Later in the day Jordan Morse and Molly Merriweather met at the hospital. They looked into each other’s eyes, not daring to mention the terrible consternation that possessed them.

“Have you heard anything?” murmured Molly, glancing about before speaking.

Jordan nodded his head.

“It’s awful,” he said. “Bates is dead—if you say a word, I’m lost.”

“Depend on me,” Molly assured him. “Oh, how dreadful it all is! Theodore must get well,” she continued in agitation.

“Well, he won’t!” snarled Morse. Then he went on passionately. “Molly, I swear I didn’t intend to shoot him. I was mad clear through and aimed at the cobbler.”

“Hush!” warned Molly. “Some one’s coming.”

A young doctor approached them with gravity.

“Mr. King?” murmured Molly.

“Is slowly failing. The bullet found a vital spot––”

“And the other man—Bates? Is it true he’s dead?” interjected Morse eagerly.

“Yes, he died shortly after the tragedy. It’s all a mystery, but I think they’ve arrested the guilty man.”

Both listeners stared at the speaker as if he’d told them the world had come to an end. It was Morse who managed to mutter: 249

“What man?”

“Haven’t you heard? They’ve arrested Lafe Grandoken. The shooting occurred in his cobbling shop, and the gun was found as proof of his crime. Of course, like all Jews, he’s trying to invent a story in his own favor.... He’s undoubtedly the criminal.”

Not until they were in the street did Jordan express himself to Molly.

“What heavenly luck! So they’ve arrested Grandoken. If Theodore lives––”

Molly clutched his arm.

“Oh, he must! He must! Jordan! I shall die myself if he doesn’t.”

Jordan Morse turned sharply upon her.

“Don’t throw a fit right here. You’re not the only one suffering. My atmosphere is cleared a little with Grandoken’s arrest, though.”

“But you’ve still to reckon with Jinnie,” ventured Molly.

“Easy now,” returned the man. “I’ll get her before Theodore is well.”

“Take me home,” pleaded Molly wearily. “Such a day as this is enough to ruin all the good looks a woman ever had.”

Disgustedly, Jordan flung open the motor door.

“Well, my God, you’ve got about as much brains and heart as a chipmunk. Climb in!”

Later, as the two separated, Morse said, with low-pitched voice:

“Now, then, I’m going to plan to get Jinnie. Might’s well be hung for a sheep’s a lamb––I’m just as well satisfied that Bates is dead. After I secure Jinnie—then for my boy. God! I can scarcely wait until I have him.”

Miss Merriweather went into the house in utter exhaustion, 250 nor did she pause to take off her hat before telling Theodore’s mother the little she could to encourage her.

If Molly was suffering over the crime which had sent the man she loved to the hospital, Jinnie was going through thrice that agony for the same man. He had almost met his death in coming to tell Lafe of their love, and had been struck down in his mission by an unknown hand. Jinnie knew it was an unknown hand, because just as sure as she lived, so sure was she that Lafe had not committed the crime. The cobbler had explained it all to her, and she believed him. Peggy was dreadfully ill! After her fainting spell, the girl put Mrs. Grandoken to bed, and then went to comfort Bobbie. She found him huddled on his pillow, clasping Happy Pete in his arms. The small face was streaked with tears and half buried from sight.

“Bobbie,” called Jinnie softly.

The yellow head came up with a jerk, the flashing grey eyes begging in mute helplessness an explanation for these unusual happenings.

“I’m here, Jinnie. What’s the matter with everybody?”

Jinnie lay down beside him.

“Peggy’s sick,” she said, not daring to say more.

“Where’s Lafe?”

An impulsive arm went across the child’s body.

“He’s gone away for a little while, dear, just for a few days!”

Something in her tones made Bobbie writhe. With the acuteness of one with his affliction, his ears had caught the commotion in the shop.

“But he can’t walk, Jinnie. Did he walk?” he demanded.

“No.”

“How’d he go, in a motor car?” 251

“No,” repeated the girl.

“Some one took him, then?” demanded Bobbie.

“Yes.”

“In a wagon?”

By this time she could feel the tip-tap of his anguished heart against hers.

“Yes,” she admitted, but that was all. She felt that to tell the truth then would be fatal to the throbbing young life in her arms.

“Bobbie,” she whispered, cuddling him. “Lafe’s coming home soon. Be a good boy and lie still and rest. Jinnie’ll come back in a few minutes.”

She crawled off the bed, and went to the shop door. By main force she had to drag her unwilling feet over the threshold. She stood for two tense minutes scanning the room with pathetic keenness. Then she walked forward and stood beside the bench. It seemed to be sentiently alive with the magnetism of the man who had lately occupied it. Jinnie sat on it, a cry bursting from her white lips. She wanted to be with him, but she had promised to take care of Peggy, and she would rather die than betray that trust. Her eyes fell upon two dark spots upon the floor, one near the door and one almost under her feet. She shuddered as she realized it was blood. Then she went to the kitchen for water and washed it away. This done, she gathered up Lafe’s tools, reverently kissing each one as she laid it in the box under the bench. How lonely the shop looked in the gathering gloom! To dissipate the lengthening shadows in the corners, she lighted the lamp. The flickering flame brought back keenly the hours she had spent with Lafe—hours in which she had learned so much. The whole horror that had fallen on the household rushed over her being like a tidal wave over a city. Misery of the most exquisite kind 252 was tearing her heart in pieces, stabbing her throat with long, forklike pains. Tense throat muscles caught and clung together, choking back her breath until she lay down, full length, upon the cobbler’s bench.

In poignant grief she thought of the expression of Lafe’s face when he had been wheeled from the room. His voice came back through the faint light.

“He has given His angels charge over thee, lassie.”

But how could she believe in the angels, with Lafe in prison and Theodore dying? She got up, spent and worn with weeping, and went in to Peggy, sitting for a few minutes beside the agonized woman, but she could not say one word to make that agony less. In losing the two strong friends, she had lost her faith too. Peg’s face was turned to the wall, and as she didn’t answer when the girl laid her hand on her shoulder, Jinnie tiptoed out. In her own room she lay for seemingly century-long hours with Bobbie pressed tightly to her breast.