"I hopes it all," insisted Tess, bending her head nearer, "and I swears that I hopes it if Ben Letts ain't a liar!"
Frederick's foot slipped from the round, fat body. He took a long breath, brushing a damp lock from his brow.
"I believe you," he surrendered slowly. "Oh, God! Tessibel, I believe you—and I love you, in spite of that!"
His glance swept over Ben's prostrate body to the death-like child. Letts sat up with an oath, rubbing the inflicted bruises. Frederick helped him to his feet.
"You go home," he said, piercing the fisherman with his burning eyes. "And let me warn you against fastening any of your lies upon this girl, for whatever she is, or whatever she has done, I know that you lied to-night.... Now go!" Frederick pointed toward the door.
Letts, muttering threats and curses against the student and the squatter-girl, stumbled out into the storm. Ben's head was splitting with pain. A gash on his nose bled until his torn sleeve was thickened with blood. He staggered out of the rays of the candle, and took the path to the hill. The sound of footsteps caused him to sink down beside the way and wait. Was the student—? No, the person was coming from the other direction.
In the dim light he saw a man dripping with water totter toward him. Ben peered out upon the wobbling legs, and in another instant had fallen back, shivering with fright and superstitious fear. Ezra Longman, his face haggard and ghastly white, stood directly in front of him.
Frederick closed the door upon Ben, and Tess turned upon him sharply.