“You may say what you will,” she said perversely, “I know the man’s a burglar, or a murderer, or something else bad.”
“He couldn’t have murdered John Trafton, for we traced the murderer’s steps on the beach. There is no doubt it was that stranger we saw in the barroom.”
So said her husband.
“I don’t care whether he murdered John Trafton or not,” said Mrs. Scott. “I’m sure he’s murdered somebody, and I’m ready to take my Bible oath of it.”
“What makes you so prejudiced against the poor man? He hasn’t done you any harm, Mrs. Scott.”
“I don’t like the airs he puts on. He looks at you jest as if you were dust beneath his feet. What right has he to look down upon honest people, I want to know?”
But Mrs. Scott did not succeed in creating a prejudice against the hermit, whose courageous and dignified bearing had impressed all who observed his manner in this trying crisis.
When the funeral was over the hermit called in the evening upon the widow of John Trafton. It was the first he had ever made upon any of his neighbors and it excited surprise.
Robert brought forward the rocking-chair and invited the visitor cordially to sit down.
“Mrs. Trafton,” said the hermit, “I want to thank you and Robert for the confidence you showed in me at a time when all others suspected me of a terrible deed. You were the ones most affected, yet you acquitted me in your hearts.”