The friends of the Master Workman will take his body and bury it with all the pomp and honor due his exalted station. Requiescat. But we go in quest of the young man with the awful stain of murder upon his soul. John Wysong was not suspected of the murder. Without stopping to even debate the matter, it was decided that in the jostle of the committeemen to see below, the Master Workman had been accidently pushed out. There are times when all of the attention of an entire group is focused on a given point and such was the case when the crime just recorded was committed. The Mayor stayed to care for the terribly mangled form of the Master Workman and John Wysong drove the carriage to the stable, put up, and went home. Early the next morning he went out and got a newspaper to learn the accepted theory of the death. No thought of murder was found in the long thrilling recital. John now felt partially relieved.

Yet, though undiscovered and apparently safe on the very scene of his crime, John was not altogether easy in mind. His conscience troubled him. He and God were the sole partners in a terrible secret. The world passed him by, ignorant of his deed. But it seemed to him that the terrible load could be the more easily borne if only some one knew it with him. He could not endure that solitary companionship with God. Whenever he wondered if the crime would ever be known, his mind could not run out variously to this, that or the other possible source of detection. No, it ran straight to God; and John would not have been surprised to hear God tell the world of his crime any day. If God had had a subordinate, a human being to tell it, John might have thought that God would not concern himself about making it known. As it was, the responsibility of telling it was with God; and John looked for it to be told any day. After God did not tell it, John began to think that God was waiting on him to tell it. If he did not tell it he felt that his punishment would be twofold. But fear of his awful fate restrained him.

Thus, John Wysong wandered hopelessly about the streets of Richmond day and night. He began to grow thin and Erma soon discovered that some sorrow was eating away his heart. She did what she could to cheer him, but all to no avail. Erma was still at Aunt Mollie's, "taking in washing" for a living. It barely kept her alive and caused her clothes to be of somewhat inferior quality. John would come to see Erma, and, sitting in front of her, seeing her working so hard, so poorly paid, so poorly clad, would burst into tears. This would unnerve Erma and set her to crying. She would go to John and throw her arms around him and beg him to cheer up and not to break her heart. Her tears would serve to cause John to quit yielding to his feelings.

One day John came to Mrs. Marston's to see Erma. It was now winter and she was in the kitchen washing out a tub of clothes. She and John were in there alone. Her sleeves were rolled up beyond her elbows, laying bare arms that were perfectly rounded and that tapered with exquisite beauty. Her long black hair had become unpinned and had fallen down over her shoulders, allowing two shapely ears to peep out; and they seemed content with just that much liberty and just that much bondage to anything so beautifully black as Erma's hair. Her shirt waist was unbuttoned slightly at the throat, granting a glimpse of a neck full worthy of partnership with that charming face and well shaped, well poised head. Though at work she was laughing and chatting and joking with John, trying to make him lose his moodiness. Suddenly, the kitchen door was unceremoniously opened and a policeman stood in the doorway. His eyes first fell on John. Absolute and unqualified terror seized John and he shrank into a helpless heap on his chair, showing every sign of guiltiness of a crime. Erma's heart stood still. She saw the look of terror in John's eye and wondered what crime could be laid at his door. Womanlike she vowed to be John's friend to the last, though knowing not his crime. The policeman saw John looking so guiltily that he could scarcely refrain from taking him, though, he came upon another errand. His mission was with Erma. He turned his gaze reluctantly from John's crouching form as though he was losing "game" rightfully his, as he would put it. He looked Erma full in the face, not a line, not a muscle escaping his bold gaze. As Erma's full beauty dawned upon him, he pulled off his hat, so instinctive is man's homage to beauty. At length, having finished his survey of Erma, he handed her a warrant summoning her to appear in court on the morrow in a case of forgery, (the State vs. James B. Lawson) as a witness for the defendant, the said James B. Lawson. If her dead mother had stood before her she could not have been more astounded.

The policeman having fulfilled his errand turned to go. He paused to cast a parting look at John, whom curiosity had somewhat bolstered up, when he discovered that the policeman had business with Erma. But the returning gaze of the policeman made him collapse again, and the policeman never disliked anything in all his professional career so much as he did the fact that he now had to leave that house without John Wysong. Ever after that when he would see John on the street he would eye him keenly as much as to say, "You belong to me," and John would slink cowardly away. But we are just now concerned about Erma.