could sleep on it. I didn't. I
never closed my eyes from the time I went to bed 'till mornin'. Heard
the clock strike every hour. You can't 'cuse me of not thinkin'. I'll bet
I've done full as much thinkin' as you—mebbe more. Had you the
prospect of bein' shot ahead of you, you'd think—think pretty hard, I
figger," Elisha growled.
"No doubt I would," conceded Eleazer mildly. "Wal, 'long's we've
both chewed the matter over, I reckon there's nothin' more to be
done now but go ahead."
"Take Heath on suspicion, you mean? Humph! Seems an awful
cheap sort of way to do it, in my opinion. Kinder meechin'. There
ain't no dignity to it."
"What's the use of standin' here bickerin' half the mornin', 'Lish?"
Eleazer said fretfully. "Let's get started. Next we know Heath may
get wind of what we're up to an' light out."
"No danger of that with the Homestead dory on this side of the
channel," Elisha sniffed.
"For all that, no purpose is served by puttin' off the evil hour. I say
we get under way," Eleazer urged. "Have you got everythin'?"
"I—I—guess so," Elisha said weakly.
"Pete fixed up your badge in great shape, didn't he?" was
Eleazer's cheerful comment. "It's bright as a new dollar. Anybody
could see it a mile away."
Elisha offered no reply.
"An' the handcuffs, too—they look grand. Why don't you kinder
dangle 'em so'st they show? Why stuff 'em in your pocket? Was I in
your place, I'd stalk into the Homestead with the handcuffs in one
hand an' the pistol in the other."
"You ain't in my place!" Elisha snapped. "I wish to heaven you
were."
"No, I ain't," his confederate returned promptly. "I'm only playin'
second fiddle on this job. The whole responsibility's yours."
"Don't I know it? Why rub it in?"
"I ain't rubbin' it in. I'm just sorter cautionin' myself. You see when
I'm mixed up in a job, I get so interested I'm liable to forget an' go
ahead as if the whole enterprise was my own."
 "You're welcome to shoulder this one if you want to. I give you
permission," Elisha said eagerly.
"Oh, I wouldn't think of doin' that, 'Lish. I wouldn't want to steal
the glory from you. You're the big shot on this occasion," cajoled
Eleazer. "Wal, what do you say to our settin' out?"
Elisha did not move.
"Don't it 'most seem as if we'd oughter eat somethin' 'fore we go?
I might turn faint doin' arrestin' on an empty stomach."
"But man alive, you et your breakfast, didn't you?"
"That was some little while ago," argued Elisha. "I'm feelin' a wee
mite gone a'ready. I'd oughter have a lunch or somethin'."
"Wal, since you mention it, I could do with a couple of doughnuts
an' slab of cheese myself," Eleazer confessed.
This information delighted Elisha.
"We might put off goin' 'til after dinner," he suggested. "Then we'd
be primed by a good square meal an' be braced for it."
"Oh, we can't wait that long," his comrade immediately objected.
"N—o, I s'pose we can't. Wal, anyhow, I'll go hunt up a snack of
somethin'."
"Don't bring nothin' but doughnuts an' cheese," Eleazer bellowed
after him. "We can munch on them while walkin' to the beach."
The stroll to Crocker's Cove was not a hilarious one, even May
Ellen's twisted crullers failing to stimulate Elisha's rapidly ebbing
strength. With each successive step his spirits dropped lower and
lower.
"You walk like as if you was chief mourner at your own funeral,
'Lish," Eleazer fretted. "We'll never make the Cove if you don't brace
up."
"My shoes kinder pinch me."
"Walk on your toes."
"It's my toes that hurt."
"Walk on your heels then. Walk anywhere that's most comfortable,
only come along."
 "I am comin'."
"At a snail's pace," Eleazer retorted. "Soon folks will be comin'
from the noon mail an' what we're doin' will get noised abroad."
Reluctantly Elisha quickened his steps.
At last they came within sight of the bay.
"Where'd you leave the boat?" Eleazer questioned.
"I pulled her up opposite the fish-shanty."
"She ain't here."
"Ain't here!"
"No. Look for yourself."
"My soul an' body!"
"I told you you hadn't oughter dally. What's to be done now?"
"I reckon we'll just have to give it all up," the sheriff responded
with a sickly grin. "Call it off."
"Call it off? But you can't call it off. Officers of the law have got to
do their duty no matter what."
"Yes—yes! Of course. I only meant we'd call it off for the present
—for today, p'raps."
"An' let the thief escape? No sir—ee! We've got to go through with
this thing now we've started if it takes a leg. We'll walk round by the
shore."
"It's too far. My feet would never carry me that distance."
"They've got to. Come along."
"I can't walk in all these clothes. This collar is murderin' me."
"Oh, shut up, 'Lish. Quit whinin'."
"I ain't whinin'. Can't a man make a remark without your snappin'
him up, I'd like to know? Who's sheriff anyhow—me or you?"
Eleazer vouchsafed no reply.
In high dudgeon the two men plodded through the sand, its grit
seeping into their shoes with every step.
It was not until they came within sight of the Homestead that the
silence between them was broken.
 "Wal, here we are!" Eleazer announced more genially.
"Yes—here—here we are!" his comrade panted. "S'pose we set
down a minute an' ketch our breath. My soul an' body—what a
tramp! There's blisters on both my heels. I can hardly rest 'em on
the ground."
"You do look sorter winded."
"I'm worse'n winded. I'm near dead! It's this infernal collar. It's
most sawed the head off me," groaned Elisha.
"I don't see how it could. Every mite of starch is out of it. It's limp
as a pocket handkerchief."
"Mebbe. Still, for all that, it's sand-papered my skin down to the
raw. Collars are the devil's own invention. Nobody oughter wear 'em.
Nobody oughter be made to wear 'em," raged Elisha. "Had I known
when I was made sheriff I'd got to wear a collar, I'd never have took
the job—never. 'Twarn't fair play not to tell me. In fact, there was
nothin' fair 'bout any of it. This arrestin', now! I warn't justly warned
'bout that."
