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Schofield had stiffened in his chair as though undergoing a spasm

of pain. The sentences smote him between the eyes of his

sensibilities. Had it come to this, that his name was being

bandied dishonorably about the barrooms of St. John's? If so, how

and why?

"Then I suppose you've heard the talk in Grande Mignon before

this?"

"Yes, Code, I have; and I've called every man a liar that said

anything definite against you. I'm gettin' old, but there ain't

very many men here able enough to shove that name back down my

throat, an' I notice none of 'em tried. It's all idle talk,

that's all; an' there ain't a soul that can prove a single thing

against you, even cowardice. An' that's more'n can be said o'

some men in this village."

Code was grateful, and he said so. It was something to find a

friend so stanch and loyal that suspicion had never even found

soil in his mind where it might take root. Two such he had now:

Elsa Mallaby and Bijonah Tanner.