"Not even mend his clothes, or stop—— How about children?"
"You know the old adage," said she, with a quiet smile, "and Mart is a poor man."
"And they, too, are your care—you their support—and—this has been going on since last year?"
"Oh, no; Mart gets odd jobs now and then."
"The proceeds of which he spends in—— But I entreat your pardon, my—my friend. This is beyond anything I ever dreamed of; and—don't come to the library to-night, please. There's no hurry about those pages; to-morrow night will be better."
They were at the little gateway now, and he released her arm. Over-against them on the opposite side of the street two men, skulking back in the shadows of a dark entrance-way, edged a little farther forward, watched him as he restored the bundles, watched him as he took again her hand, then lifted his hat and bowed over it as he might have done reverence to a queen, watched her as she tripped within-doors, and then Forrest again as he slowly turned and walked thoughtfully away.
"That's the man, then?" asked, in cautious, querulous tone, the shorter, slighter of the two.
"That's him—damn him! I can feel his kick to this day."
"And it was with him—in his room—she took refuge? you could swear to it?"
"'Course I could, on a stack of Bibles."