"Mebbe not," Eleazer agreed. "Still, I don't see's there's anything
to be done 'bout all that now. You're sheriff an' your duty lies
straight ahead of you. You've got to do it. Come along."
"Wait a minute, Eleazer. Just hold on a second. Let's take 'count of
stock an' decide how we're goin' to proceed. We've got to make a
plan," pleaded Elisha.
"But we've made a plan a'ready."
"No, we ain't—not a real plan. We've got to decide 'xactly how
we'll go 'bout the affair," contradicted his companion. "After you've
knocked at the door an' gone in—"
"I knocked an' gone in?"
"Yes, yes," Elisha repeated. "After that, you'll sorter state the case
to Marcia, 'xplainin' why we've come an' everythin'—"
"An' what'll you be doin' meantime?" Eleazer inquired, wheeling
sharply.
 "Me? Why, I'll be waitin' outside, kinder loiterin' 'til it's time for me
to go in—don't you see?"
"I don't. The time for you to go in is straight after the door is
opened. It's you that'll enter first an' you who'll do the explainin'."
"But—but—s'pose Heath was to put up a fight an' rush past me?"
"Then I'll be outside to stop him," Eleazer cut in. "That's where
I'm goin' to be—outside."
"You promised you'd stand by me," reproached Elisha with an
injured air.
"Wal, ain't I? If I stay outside ready to trip up the criminal should
he make a dash for freedom, ain't that standin' by you? What more
do you want?"
"I think 'twould be better was you to go ahead an' pave the way
for me. That's how it's done in plays. Some kinder unimportant
person goes first an' afterward the hero comes in."
"So you consider yourself the hero of this show, do you?"
commented Eleazer sarcastically.
"Ain't I?"
"Wal, you don't 'pear to me to be. Where'd you 'a' got that pistol
but for me? Who egged you on an' marched you here—answer me
that? You'd 'a' given up beat hadn't I took you by the scruff of the
neck an' hauled you here," Eleazer burst out indignantly. "If you ain't
the most ungrateful cuss alive! I've a big half mind to go back home
an' leave you to do your arrestin' alone."
"There, there, Eleazer, don't misunderstand me," Elisha implored.
"I was only jokin'. 'Course it's you an' not me that's the hero of the
day. Don't I know it? That's why I was sayin' 'twas you should go
into the house first. In that way you'll get all the attention an'—"
"An' all the bullets!" supplemented Eleazer grimly. "No—sir—ee!
You don't pull the wool over my eyes that way, 'Lish Winslow. You're
goin' to be the first one inside that door an' the last one out. See?
You're to do the arrestin'. If there's undertakin' to be done
afterwards, I 'tend to do it. You get that clear in your head.
Otherwise, I go home."
 "Don't do that, Eleazer, don't do that!" Elisha begged. "Don't go
home an' leave me—now—at the last minute."
"You'll do the knockin' at the door? The announcin' of our errand?"
"Yes. Yes. I swear I will."
"Very well," Eleazer agreed magnificently. "Then I'll remain an'
give you my moral support."
"I hope you'll do more'n that," urged Elisha timidly.
"I may. I'll see how matters work out," Eleazer returned
pompously.
With lagging feet, the sheriff approached the door of the big grey
house.
"There's the dory," observed Eleazer, pointing in the direction of
the float. "Somebody's rowed it over."
"I wonder who?"
"P'raps an accomplice has arrived to aid Heath. What's the matter?
You ain't sick, are you?"
"I dunno. I feel kinder—kinder queer."
"Indigestion! Them doughnuts most likely. You et 'em in a hurry,"
was Eleazer's tranquil reply. "Want a soda mint? I most generally
carry some in my pocket."
"No. I—I—I think it's my heart."
"Heart—nothin'. It's just plain indigestion—that's what it is. I often
have it. Don't think 'bout it an' 'twill go away. Put your mind on
somethin' pleasanter—the arrestin' of Heath."
"That ain't pleasanter."
"Wal, think of somethin' that is then. Anything. An' while you're
thinkin', be walkin' towards the house. You can think as well walkin'
as settin' still, I reckon."
"I don't believe I can."
"Wal, try it, anyhow."
Eleazer had a compelling personality. Under the force of his will,
Elisha found his own weaker one yielding.
 He got up and, dragging one foot after the other, moved toward
the house.
"Now knock," commanded the dictator.
Twice the sheriff reached forth his hand, wavered and withdrew it.
"Why don't you knock, man?" Eleazer demanded.
"I'm goin' to."
Tremulously he tapped on the door.
No answer came.
"Knock, I tell you! That ain't knockin'. Give the door a good smart
thump so'st folks'll hear it an' be made aware somethin' important's
goin' on. I'll show you."
Eleazer gave the door a spirited bang.
"Law, Eleazer! A rap like that would wake the dead," Elisha
protested.
"I want it should—or at any rate wake the livin'," Eleazer frowned.
"I hear somebody. Stand by me, Eleazer. Where are you goin'?
Come back here, can't you? You promised—"
"I didn't promise to go in first, remember. We had that out an'
settled it for good an' all. You was to do that," Eleazer called from
his vantage ground round the corner.
"But—but—" Elisha whimpered.
There was no more time for argument.
The door swung open and Marcia stood upon the sill.
 Chapter XV
"Why, Elisha!" exclaimed Marcia. "How you startled me. Come in.
You're all dressed up, aren't you? Have you been to a funeral?"
"No. I—we—"
The sheriff cleared his throat.
"Me an' Eleazer—" he began.
"Eleazer? Did he come with you?"
Elisha nodded.
"Where is he?"
"Outside."
"Isn't he coming in?"
"Yes—yes. He's comin' presently."
"Perhaps he doesn't dare," Marcia remarked with spirit. "I don't
wonder he hesitates. He ran off with my dory yesterday."
"That warn't Eleazer. That was me."
"You? But I didn't know you were here."
"I was. I took the boat on official business," Elisha explained.
Marcia's laughter, crystalline as a mountain stream, musical as its
melody, rippled through the room.
"Official business!" she repeated derisively. "Official business
indeed! When, I'd like to know, did Wilton ever have any official
business? Don't joke, Elisha. This taking my boat is no joking matter.
It is a serious thing to leave me here with no way of getting ashore
quickly. I didn't like it at all."
"I'm sorry," apologized the sheriff uncomfortably. "You see, an
emergency arose—"
"No emergency is important enough for you to take my boat
without asking. Please remember that."
 "I will," squeaked the offender, coloring under the reprimand like a
chastened schoolboy. "I won't do it again, I promise you."
"All right. You're forgiven this time. Now sit down and tell me the
news."
His dignity, his pomposity put to rout Elisha, feeling very small
indeed, backed into the nearest chair.
Instead of making the rafters of the Homestead quake at his
presence; instead of humbling Heath, reducing Marcia to trembling
admiration, here he sat cowed and apologetic.
It was not at all the sort of entrance he had mapped out. It would
not do. He had got a wrong start.
Before Eleazer put in an appearance, he must right himself.
With a preliminary ahem, he hitched forward in the rocking chair.
"You won't mind if I go on with my baking, will you?" Marcia said,
bustling toward the stove. "I'm makin' dried apple turnovers. They'll
be done in a second and you shall have one."
"I thought I smelled pie crust," Elisha murmured vaguely.
"You thought right."
Kneeling, Marcia opened the door of the oven.
"Isn't that a sight for sore eyes?" inquired she as she drew out a
pan of spicy brown pastries and placed them, hot and fragrant, on
the table. "Now, I'll get you a plate, fork and some cheese."
"I don't need no fork," Elisha protested. "I can take it in my
fingers."
"Oh, you better not do that. It's sticky and you might get a spot
on your Sunday clothes."
His Sunday clothes!
Elisha came to himself.
He rose up.
"I oughtn't to be eatin', anyhow," he called after Marcia as she
retreated into the pantry. "You see, I come here this mornin' to—"
"I guess a nice hot apple turnover won't go amiss no matter what
you came for," interrupted the woman, returning with the plate, fork
and cheese.
With deftness she whisked the triangle of flaky pastry onto the
plate and extended it toward her guest.
Its warm, insidious perfume was too much for Elisha.
He sat down with the plate in his lap.
He had taken only an introductory mouthful, however, when the
door parted a crack and Eleazer crept cautiously through the
opening.
For a moment he stood transfixed, viewing the scene with
amazement; then he burst out in a torrent of reproach.
"'Lish Winslow, what on earth are you doin'? Here I've been waitin'
outside in the wind, ketchin' my death of cold an' worryin' lest you
was dead—hearin' neither word nor sign of you—an' you settin' here
by the stove rockin' an' eatin' pie! What do you think you come for,
anyhow?"
"I know, Eleazer, I know," Elisha stammered, ducking his head
before the accusing finger of his colleague. "It may, mebbe, seem
queer to you. I just hadn't got round to the business in hand, that's
all. I'm comin' to it."
"Comin' to it? You don't look as if you was."
"I am," protested the sheriff, cramming the turnover into his
mouth and drawing his hand hurriedly across his lips. "I'm comin' to
it in time. Be patient, Eleazer! Be patient, can't you?"
"I've been patient half an hour a'ready an' you ain't, apparently,
even made a beginnin'."
"Yes I have, Eleazer. I've made a start. The pie's et. That's done
an' over."
"But you had no right to stop an' eat. You had no business eatin'
pie, anyhow. Ain't you got indigestion?"
"I—wal, yes. I do recall havin' a qualm or two of dyspepsia," Elisha
owned in a conciliatory tone. "That's gone, though. I reckon the
fresh air kinder scat it off. I'd clean forgot about it."
 "Mebbe you'd clean forgot what you come here to do, too,"
derided Eleazer.
"No. Oh, no. I didn't forget that. I was just leadin' up to it in a
sorter tactful way."
"There ain't no way of bein' tactful when you're arrestin' folks.
You've got the thing to do an' you have to go straight to it."
A fork clattered from Marcia's shaking hand to the floor.
"Arresting folks?" she repeated, looking from one man to the
other.
"Yes. Since 'Lish is so spineless at his job, I may's well tell you
what we come for. He don't 'pear to have no notion of doin' so,"
Eleazer sneered. "Pretty kind of a sheriff he is! You'd think to see
him he was at an afternoon tea."
"You better look out, Eleazer Crocker, how you insult an officer of
the law," Elisha bawled angrily. "Say a word more an' I'll hail you
into court."
"If you don't land me there faster'n you do Heath I shan't worry,"
jeered Eleazer.
"Heath? Mr. Heath?" Marcia repeated.
"Yes. We come over here this mornin' to place Mr. Stanley Heath
under arrest," Eleazer announced.
The woman caught at the edge of the table.
"Place him under arrest? What for?"
So they knew the truth! In some way they had found it out and
the net of the law was closing in.
Her mind worked rapidly. She must gain time—worm out of them
how much they know.
"Of what are you accusing Mr. Heath?" she demanded, drawing
herself to her full height and unconsciously moving until her back
was against the door leading to the stairway.
"Of the Long Island robbery," Eleazer answered.
"You mean to say you think him a thief?"
"We know he's one—leastways Elisha does."
 "Don't go foistin' it all on me," snarled Elisha.
"But you do know, don't you? You said you did."
"I—yes! I'm tol'able sure. I have evidence," Elisha replied. "At
least I figger I have."
"Shucks, 'Lish!" Eleazer cried. "Where's your backbone? You figger
you have! Don't you know it? Ain't you beheld the loot with your
own eyes?"
Elisha nodded.
"Then why on earth don't you stand up in your boots an' say so?"
The door opened and Sylvia entered then stopped, arrested on the
threshold by the sound of angry voices.
Inquiringly she looked from Marcia to the men, and back again.
No one, however, heeded her presence.
Marcia, with whitened lips but with face grave and determined,
remained with her back to the stairway door, her arms stretched
across its broad panels, her eyes never leaving Elisha Winslow's.
There was something in her face Sylvia had never seen there—a
light of battle; a fierceness as of a mother fighting for her child; a
puzzling quality to which no name could be given.
Suddenly, as the girl studied her, recognition of this new
characteristic flashed upon her understanding.
It was love!
Anger, perhaps terror, had forced Marcia into betraying a secret no
other power could have dragged from her.
Sylvia marveled that the men whose gaze was riveted upon her
did not also read her involuntary confession.
Apparently they failed to do so.
"Ain't I said a'ready I had proof? What more do you want me to
do, Eleazer?" Elisha fumed.
"What proof have you?" Marcia interposed.
Elisha shifted from one foot to the other.
"I've seen the jewels," he whispered. "They're here—in this room.
Don't think I'm blamin' you, Marcia. 'Course Heath bein' what he is,
is nothin' against you," he hurried on breathlessly. "We're all aware
you wouldn't shelter no criminal did you know he was a criminal; nor
would you furnish a hidin' place for his stolen goods. What I'm sayin'
is news to you an' a shock. I can see that. Naturally it's hard to find
our friends ain't what we thought 'em. When faced with the
evidence, though, you'll see the truth same's Eleazer an' me see it.
"Heath, the feller overhead, is the Long Island jewel robber.
"The jewels he stole are under that brick. I've seen 'em."
With finger pointing dramatically toward the hearth, Elisha strode
forward.
Sylvia, however, sprang before him, standing 'twixt him and his
goal.
"What a ridiculous story, Mr. Winslow!" she cried. "What a
fantastic yarn! Do you imagine for one moment there could be
anything hidden under those bricks and Marcia and I not know it?
Why, one or the other of us has been in this room every instant
since Mr. Heath arrived. When could he get the chance to hide
anything? Didn't you and Doctor Stetson get here almost as soon as
he did? Wasn't it you who undressed him? Had he brought jewels
with him you would have found them inside his clothing. You took
off every rag he wore. Did you discover any such thing?"
"N—o."
"Well, then, don't you see how absurd such an accusation is? How
could the gems get here?"
"I don't know how they got here. All I know is they're here," Elisha
repeated stubbornly.
Sylvia's brain was busy.
That Elisha by some means or other had stumbled upon the truth
there could be no doubt.
How was she to prevent it if he insisted upon searching as it was
obvious he intended to do?
Not only was Marcia ignorant of Heath's true character but also
that the jewels lay concealed close at hand. She would receive an
overwhelming shock if the proof of his guilt came upon her in this
brutal fashion.
Did she not believe in him? Love him?
It was for Marcia Sylvia was fighting, not Heath—Marcia whom she
adored and whom she was determined to save from Elisha's power
at any cost.
If after the two meddling officials had gone she could be
convinced that the hero on whom her heart was set was unworthy,
that was matter for later discussion.
All that was of import now was to defend him; shield him from
discovery; give him the chance for escape.
It was at the moment she reached this decision that Marcia's
voice, calm and unwavering, broke upon the stillness:
"If you are so certain about the jewels, Elisha, why don't you
produce them?" she was saying.
"No—no, Marcia!" Sylvia protested. "There is nothing here, Mr.
Winslow, truly there is nothing. I swear it."
"Nevertheless, let him look, Sylvia."
"But Marcia—" begged the girl.
"Step aside, dear, and let him look. Let them both look."
"Please—please, Marcia—!"
Sylvia was upon her knees now on the hearth, and the men,
hesitating to remove her by force, halted awkwardly.
Her face, drawn with terror, was upturned to Marcia and was
pitiful in its pleading.
Marcia regarded her first with startled incredulity—then with
coldness.
So Sylvia loved Heath, too!
She was fighting for him—fighting with all her feeble strength.
A pang wrenched the older woman's heart.
What if Heath had played a double game—made love to Sylvia as
he had made love to her? Convinced her of the depths of his
affection with an ardor so compelling that against all odds she, too,
believed in it?
If so—if the man were a mountebank the sooner they both found
it out—the sooner all the world knew it, the better.
If, on the other hand, he was innocent, he should have his
chance.
The older woman went to the side of the pleading figure.
The surprise of her discovery crisped her voice so that it was short
and commanding.
"Get up, Sylvia," she said. "The sheriff must search. He must do
his duty. We have no right to prevent it."
Obedient to the authoritative tone, the girl arose.
"Now, gentlemen, you may search," Marcia said.
Neither Elisha Winslow nor his companion had cause now to
complain of any lack of dignity in the law's fulfillment.
As if she were a magistrate seeing justice done, Marcia,
magnificent in silence, towered above them while they stooped to
perform their task. Her face was pale, her lips tightly set.
The brick was lifted out.
A smothered cry escaped Sylvia and was echoed by Elisha.
"Why—land alive—there's nothin' here!" gasped the sheriff.
"I told you there was nothing!" Sylvia taunted, beginning to laugh
hysterically. "I told you so—but you would not believe me."
Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she wiped them away,
strangling a convulsive sob.
"Wal, 'Lish, all I can say is you must either 'a' been wool gatherin'
or dreamin' when you conceived this yarn," Eleazer jeered.
"I warn't," hissed Elisha, stung to the quick. "I warn't dreamin'.
Them jewels was there. I saw 'em with my own eyes. I swear to
heaven I did." Then as if a new idea flashed into his mind, he
confronted Sylvia. "They was there, young lady, warn't they? You
know they was. That's why you was so scairt for me to look. You've
seen 'em, too."
 "I?"
"Yes, you. Deny it if you dare."
"Of course I deny it."
"Humph! But Marcia won't. You can lie if you want to to save the
skin of that good-for-nothin' critter upstairs—though what purpose is
served by your doin' it I can't see. But Marcia won't. She'll speak the
truth same's she always has an' always will. No lie will cross her lips.
If she says them jewels warn't here I'll believe it. Come now, Marcia.
Mebbe you've evidence that'll hist me out of the idiot class. Was
there ever diamonds an' things under this brick or warn't there?"
"Yes."
"You saw 'em?"
As if the admission was dragged from her, Marcia formed, but did
not utter, the word:
"Yes."
"They was under this brick, warn't they?"
"Yes."
"There! Then I ain't gone daffy! What I said was true," Elisha
acclaimed, rising in triumph and snapping his finger at Eleazer.
"The jewels were Mr. Heath's. He hid them for safe keeping."
"He told you that?"
"Yes."
"A likely story! He stole 'em—that's what he did."
"I don't believe it."
"I do," leered the sheriff.
"Prove it then," challenged Marcia, with sudden spirit, a spot of
crimson burning on either cheek.
"Prove it?" Elisha was taken aback. "Wal, I can't at the moment do
that. I can't prove it. But even if I can't, I can make out a good
enough case against him to arrest him on suspicion. That's what I
mean to do—that's what I come for an' what I'll do 'fore I leave this
house."
 Marcia swept across the floor.
Once again she was poised, back against the door leading to the
stairs.
"Mr. Heath is sick."
"I guess he ain't so sick but what I can go up an' cross-examine
him."
"I ask you not go to. I forbid it."
"Law, Marcia!"
"I forbid it," repeated the woman. "Drop this matter for a day or
two, Elisha. Mr. Heath shall not leave the house. I promise you that.
I will give you my bond. Leave him here in peace until he is well
again. When he is able to—to—go with you I will telephone. You can
trust me. When have I ever been false to my word?"
"Never, Marcia! Never in all the years I've known you."
"Then go and leave the affair in my hands."
"I don't know—mebbe—I wonder if I'd oughter," ruminated Elisha.
"'Tain't legal."
"No matter."
"I don't see why the mischief you're so crazy to stand 'twixt this
Heath chap an' justice, Marcia. The feller's a scoundrel. That's what
he is—an out an' out scoundrel. Not only is he a thief but he's a
married man who's plottin' behind your back to betray you—boastin'
openly in telegrams he is."
"What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't like to tell you. In fact I couldn't. 'Twould be repeatin'
what was told me in confidence," hedged Elisha, frightened by the
expression of the woman's face.
"You must tell me."
"Mebbe—mebbe—there warn't no truth in what I heard."
"I must judge of that."
"I ain't got no right to tell you. Things are often told me in
confidence, 'cause of my bein' sheriff, that it ain't expected I'll pass
on."
 "I have a right to know about the telegram you mention. Will you
tell me or shall I call up the Sawyer Falls operator?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake don't do that," Elisha pleaded. "Artie
Nickerson would be ragin' mad did he find I'd told you. If you must
know what the message was, I can repeat it near 'nough, I reckon.
It ran somethin' like this:
"Safe on Cape with my lady. Shall return with her later."
"And that was all?" inquired Marcia calmly.
"All! Ain't that enough?" Elisha demanded. "There was a word or
two more 'bout clothes bein' sent here, but nothin' of any note. The
first of the message was the important part," concluded the sheriff.
As she vouchsafed no reply and the ticking of the clock beat out
an embarrassing silence, he presently continued:
"I don't want you should think I told you this, Marcia, with any
unfriendly motive. It's only that those of us who've seen you marry
one worthless villain don't want you should marry another. Jason
was a low down cuss. You know that well's I."
The woman raised her hand to check him.
"I'm aware 'tain't pleasant to hear me say so out loud, but it's
God's truth. Every man an' woman in Wilton knows 'tis. Folks is fond
of you, Marcia. We don't want you made miserable a second time."
"Marcia!" Sylvia burst out. "Marcia!"
"Hush, dear. We'll talk of this later. Elisha, I think I must ask you
and Eleazer to go now. I will let you know when Mr. Heath is able to
take up this affair with you."
"You ain't goin' to tell me where the jewels are?"
"I don't know where they are."
"Nor nothin' 'bout—'bout the telegram."
"Nothing except to thank you for your kind intentions and say you
quoted it quite correctly. I sent it for Mr. Heath myself."
"But—but—"
"My Lady, as you have apparently forgotten, is the name of Mr.
Heath's boat—the boat you yourself helped pull off the shoals."
 "My land! So 'tis," faltered Elisha. "I'm almighty sorry, Marcia—I
ask your pardon."
"Me, too! We come with the best of intentions—" rejoined Eleazer,
fumbling for his cap. "Honest we did."
"It's all right. Just leave us now, please."
As the two men shuffled across the kitchen, a heavy object
dropped to the floor, interrupting their jumbled apologies.
"Pick up them handcuffs, 'Lish, an' come along double-quick,"
Eleazer muttered beneath his breath. "You've made a big enough
fool of yourself as 'tis. Don't put your foot in any deeper."
"And here's your hat," added Sylvia, handing the bewildered
sheriff his property with an impish bow. "Take it and scram—both of
you."
As the door banged behind the discomfited officials, clear as a bell
on the quiet air came the twitting voice of Eleazer:
"Wal, Scram got said, didn't it, 'Lish, even if 'twarn't you said it?
That gal is an up-to-date little piece. She knows what's what. I told
you no shindy of this sort was complete unless somebody said:
Scram!"
 Chapter XVI
Left alone, Marcia, weary and spent, collapsed into a chair and
closed her eyes, appearing to forget the presence of the girl who,
with parted lips, hovered impatiently at her elbow.
Something in the woman's aloofness not only discouraged speech
but rendered any interruption an intrusion.
At length, however, she roused herself and sighing deeply looked
about, and taking the gesture as permission to break the silence, the
torrent of words Sylvia had until now held in check, broke from her:
"Was it true, Marcia—what they said about Uncle Jason I mean?
Was it true?"
"I'm afraid so, dear."
"But you never told me; and you never told Mother, either. Of
course I see why. You didn't want her to know because it would
have broken her heart. So you kept it all to yourself. You did not
mean I should find it out, did you?"
"Not if I could help it."
Sylvia knelt, taking the cold hands in hers.
"I hate him!" cried she fiercely. "I hate him for making you
unhappy and spoiling your life!"
"Hush, child. Jason has not spoiled my life," contradicted Marcia
with a grave, sad smile.
"But he has scarred it—dashed to pieces all the dreams you
started out with—those beautiful dreams a girl has when she is
young. I know what they are, for I dream them myself sometimes.
They are lovely, delicate things. We never quite expect they will
come true; yet for all that we believe in them. I know you had such
fancies once, for you are the sort who would. And Jason came and
trampled on them—"
 "He made me see life as it was. Perhaps it was better I should."
"We all have to see life as it is sooner or later. But there are plenty
of years ahead in which to do it. The man who destroys the world of
illusion in which a girl lives destroys something no one can ever give
back to her."
"I don't know that I should say that," returned Marcia with a faint,
shadowy smile as if pursuing some secret, intriguing fancy.
"But it's never the same again, I mean—never the same."
"No, it's never the same," agreed the woman soberly.
"Was Jason as bad as they said, Marcia? Ah, you don't have to
answer. There is no need for you to try to reconcile your desire to
spare me—spare him—with the truth. He was as bad—probably
much worse. Dear, dear Marcia." Impulsively Sylvia bent her lips to
the hands so tightly clasped in hers. "I cannot imagine," she rushed
on, "why, when one of my family had made you as wretched as he
did, you should have wanted another in the house. Had I suffered so
I should never have wished to lay eyes on any more Howes as long
as I lived."
"But Jason had nothing to do with you, Sylvia."
"The same blood ran in our veins."
"Perhaps that was the reason."
"Because you could forgive, you mean?" whispered Sylvia. "You
are a better Christian than I, my dear. I could never have forgiven."
"I have tried not only to forgive but to forget. I have closed the
door on the past and begun a new life."
"And now into it has come this Stanley Heath," the girl said.
For the fraction of a second Marcia did not reply; then almost
inaudibly she murmured:
"Yes."
Sylvia slipped one of her strong young arms about the bowed
shoulders.
"It just seems as if I could not bear it," she burst out passionately.
 "Sylvia, look at me. Tell me the truth. Do you, too, love Stanley
Heath?"
"I?"
"Was that the reason you fought against Elisha's finding the
jewels? Tell me. I must know."
"No," she answered without hesitation. "At first he did fascinate
me. He is a fascinating person. An older man always fascinates a
younger girl if he has charm. I changed my mind, though, later on.
Not because on acquaintance he became less charming. It wasn't
that. If anything, he became more so. I just—just—changed my
mind," she repeated, avoiding Marcia's eyes. "As for the jewels, I
could not bear to let that little runt of a sheriff win out. You see, I
thought the gems were there under the brick and that when you
urged him to search, you did not know it.
"I had known all along they were in the house, for I stumbled
upon them by accident one day when I was here alone; but I had no
idea you had. I truly believed Mr. Heath had hidden them beneath
the hearth, and I was determined Elisha should not find them."
"I knew they weren't there."
"You'd moved them? Put them somewhere else?"
"No, indeed. Didn't you hear me tell Elisha I did not know where
they were?"
"Oh, of course. But you'd have said that anyway," smiled Sylvia,
dimpling.
"Why—why, Sylvia!"
"You certainly wouldn't have let those men find them," she added
comfortably.
"On the contrary, if the jewels had been in the house and I had
been compelled to tell what I knew, I should have told the truth."
"You would? You would have showed those two miserable blood-
hounds where they were?" asked the girl incredulously.
"Certainly."
 "I wouldn't," flashed Sylvia, clinching her small hands. "I would
have fought that sheriff tooth and nail. I'd have lied—stooped to any
means to prevent him from unearthing the evidence he was after."
"But the law, Sylvia—the law."
"I wouldn't give a rap for the law. You love Stanley Heath. That's
enough for me. Besides, he is being tracked down—trapped. I want
him to go free."
"You think he took the jewels?" asked Marcia, slowly.
"Certainly I do. Don't you?"
"No."
"But, Marcia, can't you see how plain it all is? I know it is terrible
for you, dear. It almost breaks my heart. It is an awful thing to
believe of anybody—harder still of a person one loves. Nevertheless,
we must face the facts. People do not carry such things about with
them—especially men. He came by them in no honest way, you may
be sure of that. Hasn't he told you anything?—haven't you asked
him?"
"I wouldn't think of asking him," Marcia replied with a lift of her
chin.
"And he has not volunteered any information?"
"No."
"Most men, if honest and caught in such an odd situation, would
explain," continued Sylvia. "The very fact that Mr. Heath has not is
suspicious in itself. He is guilty, Marcia—guilty."
"I do not believe it," was the stubborn protest.
"I realize, dear, it is hard for you to own it," soothed Sylvia. "We
hate to admit the faults of those we—we—care for. Still, nothing is to
be gained by remaining blind to them."
"You speak as if such a sin were a mere trivial flaw of character,
Sylvia. Why, it is fundamental—a crime."
"How can we measure sins and decide which ones are big and
which little? Perhaps Mr. Heath was horribly tempted to commit this
one. We do not know. We are not his judges. The thing for us to do
is to help him out of the mess he is in."
"Help him?"
"Get him off. Aid him to escape."
"Believing him guilty—you would do that?"
"Surely I would."
"You mean you would help him to evade the law? The punishment
such wrongdoing merits?"
Emphatically, Sylvia nodded her curls.
"I'd help him to get away from those who are tracking him down
just as I'd help a fox to escape from the hunters."
"Regardless of right or wrong?"
"Yes. To give him a sporting chance, the start of those who are
after him. You love Stanley Heath. Don't you want to see him go
free?"
"Not if he is guilty."
"Marcia! You mean you would deliver him over to the law?"
"I would have him deliver himself over."
"As if he would! As if any criminal would."
"A criminal who thought of his soul might."
"But criminals don't think of their souls, dear. They think only of
their bodies—that's probably why they are criminals."
Marcia made no answer.
"Well, anyway, nobody is going to round up Mr. Heath if I can
prevent it," asserted Sylvia, throwing back her head. "If you won't
help him get away, I will. He must go in the boat—now—today."
"The boat has gone."
"Gone!"
"Mr. Currier arrived this morning after you had gone and took the
boat back to New York with him."
"And the jewels?"
"Yes, the jewels, too."
 "Humph! So that's where they are!"
"Yes."
"Pretty cute of him to make so neat a get-away!" commented the
girl with admiration. "Currier is, of course, the understudy—the
accomplice."
Marcia started.
"What sort of man was he? A gentleman, like Mr. Heath?"
The older woman colored.
"Well, no. At least he—he—. Oh, he was polite and had a nice
manner—a quiet voice—"
"But he was different from Mr. Heath—an inferior—one who took
orders," interrupted Sylvia.
"I hardly know. I saw very little of him," Marcia replied guardedly.
"But Mr. Heath did tell him what to do. Currier did as he said."
"I suppose so—yes."
"In other words, he is the hands and Mr. Heath the brains of the
team."
"How can you, Sylvia?"
Quivering, Marcia shrunk into her chair as if she had been struck.
"Because I must, Marcia—because we must both look this affair in
the face. Confess the circumstances are suspicious."
"They seem to be," she owned with reluctance.
"They are suspicious."
"That proves nothing."
"Perhaps not. Nevertheless it is all we have to go by and we
should be fools not to take them at their face value, shouldn't we?
We should at least consider them."
"Of course we should do that," evaded the woman.
"Have you considered them?" Sylvia suddenly inquired.
Marcia drew her hand across her forehead.
"I—I—yes. I have thought them over."
"And what conclusion have you arrived at?"
 "I don't understand them at all. Nevertheless, I do not believe
Stanley Heath is guilty," was the proud retort.
"That is because you don't want to—because you won't."
"Leave it at that, then, and say I won't," cried Marcia, leaping
defiantly to her feet.
"You are making a great mistake, if you will pardon me for saying
so," Sylvia responded gently. "You are deliberately closing your eyes
and mind to facts that later are bound to cause you bitter
unhappiness. Let alone the man's guilt. He has a wife. You seem to
forget that. As Elisha Winslow remarked, you have already been
miserable once. Why be so a second time? Help Stanley Heath to get
out of Wilton and forget him."
"I cannot do either of those things. In the first place, I have given
my word to hand Mr. Heath over to the authorities. As for forgetting
him—why ask the impossible?"
Sylvia's patience gave way.
"Go your own way then," she snapped. "Go your own way and if
by and by you regret it—as you surely will—do not blame me. Don't
blame me, either, if I do not agree with you. Stanley Heath shall
never remain here and be betrayed to the law. I've enough mercy in
me to prevent that if you haven't. Stick to your grim old puritanism if
you must. I'll beat it by a more charitable creed. I'll help him get
away."
She started toward the stairway.
"Sylvia, come back here!" Marcia cried.
"I shall not come back."
"I beg you! Insist!"
The command fell on deaf ears.
Marcia rushed after her, but it was too late.
Sylvia was gone.
 Chapter XVII
Stanley Heath was lying with expectant face turned toward the
door when Sylvia entered.
"What's the rumpus?" he demanded.
"You heard?"
"Heard? Certainly I heard," he laughed. "I could not hear what
was said, of course, but anyone within five miles could have heard
those men roaring at one another. What's the trouble?"
"The trouble is you," answered the girl.
"Me?"
"Yes. Didn't you expect trouble sometime?"
"We all must expect trouble sooner or later, I suppose," was the
enigmatic answer. "To just what particular variety of trouble did you
refer?"
"I guess you know. There is no use mincing matters or beating
about the bush. We haven't the time to waste. The jewels have gone
and you must go, too."
The man looked dumbfounded.
"Don't misunderstand me, please," Sylvia rushed on. "I'm not
blaming you—nor judging you. I don't know why you took them. You
may have been tempted beyond your strength. You may have
needed money sorely. All that is none of my business."
"You believe I stole them?"
"Certainly I do."
"Suppose I didn't?"
"I expected you'd say that," was the calm retort. "Let it go that
way if you prefer. I don't mind. What I want to do is to help you to
get away."
"Even if I am guilty."
 "Yes."
"But why?"
"Because you're sick and in a trap; because I—I—well—" she
faltered, her lips trembling, "I just can't bear to have that mean little
sheriff who's after you catch you."
"What's that?"
Startled, Heath sat up.
"That wretched Elisha Winslow who came here this morning with
Eleazer Crocker tagging at his heels. In some way they had found
out about the jewels and where you had hidden them. Prying into
other people's affairs, no doubt, when they would have much better
minded their own business. Well, it doesn't matter how they found
out. They know the truth, which is the important thing. They even
attempted to come upstairs and arrest you post haste; but Marcia
wouldn't allow it."
"Marcia!" he spoke the name softly. "She heard the story, too?"
"Of course."
"Poor Marcia!"
"You may well say poor Marcia," Sylvia echoed sarcastically. "You
have made her most unhappy. Oh, Mr. Heath, Marcia has not had
the sort of life that I told you she had. She has been wretched—
miserable. Go away before you heap more suffering upon her. She is
fighting to make something of her wrecked life. Leave her and let
her make it. I'll help you get out of town. I am sure we can devise a
plan. I'll row you across to the mainland and contrive somehow to
get you safely aboard a train. If we only had a car—"
"My car is at the Wilton garage."
"Oh, then it will be easy," exclaimed she with evident relief.
"Not so easy as it seems."
Heath held up his bandaged hand.
"I doubt if I could drive any distance with this wrist," he said. "Of
course it is on the mend. Nevertheless, it is still stiff from disuse, and
pretty clumsy."
 "Couldn't I drive? I've driven quite a lot. What make is your car?"
"A Buick."
"I've never driven one of those. I wonder if I'd dare try? How I
wish Hortie were here! He could drive it. He can drive anything."
"Hortie?"
"Horatio Fuller—a man I know out west. If only he wasn't so far
away! He'd help us in a minute. He'd do it and ask no questions.
That's what we need—someone who'll ask no questions."
She frowned, thoughtfully.
"Well, no matter. We can find somebody, I am sure—especially if
we pay them liberally. I'll see what I can do."
"Wait just a moment. What does Marcia say?"
"Marcia? Oh, you must not listen to Marcia. She is too much upset
to be depended on. She cannot see the case at all as it is. Her
advice wouldn't be worth twopence. Trust me in this, please. Trust
me, Mr. Heath. I promise you I'll stand by you to the last ditch. I'm
not afraid."
"I think I'd better talk with Marcia first."
"Don't! It will only be a waste of time."
"Still, I must hear what she has to say."
"You won't like it. Marcia is hard, merciless. Her conscience drives
her to extremes. Even should you get her opinion, you would not
follow it."
"What makes you so sure I wouldn't?"
"Because it would be madness, sheer madness. You'll realize that,
as I do," insisted Sylvia with an impatient tapping of her foot.
"Marcia stubbornly shuts her mind to the truth and will only look on
one side. She just repeats the same words over and over again."
"What words?"
"I shall not tell you."
"Then she must tell me herself. Will you ask her to come up,
please?"
"I'd rather not."
 "You prefer I should call her?"
Baffled, the girl turned away.
"No. I'll send her to you—if I must. But remember, I warned you."
"I shall not soon forget that, Sylvia, nor the splendid loyalty you've
shown today. I shall always remember it. Whatever happens, please
realize that I am grateful," Heath said earnestly. Then in less serious
vein he added: "I never dreamed you were such a valiant little
fighter."
His smile, irresistible in brightness, brought a faint, involuntary
reflection into Sylvia's clouded countenance.
"Oh. I can fight for people—when I care," cried she, impulsively.
Did the artless confession, the blush that accompanied it, soften
the voice of the man so observantly watching until it unconsciously
took on the fond, caressing tone one uses toward a child?
"So I see. Run along now, little girl, and fetch Marcia."
"I wish I could make you promise not to listen to her," coaxed
Sylvia, making one last wistful appeal.
"I cannot promise that."
"I'm sorry. You'd be wiser if you did."

It was some moments before Marcia answered the summons and

when at last she came, it was with downcast eyes and evident
reluctance.
"You sent for me?" she said, halting stiffly at the foot of the bed.
"Won't you please sit down?" Heath replied.
"I've only a few moments. I'd rather stand."
"But I cannot say what I wish to say while you flutter there as if
poised for flight," urged the man, annoyance discernible in his husky
voice.
Unwillingly Marcia slipped into the chair beside him.
"That's better," he said, smiling. "Now tell me exactly what
happened down stairs."
 "Didn't Sylvia tell you?"
"She told me something. I want your version of the story."
As if realizing the futility, both of protest and evasion, the woman
let her gaze travel to the dim purple line where sea met sky and
began to speak.
She related the incident tersely; without comment; and in a dull,
impersonal manner.
Stanley Heath, scrutinizing her with keen, appraising eyes, could
not but note the pallor of her cheeks, the unsteadiness of her lips,
the nervous clasping and unclasping of her hands.
The narrative concluded, her glance dropped to the floor and
silence fell between them.
"And that is all?" he inquired when convinced she had no intention
of speaking further.
"That is all."
"Thank you. Now what had I better do?"
She made no answer.
"What do you think it best for me to do?" he repeated.
"Best? How do you mean—best? Best for your body or best for
your soul?"
"For both."
"But suppose the two should not coincide?"
"Then I must reconcile them or choose between them."
"You cannot reconcile them."
"Choose between them then—compromise."
At the word, he saw her shiver.
"Well, you are not advising me," he persisted when she offered no
reply.
"How can I? You know your own affairs—know the truth and
yourself far better than I."
"Granting all that, nevertheless, I should like your opinion."
 "You will not thank me for it," cautioned she, bitterly. "Sylvia says
I am quixotic, impractical."
"Never mind Sylvia. Tell me what you think."
"But how can I give a just opinion? I cannot judge," she burst out
as if goaded beyond her patience. "I know none of the facts. To
judge the conduct of another, one must know every influence that
contributed to the final catastrophe. No person but God Himself can
know that."
A radiance, swift as the passage of a meteor, flashed across
Stanley Heath's face and was gone.
"Suppose you yourself had taken these jewels and were placed in
this dilemma?" pressed he.
"That would be entirely different."
"Why?"
"The case would not be similar at all."
"Why not?" Heath reiterated.
"Because—because I should be guilty."
"You mean—you think—"
"I do not believe you took the jewels," was the quiet answer.
"Marcia! Marcia!" He reached for her hand, then sharply checked
the gesture. "Why don't you believe I took them?"
"It isn't like you."
"The evidence is against me—every whit of it."
"I cannot help that."
"Have I ever told you I did not take them? Ever led you to
suppose me innocent?"
"You have never told me anything about it."
"You have never asked."
"As if I should put to you a question like that," she said proudly.
"You had the right to inquire."
"I did not need to."
 Once again the man restrained an impulse to imprison her hands
in his.
"Suppose I did take them?" he went on in an even, coolly
modulated voice. "Suppose the case stands exactly as this shrewd-
eyed Wilton sheriff suspects it does? What am I to do?"
He saw the color drain from her face.
"I only know what I should do, were I in your place."
"Tell me that."
"I should go through with it—clear my soul of guilt."
"And afterward?"
"Start over again."
"That would be very difficult. The stigma of crime clings to a man.
Its stamp remains on him, try as he will to shake it off. My life would
be ruined were I to pursue such a course."
"Not your real life. You would, of course, lose standing among
your supposed friends; but you would not lose it among those
whose regard went deeper. Even if you did—what would it matter?"
"But to be alone, friendless! Who would help me piece together
the mangled fragments of such a past—for I should need help; I
could not do it alone? Do you imagine that in all the world there
would be even one person whose loyalty and affection would survive
so acid a test?"
"There might be," she murmured, turning away her head.
"Even so, would I have the presumption to accept such a service?
The right to impose on a devotion so self-effacing?"
"The person might be glad, proud to help you—consider it a
privilege."
"Who would, Marcia? Do you know of anyone?"
She leaped to her feet.
"Why do you ask me?" she demanded, the gentleness of her voice
chilling to curtness. "You have such a helpmate near you—or should
have."
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